by Louise Clark
I’ll get him. Stormy leapt off the picnic table.
Patterson nodded, a glimmer of a smile touching her mouth. She turned to the inspector, who was glowering at the exchange. “Trevor is Trevor McCullagh the third, of McCullagh, McCullagh and Walker in Vancouver. He’s been a thorn in my side since I met him.” Her smile widened, became almost feral. “Now I’m gifting him to you. Good luck. You’ll need it.”
There was the sound of movement through the green space, the cracking of deadwood, and the crunch of footsteps on old leaves. Christy didn’t want Patterson speculating on how the news of Greg’s arrest had traveled so quickly. She hoped Patterson and the rest of her family would assume Trevor had been listening in on his side of the trees, but she made haste toward her campsite, and called Trevor’s name, just in case.
Trevor emerged from the bushes a short time later, but he wasn’t alone. Roy followed, his eyes wide, his expression intrigued. Ellen was behind him. She still had her arms crossed over her chest, but her shoulders were no longer hunched. Instead, her carriage was upright and her expression disapproving. Quinn drew up the rear.
He shot Christy a rueful smile. “Looks like we’re all here.”
The inspector, unused to the Jamieson style, was frowning at this invasion of his arrest. “What’s going on? What are all you people doing?”
Stormy slipped past Quinn, slid between Ellen’s legs, brushed against Trevor, and hopped up onto the picnic table. We’re taking you down, cop.
Woodgate frowned.
“I’m Trevor McCullagh,” Trevor said, ignoring the inspector’s question as he walked over to stand beside Greg. “What evidence do you have against my client?”
The inspector shot a look at the assembled crowd, and although he frowned more deeply than before, he evidently decided he wasn’t prepared to press the issue of his unwelcome audience at this point. “I have information that Mr. Farnsworth’s car was seen in the parking lot at the Progressive Fish Farms information site shortly before noon today. This puts him at the scene at the time we believe Dr. Norman Laing was killed.”
Patterson tensed and Greg’s eyes widened. He glanced at his brother. Heather gasped and said in an anguished voice, “No!”
Adam Farnsworth tightened his jaw, then he said, “Greg wasn’t driving his car today. I was.”
Heather put her hand over her mouth, and made an inarticulate sound of dismay. Her eyes were wide with shock.
Adam turned to her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I didn’t do anything.”
“Adam!” Patterson snapped. He turned to her, as bewildered by the turn of events as his brother had been. “Say the words. Ask for representation.”
“Ms. Patterson, you are out of line!” the inspector said, annoyance in every syllable.
Adam looked around the assembled group. Trevor nodded encouragingly when their eyes met and Adam swallowed visibly. “Inspector, I don’t know what’s going on, but I think I need my lawyer with me when I talk to you.”
The inspector glowered at Patterson, clearly seeing her insistence that her family members be represented as a betrayal of some sort of cop brotherhood.
Trevor said, “Not only is sighting a car in a parking lot circumstantial, but whoever did see the car must have been there too. Who is your informant?”
Woodgate narrowed his eyes. “The information came in on our tip line.”
“Do you have more concrete evidence my client was at the scene at the crucial time?”
“We’re canvasing the area for witnesses. I expect to have further details soon.”
Trevor shook his head and pursed his lips. “Not good enough, Inspector.”
Woodgate’s mouth hardened. He turned away from Trevor. “Adam Farnsworth, where were you at noon today?”
“I haven’t had time to confer with my client,” Trevor said. “Your question is inappropriate.”
That appeared to please the inspector. “We can take this to the station, or we can sort it out here. Your choice, Mr. McCullagh.”
Christy glanced at the others. Patterson was tense and wary, Heather clearly distraught by the turn of events. Adam’s jaw was set, his eyes hard. He’d been interrogated by the inspector down at the station when he was a suspect in Shane Higginson’s murder. He clearly didn’t want to return there to do it all over again. Trevor drew him aside for a short, whispered, conference.
After a moment, Adam nodded. He turned back to Woodgate and said, “I went up to the Horne Lake Caves Provincial Park to do some hiking and to explore the caves. By noon I was underground in the main cave system.”
The inspector raised his brows. “You didn’t go mini golfing with your family?”
“No,” Adam said shortly. “I needed some time on my own.” He glared at the cop. “I had some issues to deal with and I wasn’t very good company.”
Woodgate’s eyes brightened. “Issues, Mr. Farnsworth? What kind of issues? Resentment against a more successful competitor, perhaps? The kind of resentment that might lead to murder?”
“Speculation, Inspector!” Trevor snapped. “Don’t answer, Adam. Do you have any more relevant questions, Inspector?”
The inspector allowed a superior smile meant to goad to curl his lips, then he said, “Can you prove you were at the caves, Mr. Farnsworth?”
Adam looked up and away, evidently trying to remember the specifics of his visit to the park. “I got there early, just after ten, I think. I parked the car and went down to the visitor center where I paid my admission and rented a helmet and light. Then I took the trail up to the main caves. I saw people along the way, and in the caves, but they were strangers. Visitors to the park like me. The attendant who took my money might remember me, though.”
“Do you have a ticket stub or a receipt proving you were there?”
Adam stared at him, blinking as he thought. “No. I threw it away after I left the park.”
“When did you leave?”
“About two-thirty.”
“Anyone see you leave?”
Adam shrugged. “One of the park staff might have noticed, but they were busier then and when I dropped off my helmet the ranger was explaining the cave structure to a visitor. I caught his eye as I put the helmet into the returns and he nodded and gave me a thumbs up. I don’t know if he’d remember me specifically.”
“We’ll ask,” the inspector said. “But it sounds awfully convenient, don’t you think? You go up to the caves to establish an alibi, which you do successfully by making a point of renting a helmet and light early on, thereby establishing you’ll be deep underground for the next few hours.”
Trevor said, “If Mr. Farnsworth was at the caves simply to create an alibi, why would he throw away the ticket stub that was the proof he needed to establish his whereabouts?”
Woodgate ignored him. “There’s no one to say you actually took that trail up to the caves. Or, if you did, that you spent more than a few minutes in them before you returned to the parking lot, drove back to the demonstration site and accosted Norman Laing. Your disagreement turned into argument that became nasty and you attacked Mr. Laing, then pushed him to his death.”
Adam stared at him, horrified. “I didn’t!”
“Adam Farnsworth, I’m arresting you for the murder of Norman Laing.” Woodgate motioned to the deputy who stood silently by the squad car. “Cuff him.”
“No!” Heather cried. She rushed to her husband’s side. He slid his arm around her waist and hugged her in a comforting way.
“Handcuffing Mr. Farnsworth will not be necessary,” Trevor said briskly. “I’ll take responsibility for my client. He will surrender himself at the station when we have had a chance to confer.”
“Mr. Farnsworth is a visitor to this area,” the inspector said. “As are you. I’m not prepared to provide him with the chance to bolt.”
“Out of line, Inspector!” Patterson said.
Trevor eyed Woodgate. If he wanted to push it, the cop could insist on hauling Adam off in handcu
ffs in the back of the squad car. “Mr. Farnsworth is a family man of excellent reputation. There is no reason to think he’s a flight risk. However, in the interests of my client, I will transport Mr. Farnsworth to the station in my vehicle. We can confer privately as we go. You’re welcome to follow me, to ensure we don’t attempt to escape.”
After a moment of stillness while he considered, the cop nodded. Trevor headed off to get his car. Roy said cheerfully, “If I put this in a novel, no one would believe it.”
Pulled out of his focus, the inspector blinked. “What are you talking about?”
Patterson laughed. Roy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Your evidence. It’s thin and so is the motive. It takes a lot of effort to push someone off a cliff. Norman Laing and Adam Farnsworth are both about the same height and weight. If they tangled and Laing went over, why didn’t Farnsworth fall too?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
That didn’t stop Roy. “Greg’s car doesn’t have any obvious markings to make it stand out from other cars of the same make and model. How did you determine it was Greg’s?”
“That’s a good point,” Adam said.
“Don’t talk,” Patterson said. Adam shot her an annoyed look, but he closed his mouth and set his jaw. She turned to the inspector. “To pinpoint the car to Greg your tip must have included the license plate. Did it?”
“Yes,” the inspector said, inadvertently admitting that whoever had provided the tip must have been very close to the car to have seen the plates. As Trevor slowly rounded the curve and neared their campsite, Woodgate motioned to his deputy, who came over and took Adam’s arm to guide him to Trevor’s vehicle.
There was a momentary scuffle as Adam resisted, but it was resolved when the deputy realized Adam just wanted to give his wife a kiss. As Adam was led away, Heather began to cry. Patterson went over to her and hugged her. Adam was loaded into Trevor’s car and they drove off, the police vehicle slowly following.
After a moment, the only sound was Heather’s wrenching sobs.
Chapter 19
Christy glanced at Ellen, then at Quinn and Roy. They all looked as shocked as she felt. For a moment, no one did anything, then Greg Farnsworth went over to his wife and sister-in-law. “Try not to worry, Heather. I’m sure this is all a mistake and Adam will be released soon.”
Patterson gave Heather’s shoulders a squeeze. “I wasn’t kidding when I said Trevor McCullagh was about to make Inspector Woodgate’s life miserable. He’ll argue, cite cases and precedents, and tear holes in every bit of evidence Woodgate’s got. I wish Adam didn’t have to go through this, but I don’t think the charges will stick.”
“See?” said Greg, determinedly cheerful.
Heather sniffed and wiped her eyes as she nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”
Patterson gave her another quick hug before she let her go. “Understandable.”
“Don’t worry about Haley and Dylan,” Christy said. “When they come up from the beach, we’ll keep an eye on them. They can have dinner with us and we’ll toast marshmallows until bedtime.” She hoped it would make the absence of their father less obvious. She trusted Patterson and Greg to come up with a reason Adam wasn’t in the camp around their bedtime, even if Heather wasn’t up to it.
“Thanks,” Heather said, still sniffing. Patterson smiled and nodded silent gratitude.
“We should go back to our site,” Ellen said. Christy nodded.
Roy looked like he wanted to stay to further dissect the emotional maelstrom. Quinn put his hand on his father’s arm and said, “Good idea. Come on, Dad.”
They were turning away when the sound of footsteps had them all looking toward the edge of the Farnsworth’s double campsite. Sheila Bunch was hurrying across the road, obviously coming from her site opposite.
“I saw a police cruiser parked at your site,” she said as she neared. “After the cops drove away I heard crying. Is everything all right?”
“Not really,” Patterson said. She was eying Sheila coolly, her stance protective. Clearly, she perceived the older woman as an unwelcome bystander.
Heather swiped her eyes again. Evidently, she didn’t share Patterson’s reserve, for she said, “I suppose you’ll find out eventually, Mrs. Bunch, so you might as well know now.” She drew a deep shuddering breath. “There’s been another murder. Norman Laing, this time, and the police suspect my husband. They’ve taken him to the station for questioning.”
Sheila stopped at the edge of the campsite. She put her hand to her chest, and said, “Your husband, Mrs. Farnsworth? Your husband, Adam Farnsworth? Why?” Her eyes were wide, her mouth slack. She was clearly shocked by the news.
Heather sniffed. “I know. Isn’t it crazy? Adam murdering Norm Laing? Going after his scholarship in a paper, sure. But actually hurting him? Adam would never do that.”
“Of course he wouldn’t!” Sheila’s hand crept up to her throat. “Adam is a lovely man. Why, he used to visit Corey and always brought me flowers when he came. Surely the inspector made a mistake.”
Patterson said impatiently, “Woodgate claimed he had a tip that put Adam at the scene of the murder.”
“Adam? But— How can that be? Wasn’t Adam with you and the children, Mrs. Farnsworth?”
Heather shook her head. “Sadly no.” She shuffled over to the picnic table and sat on the bench, her shoulders slumped, the picture of dejection. “Being under scrutiny for Shane Higginson’s death has been getting to him. He’s been moody, grumpy with the kids. He said he needed to clear his head and be on his own. So he took Greg’s car and went off. Greg and Billie came with me and the kids to play mini golf.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “That’s why Woodgate arrested him, because he has no one to confirm his alibi.” A sob broke from her throat and she put her head in her hands.
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Bunch. She put her hand to her mouth, then let it fall. “How dreadful.”
Heather nodded. Tears trickled down her cheeks and she lifted a hand to brush them away angrily.
“Is there anything else, Mrs. Bunch?” Patterson asked quietly.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She waved her hand in a fluttering way. “I’m intruding. I should go.” But she hovered, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to leave.
“Was there something you wanted to tell us?” Quinn asked. He smiled in a sympathetic way that encouraged confidences.
For a moment, Sheila looked absolutely horrified, then her expression smoothed out as she nodded emphatically. “I don’t understand what’s going on here. Two of Corey’s friends have been murdered and another one is to be charged with the crime. I don’t like it!”
“None of us do,” Patterson said. There was a finality in her voice that said she wished Sheila Bunch would make herself scarce.
Sheila got the message. Coloring, she said, “No, of course not.” She looked around at the group. “Well, I’ll leave you then. Mrs. Farnsworth, I hope Inspector Woodgate comes to his senses and releases Adam.”
Heather sniffed. “Thank you, Mrs. Bunch.”
Sheila nodded, then turned away. Christy thought she looked a forlorn and somehow dismayed figure as she hurried back to her campsite.
That woman is weird. I don’t like her.
Christy said, “Poor Mrs. Bunch. I think she’s lonely.”
“Possibly,” Patterson said. “I think she’s also a nosy woman who likes the idea of knowing what’s going on.” She took one last look at Sheila, then she got back to the matter at hand. “Woodgate said he had a tip that Greg’s car was parked at the info center at the time of Laing’s death. We know that isn’t possible. So what happened?”
Arms crossed over her chest and her head tilted at an imperious angle, Ellen said, “Perhaps the inspector made up the tip.” She was not letting go of her dislike of detectives.
Patterson’s expression blanked for a moment, then amusement crept in. “Possible, but unlikely. I think we’re better to focus on the tip itself. Why would someone report Greg
’s car was somewhere it wasn’t?”
“Could Woodgate have jumped to a conclusion? Misinterpreted the wording of the tip?” Christy suggested.
Heather, who had been watching Sheila’s retreating form, turned toward Christy. Her eyes brightened. “Maybe that’s it! Maybe the person described a car that was the same make and model as Greg’s and Woodgate didn’t bother checking to find any other owners. He just assumed it was Greg’s.”
Patterson was shaking her head even before Heather finished speaking. “Woodgate said the tip included license plate information. Standard procedure would be to run the make and model through the computer. The license plate details would narrow the results considerably. It would be a simple matter to pinpoint the car’s owner.”
“And Woodgate was already looking at one Farnsworth brother for the murder of Shane Higginson,” Christy said.
Her comment triggered an outburst from Heather whose brows snapped together in a frown as she pursed her lips in annoyance. “Yeah, and why was that? Because Billie had to go and tell him about my shorted prescription, that’s why!”
“Easy Heather!” Greg said. “Billie did nothing wrong. She’s a cop. She can’t hide evidence.”
“It’s not evidence! All we know is that my new prescription didn’t have the proper number of pills. We don’t know why. The pharmacist probably shorted the order.”
“Adam didn’t remember the pharmacist saying anything to him about needing to top up the prescription at a later date and they’re required to tell the customer if it happens,” Patterson shot back, annoyance in her tone.
“Adam can be so absentminded! If he was thinking about a problem with his fish tanks when the pharmacist was talking to him, he’d smile and say okay and not remember a thing the guy said,” Heather retorted, her color high. “That he doesn’t know means nothing!”
“I called the pharmacy. They have no record of shorting the order,” Patterson said.
“It doesn’t matter. He didn’t use my pills to kill Shane Higginson. And he didn’t kill Norman Laing, either.”