Murder At Lake Ontario Read online

  MURDER AT LAKE ONTARIO

  Detective William Gibson returns in this gripping murder mystery

  KATHY GARTHWAITE

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2019

  © Kathy Garthwaite

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in Canadian English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

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  We hope you enjoy the book.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Also featuring Inspector William Gibson

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  Prologue

  Summer in the eastern regions of Canada was all about sunshine and water.

  Lawsons Lane had plenty of both for the children that lived there. A dead-end street with steps leading down to a pristine sandy shore. Cars that slowed for the bicycles swinging side to side on the dusty track. Large grassy meadows to run through and hide. Squeals of laughter and joy from the early light of morning through the sweltering heat of the day, ending in exhaustion as the sun dipped behind the escarpment to the west.

  It was considered to be a safe place to raise a family until a bike was found on the landing above the beach, and a young girl vanished into thin air.

  A lone figure placed the shovel on the wall, where an outline in black marked its proper spot, and joined the frantic throng in search of the lost child.

  Bees droned overhead, and birds darted across azure skies.

  The first death on Lawsons Lane. They said it was a drowning.

  Chapter 1

  Inspector William Gibson was eager to get on the plane to Ontario. On this special assignment to his old stomping grounds, he would furnish the glue to integrate the Niagara Peninsula Major Crimes Task Force with Inspector Rene Eckhart at the helm.

  But Gibson had an ulterior motive for wanting this trip so badly. His good buddy had let slip something that had stunned him. He wavered on the truth of what he had been told, but it made sense now that he thought about it. And his buddy had grown up in the same small town, had been a banker there all his life and knew a lot of people. The man would know.

  Gibson was glad that this was a solitary jaunt. Not only because he wanted to find answers, but he needed some time for himself. The last year had been a stormy one. The cases, arduous. His wife’s panic attacks, draining. Life at home with Katherine had become a plodding routine. A fragment of love persisted, but an aching hollowness thrust away the light. A sad smile flickered and snuffed out. He settled into the generous-sized seat, an extra pillow behind his head and a good deal of room to spread his long limbs, and nudged aside his sense of guilt. With half-closed eyelids, he tuned in to the strum of the jet stream, morphing into a percussion of breakers on a craggy seashore. Pictures of kayaks zigzagging through never-ending nooks and crannies along the coastal inlets flooded his imagination. He gradually ebbed away, wrapped in the delicious comfort of sleep.

  The sticky, squelchy sound of rubber hitting tarmac stirred Gibson from his dreams. He peered out the tiny window. Waves of heat steaming off the runway distorted the view. It must be boiling out there. He grabbed his knapsack from the overhead locker and headed down the aisle. After a quick jog along a lengthy corridor, circumventing the baggage carousel, he finally reached the arrival area and out the door.

  The heat hit his cheek like a slap, but not as hard as what he saw before him—a Ford Expedition with a NPMCTF emblem painted on the door, its left front tire jumped up on the curb and a drop-dead gorgeous woman leaning against the hood. Her willowy body had sun-kissed skin of bronze. Rosy swipes of colour splashed across her high cheekbones. Amber gold hair tumbled in waves to her shoulders. Dark pools of blue, the hue of an ocean pulsating, stared out from under flickering lashes. A sensuous hint of mischief sculpted her pale pink lips. Gibson caught his breath. She smiled.

  It was his ride, Inspector Eckhart. Rene, not a man—definitely not a man. He held out a palm, and she took the invitation. A zip of electricity traveled up his arm. He put his trembling hand into his jeans pocket and jerked his eyes from the deep pools, choosing not to drown. Not yet anyway.

  “Pleased to meet you at last,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  His feet felt leaden.

  “This is my ride. Let’s go.” She tapped the hood and flashed him an encouraging smile.

  “Great.” Gibson threw his bag in the rear and hopped in.

  First in line. First out. Eckhart hit the turnpike before the hordes had picked out their luggage. She drove down the eight-lane highway at a clip. Gibson eased back into his seat and listened to her chitchat. Her voice was melodious, a bubbling mountain creek. The truck slipped out of the hustle of the city. Their destination was an hour in time—a century away from the insidious gloom of Toronto. Soon they neared St. Catharines. She cruised the backroads to the Task Force. The scenery rolled by—the flatness of the region sporadically broken by groves of woods. Out west, his beloved conifers shot up higher than skyscrapers, the coastal rains sustaining their growth. Here the trees were limited, restrained by severe winter storms and summer drought.

  On the outskirts of town, the landscape shifted into commercial zone blandness, which really meant plain buildings and pavement. She pulled into the station parking lot. The red brick structure was a squat one-storey affair extended over an entire block. Windows mirrored the dazzling sunlight. The temperature had rocketed past the mid 30s as the day drew on. A mist rising above each vehicle hood produced a delusion of fluctuating images. A large Ford F150 with a Royal Canadian Mounted Police logo sat crosswise at the entrance.

  “That’ll be Rodney,” Eckhart said.

  “The boss.”

  “Yup. The superintendent.”

  A swipe of the electronic key and the entry clicked open. It was nice to step out of the heat into a refreshing lobby. The front desk was empty. Muffled voices slipped through a cracked door at the rear.

  “We haven’t got a receptionist. But soon enough.” She gave a shrug. “There’s still lots to do, but we’re getting there. You should meet the officers first. Rodney is probably with them.”

  She traipsed across the immense space, shoes clicking on the tile floor, and peered in a doorway.

  “Hi, guys. Inspector Gibson is here.”

  Three men popped out of the room. Superintendent Rodney Snowden was a burly fellow with a rugged complexion. The hand he held out to Gibson felt like worn leather. A man of the street. Same as him.

  “Welcome. Moreover, thanks for coming. Really.” The baritone voice was reassuring. A youthful confidence sparked his hickory brown eyes. His laughter rolled.

  “We’ll spin this into an ass-kicking crime unit,” William said and gestured, collecting in the full place with a sweep of his hand. He wavered for a moment. “East of the Rockies.” And he meant it.

  “Yes, sir.” DC Peter Jones let out a throaty laugh, his smile revealing a top row of perfect teeth.

  DC Ron Cooper nodded, and the two men
bumped fists.

  “So is your wife at the motel resting or has she gone shopping?” Rodney asked. A wide grin forming thick lines from his mouth got swallowed up by the craters in his cheeks.

  “Actually, I came here on my own.”

  “So, you’re an old married man.”

  “No. We’ve only been married for two years.”

  “Second marriage would be my guess?”

  “Yeah.” Gibson shuffled his feet, wishing the cross-examination would be over soon. His first wife was something he didn’t want to think about. It had ended in disaster—from the marriage bed to the couch to the divorce court.

  “Any kids?” Rodney’s smile warmed another degree.

  “We’re trying.” Gibson glanced at the screen when his cell chirped, but he swiped the ‘ignore’ button and put the phone back in his pocket.

  “No kids from your first marriage?”

  Gibson shook his head.

  “Sorry. I can’t help myself. My wife tells me that I grill everybody I meet. That’s why I don’t have any friends.” He laughed. “I hope you can get along with my inspector. Have fun with it.” He headed for the door, letting in a whoosh of hot air.

  Eckhart glanced sideways at Gibson and licked her lips.

  “You bet. I’ll do my best to be of service,” Gibson said to the retreating superintendent.

  “Shall we do a tour?” Eckhart asked.

  Gibson lowered his head and exhaled loudly.

  “You’re hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 2

  The muggy heat persisted even as the light faded, turning blue skies to black. Rivers of fiery sparks streamed across the canvas of midnight. Each explosive crack drew a new pattern into the sky, releasing fingers of vivid colour. Brilliant trails swept to the horizon and disappeared. The drama concluded with a progression of snaps and booms. They burst into silvers and reds, celebrating Canada Day. The revelers cheered as the flashes whipped across the heavens for the final hurrah, leaving smoke to linger.

  “How about a stroll on the beach?” David Hunter asked as he seized his wife’s hand.

  “Sure,” Jackie answered.

  They walked in silence toward the lake, the mere hint of a breeze—almost as warm as the night air—giving no relief as it brushed their sunburned faces. The moonlight paled against the wealth of stars above, and the lone light in the distance was a beacon for the shore below. An occasional tweet from the shrubbery along the shoulder of the lonely lane, and the far-off timbre of waves lapping the shoreline were muted sounds in the background.

  A cry chopped the stillness into tiny pieces of fear. David and Jackie came to a standstill on the landing.

  “Look out!” Gregory Cunningham screamed as he staggered up the rickety stairs. He howled as his foot caught on a jagged board, and his knee struck a stray nail on the top step. He scrambled up quickly, knocking Jackie against the post. David stood in his way, but Gregory jammed him with an elbow to move.

  “Elsie’s dead.”

  Jackie drew in her breath.

  “What are you talking about? Slow down.” David snatched the young man’s wrist. The stickiness was warm.

  “At the bottom. I don’t know.” Gregory squirmed in David’s grip. “Let me go.” He wrenched himself free and sprinted off into the dimness, a faint shape in the dusk as he slipped away.

  “Gregory!” Jackie shouted. “Where are you going?” With clenched teeth, she held back a scream latched deep in her throat. Her pulse throbbed with a fuzzy pitch in her ears. She hung onto the railing, her brain spinning and the lightness in her limbs threatening to let her down.

  “Are you okay?” David asked.

  She nodded.

  “Stay here!” The tremor in David’s voice bordered on panic. He fought it and plunged into the dark abyss where some kind of terror waited.

  Jackie remained paralyzed. David’s hurried footfalls vibrated on the waterlogged wood and echoed against the dunes. Then nothing but a deathly silence, punctuated by her stifled sobs, filled the empty night; her body quivering like a lost kitten in the rain. A scraping sound from the nearby bushes was all it took to send her flying down the stairs just moments after David had taken the leap into the unknown. She careened off the bottom step and landed on the soft sand next to him. At their feet lay their friend, Elsie Webber. Her long, loose skirt billowed out, revealing flabby thighs and stiff sandals. Her curly ruby locks that had tumbled around her satin complexion that same afternoon, were now matted in a brew of blood and grime. David dropped to his knees and hovered his palm over the figure. He gulped and stretched his fingers to her neck.

  “Shit. There’s no pulse.” He yanked his hand aside as if he had touched a pot of boiling water.

  “Did she fall?” Jackie’s thoughts swirled like a black mist at the edges of her mind.

  “How would I know?” His voice hit a shrill note that skipped across the lake.

  Jackie had a sudden urge to flee. She flinched at a sound in the undergrowth, but it was only restless birds fighting for the best roost.

  David fell back on his calves and pulled out his cell. His trembling fingers loosened, sending the phone into the sand. He scooped it up and dialed 911.

  “There’s been an accident on Lawsons Lane. On the beach.”

  He hung up and stared at his wife.

  “Do we have to stay here?” she asked.

  “No. We’ll wait on the landing.”

  Jackie took a last look at her friend as she trudged up the wooden slats. She wiped away the surge of tears and put on a brave face, waiting for the ambulance, hoping. The sirens ripped through the night, fading in and out at each bend of the road. A dozen headlights swarmed at the top of the street, bearing down on them, and pressing into the darkness. Invariably, the noise and lights attracted a mob. David blocked the entrance, holding them into submission with a low-pitched hiss.

  “Back off.”

  They pushed against David. More partygoers from the fireworks display arrived like slow drops of water from a leaky faucet, seeking a morbid distraction. The air was charged with a palpable murmur as rumours whizzed in a rage of wildfires, skipping from mouth to ear to the husband—Todd, who pounded down the narrow lane, barging through a flash of selfies, his blood ablaze. He hurtled through obstacles in his path, crashing into David’s feeble barrier and barreling past him. The steps rattled with the force of his hammering feet as he plunged to his destiny. David pitched into the void right behind him. A penetrating shriek resonated all around.

  An unmarked vehicle pulled up to the landing and DC Cooper jumped out. He ran down the steps and returned within a few minutes as emergency vehicles crammed into the narrow space. Another sound made Jackie turn to face Savannah Jacobs, Elsie’s sister, who had staggered to a halt, panting from a hard run to reach the waterfront. Jackie reached out too late and watched as her friend fell into a heap in the dirt. The last thing she heard was the officer shouting into his cell phone.

  “Where the hell is Inspector Eckhart? We have a homicide.”

  * * *

  The light faded quickly into a dusk that still held onto the heat as Eckhart drove down the service roads to Port Dalhousie. She parked on a side street, and she and Gibson headed down an alleyway covered with cobblestone. An oversized banana plant stood at the entrance of a seafood restaurant tucked in at the rear. The double oak doors were carved with whales. Large brass handles resembling mermaids carried the theme. In the foyer, several ficus plants in giant pots shielded the tables from the reservation desk. A girl dressed in white slacks and a bright tunic stamped with seahorses greeted them with a preppy smile. They followed her up a short flight of steps to a smaller room. Voices babbled happily and laughter filled the room. They relaxed on wooden chairs, knees touching under the wobbly table. A red and white checkerboard tablecloth placed diagonally hung almost to the floor. One lit candle in a glass jar and a single rose in a slim vase set the a
tmosphere.

  “What do you think?” Eckhart asked.

  “Charming.”

  “Best fish tacos ever.” She glimpsed up at him and smiled. “This side of the Rockies.”

  “Is that right?” He felt the warmth of her body across the table.

  The waiter came and went unnoticed, leaving behind a platter of food. Eckhart munched on a crisp taco; sauce dripped from the side of her mouth. She dabbed her lips with a napkin.

  “It’s good,” Gibson said as he bit into a nacho. His cell chirped again. He looked at the screen and shut it off.

  “Nothing important?” She put her phone on vibrate and stuck it in her purse. “Me neither.”

  Gibson smiled his quirky smile and took another bite.

  “What now? Can I entice you to my place for a nightcap?” Eckhart asked after the table was cleared and they were ready to leave.

  A burst of light lit up the skies over the lake. They both looked up as the colours trickled through the blackness.

  “I forgot it was a holiday,” Gibson said.

  “Well?” Her blue eyes sparkled.

  “It’s been a long day for me. I should get some sleep.” He hesitated about taking the first dip in the pool.

  “Okay.” She pushed her lips into an exaggerated pout.

  Gibson waited on the sidewalk for his cab and watched wistfully as Eckhart drove off. Within a half an hour, he was settled in his room on Lakeshore Road, resting into the comfy mattress, his pillow fluffed up and a big lump of guilt in his gut. He looked at his phone and saw that he had missed three calls and a couple of texts from Katherine. He thought about what he had done in the past and wondered if he was destined to repeat his behaviour. And yes, here he was in the Western Motel thinking about Eckhart, not his wife. Perspiration gathered on his brow when a picture of Katherine entered his mind. What am I doing? He brushed at his forehead to remove the moisture. Or possibly his shame? He twirled his wedding band around his finger several times before he took it off and placed it on the night table. The roar of cars on the busy street bombarded the motel sliding door, slipping through the small fissures, adding to the white noise from the air conditioning and lulled him to sleep.