Murder At Lake Ontario Page 12

  Gibson glanced down and thought about his family. A clamor in the corridor broke the spell. A door slammed and the clomping of boots on the hard floors echoed into the office. He didn’t raise his head at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  Cooper rolled up to the doorway. “Hey. Coffee anybody?” He stopped. “Oops. Didn’t realize you had someone here.” He withdrew into the corridor.

  “It’s okay. No coffee for me,” Gibson shouted after him. He had already had his fill for the day and didn’t need another jolt to his frazzled nerves. He stared at the ladies. “Yes, no?”

  Eckhart brandished her hand in a big no.

  “No.” Jackie jumped out of her chair. “Are we done?”

  “Yes. Thanks for your help. Are you okay?” His smoky eyes presented the unease he felt.

  “I’m fine. I hope you get the killer. Elsie didn’t deserve...”

  Jackie struggled to stem the downhill plunge. The sadness robbed her of the person she had formerly been. She chewed her lip, keeping in the deluge of tears that had been menacing since she landed in town. Gibson moved from behind the desk and placed his arm around her shoulders. He escorted her across the central foyer and released the door. A sultry breeze swirled in.

  “Another heatwave is growing.”

  “I think you’re right.” Some colour flooded into her honey brown complexion.

  “Take care,” Gibson said.

  Jackie climbed into the Lincoln and fired up the big V8. She hustled down the lane like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn’t for her. Her eyes welled up. No one to witness her pain streaming down her cheeks now.

  Eckhart swung back to the window, her gaze concentrated on the maples again. Gibson entered, the prance lost in his stride. He perched in the lone chair Jackie had occupied.

  “We need to talk to David. He had a front-row seat of everyone coming and going from the store. Although I’m not sure where this is going yet.” Gibson rang the number that Jackie had given him. He shook his head and left a message.

  “Why don’t people answer their cell phones?” Eckhart asked.

  “There’s something, however,” Gibson mused.

  “What?”

  “So much death on Lawsons Lane.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s just an idea. We should check it out.” His gaze darkened, and he looked out the window. They remained in silence for a few minutes. Gibson stood up and went to the doorway. He called out, “Cooper. Get in here.”

  The DC scooted down the corridor almost knocking Gibson flat. “Oops.”

  Gibson clapped him on the upper arm and winked. “I have a project for you.”

  Cooper’s face lit up.

  “Jones can lend a hand.”

  “Okay.” Cooper waited.

  “Katie Underwood. The child that drowned at the beach on Lawsons Lane—”

  “Yeah,” Cooper interrupted.

  Gibson tightened his eyes. “Hold on. Could you locate her file? You may have to dig around. It was years ago.”

  “How does any of that tally into this?” Eckhart asked, her pouting lips pink and full.

  “Not really sure. Probably doesn’t. But it bothers me when more than one suspicious death happens on a street. Especially when they all know each other.”

  “I guess,” Eckhart said.

  Cooper bounced on his feet, swinging from side to side as if he was expecting a gun to signal the launch of a marathon. He didn’t barge in again, but compressed his lips together.

  “Okay, Cooper. Maybe the superintendent can confirm where the files are. Who knows if they are digital or paper?” Gibson stopped. “Come to think about it. There was another death. Two actually.”

  “What are you talking about?” Eckhart exclaimed.

  “Mr. Tatlow. His wife and child died? Who knows? Are the deaths connected?”

  “That’s stretching it, don’t you think?” she asked, giving him a funny look.

  “Maybe.” Gibson shrugged and turned to Cooper. “Any questions?”

  “No.” The DC sprung off the balls of his feet and sprinted to his partner’s office. His voice reverberated around the building.

  “What a case,” Eckhart said.

  “If nothing else, it will be good practice for them,” Gibson replied and glanced out the window.

  Chapter 17

  The sun had barely risen and was already chasing the coolness of the night away. Gibson walked down the street with his head bowed, feeling thwarted. A trill of a lone bird made him glance upward. The feathered lover sat on the rim of a hanging basket calling for its mate. Maybe there was a nest concealed in the flowers. The blossoms reminded him of his home on the island. Spring in Victoria brought the robins, the rufous hummingbirds and 1,600 flower baskets suspended from the lampposts. Hence the city’s nickname—City of Gardens. He dragged his heels on a pavement that would be scorched by noon. The café was packed this morning, a sign of a hectic weekend ahead. He grabbed a coffee and moved outside to wait for his ride. The Expedition crept stealthily around the corner and bolted the curb. He hopped into the truck and slumped into the seat. Eckhart glimpsed over, humming faintly and tapping the steering wheel.

  “Cooper called. He has some info for us.”

  “Already.”

  “He’s a keeper.” Her voice was bubbly.

  It was a twelve-minute drive to the office. Gibson watched the endless expanse of flatness. His hometown comprised of mountains, infinite ocean and forest. He gazed into the distance with a vague longing. The truck jerked to a halt.

  “Sorry.” Her eyes crinkled, deepening the creases in the corners.

  The large steel door lurched open as they approached the station. Cooper’s towering figure was straight and proud, holding up a binder for them to see. A pleasant glow flushed his cheeks. Then his hand dropped to his side along with his grin, thinking maybe he had jumped the gun.

  “I found the info, but I’m not sure it’ll help,” Cooper said as his posture sagged.

  “Let’s see.” Gibson reached out for the folder.

  They strode inside, barring the surging heat out.

  A girl bounded into the foyer from the lunchroom, headphones hooked over her ears and a ponytail swaying with her gait. Her complexion was flawless, like many young women who stayed out of the sun. She wore Bermuda shorts with a tight T-shirt and red running shoes that squealed on the tile when she stopped abruptly.

  “Oh, hello. I’m Daisy. The receptionist.”

  She grinned and scrutinized Gibson’s lean frame, his un-bleached sandy hair, a mere hint of grey, and smoky eyes.

  “Gibson. Pleased to meet you.”

  The phone sounded from somewhere above. Daisy pressed a button on her headset with neatly trimmed nails and returned to her post at the receptionist counter. “Niagara Task Force.”

  Gibson looked around the entrance hall for Cooper, but he had disappeared. Eckhart motioned to the offices at the end of the corridor. The DC was behind his desk, waving them in. They sat in straight-backed chairs with cushioned seats. Gibson placed the folder on the top and flipped it open. Eckhart leaned in to steal a peek. He nudged it over so they could both read. It didn’t take long. There were only six pages.

  “This is the entire inquiry?” Gibson was hoping he didn’t sound condescending.

  “I’m afraid so.” Cooper coughed to clear his throat. “The detectives on the Katie Underwood case never suspected foul play. It was declared an accidental drowning right from the start.”

  He drummed his palm on the file.

  “The girls were on the beach and left their bikes on the landing as they usually did. Savannah and Jackie left for lunch. Katie stayed to inspect a frog or something. That’s not definite. They were just scared kids. Not really sure what was going on, I suspect. Anyway, her mom got concerned when Katie didn’t appear by one o’clock, more than an hour past lunchtime. Mrs. Underwood phoned over to the store, but her daughter wasn’t there. Then she went hunting down th
e street for Katie and found her bike at the top of the stairs. She figured Katie was on the beach and had headed down to the shore. But there was no trace of her anywhere. After a few hours, Mrs. Underwood realized Katie was gone.”

  Cooper hesitated and blew out air. He had pretty well recited the article verbatim.

  “That’s when she called the police. The search and rescue team dragged the bay for her body, but there are undertows here and there. In the end, the detectives figured she just went out too far and got caught in an undertow.” Cooper trailed his finger down the final sheet. “There’s a description of her garments. Blue shorts, white and blue striped top, and sandals.”

  “Did you ring the lead detective?” Gibson tapped the folder.

  “Harry something. I forget. Anyway, he died a few years ago. Heart attack,” Cooper answered.

  “Nothing else?”

  Cooper shook his head.

  “That’s okay. Elimination is as important as finding things. Right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “What about Mr. Tatlow? Did you find anything there?”

  “No. There was never an investigation, but I went to the hospital and rifled through a ton of paperwork. I didn’t have a date to start with. But there aren’t that many infant deaths, so I found the file fairly quickly. His wife died in childbirth. No funny business.”

  “Well, it was a long shot. I’m just looking for people connections.” Gibson wasn’t sure how any of it would have fitted in, but he had been surprised before. He looked around the office. “I see you guys are prepared to rock and roll now. Great set up.”

  “Yes. We are. Because of you,” Eckhart said, her voice warm with appreciation. She smiled at Gibson.

  “No problem. I—” His phone chirped. He checked the screen and held up a finger. Oh good. “Hi, David. I’m with Inspector Eckhart and DC Cooper. I’m putting you on speaker.” Gibson fumbled with the buttons. A buzz sounded, and they could hear David breathing down the line. Gibson arranged the cell on the desk and hunched forward.

  “Okay. Thanks for calling,” Gibson said. “On the afternoon of the fireworks, I understand you and Jackie stopped at Jacobs Landing.”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  “And you sat in the car while Jackie went inside.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Were you watching who was coming and going?”

  “Sure, I guess I was. But I’m not from around here so I didn’t really know anyone,” David answered.

  “Okay. Tell me what you can,” Gibson said.

  “The first person I saw was this old man. He had the creepiest eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it. They were pure black and freaky looking. He went in the store right after Jackie did. Later I found out that was Mr. Tatlow. Apparently, he’s well known around here, lives by the beach. Then, after a few minutes, an old woman in a straw hat left the store and headed down the lane. Mr. Tatlow came out of the store right behind her and went down the lane as well. There were a few other people that I can’t remember much about. But then a nice turquoise pickup pulled into the parking lot. Of course, I know now that was Anatoe. Then Jackie returned and we left.”

  “That’s it? A few more details would be helpful,” Gibson said.

  “What? Did you want me to write up a report or something? Nobody rushed out with a bloody knife,” David yelled, emitting a scornful sound.

  No one spoke.

  “Oh, that was lousy of me. I don’t know why I said that. But how many times can I go through this?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re all feeling tense,” Gibson answered. He kept forgetting that David’s boss had been murdered last year. Give him a break. “If you think of anything else. No matter how trivial it seems, call me.”

  “Sure. Sorry. I really am.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  David hung up without retorting. The speakerphone droned for a time before he punched a button and silence gripped the room.

  “Let’s have lunch.”

  “You guys did well,” Gibson said and extended the DC a fist pump.

  “Thanks.” Cooper collapsed into the leather seat, intertwining his fingers behind his neck and gazed at the ceiling with a plucky grin smeared around his features.

  “I’m taking you to the Skyline,” Eckhart announced. When they walked out of the office, Daisy was on the phone so they chopped her a salute.

  A sweltering heat pushed in when Gibson swung the door open. “Whoa. It’s hardly past noon.”

  They plunged into the blaze of brightness. The Iris skies had dulled to a paler rendering of blue. Even the birds were subdued. They headed out of town. Gibson relaxed, unfolding his legs in front, always ready to stretch out his tall frame. Eckhart raised the volume of the radio to one notch below annoying. The roads spread in all angles, from the escarpment to the lake and overflowing into the next town. The suburban sprawl bumped into the vineyards that had sprung up over the last decade. Once they struck the Queen Elizabeth Highway, it was easy sailing to Niagara Falls. Eckhart meandered through the boulevards when they hit town, but parked in a no-parking zone nonetheless, her normal MO. They hastened to the relative cool of the glass and steel lobby and jetted to the top of the tower in a box of white marble walls and a grey tile floor. As Gibson stepped out of the elevator, he collided into the last person he expected to see—Arthur Brockelman. He stroked his crooked snout, recalling in that instant the tussle with Katherine’s ex-husband.

  The bloke stared hard at him, his eyes taking on a lethal edge. His hands bunched into fists at his side, ready for a tumble. After only a moment’s pause, he snarled, “Gibson.”

  “Brockelman.” Gibson pressed his lips together. They remained in limbo, Eckhart wavering in the background.

  Arthur’s young companion twiddled her hair in an absent-minded fashion. A slight smile trembled on her mouth, not sure whether this was a friendly encounter or not. Arthur caught her arm, compressing it as if he was making lemonade. With a little manhandling, he navigated her over the elevator’s threshold. Before the doors glided shut, he gave Gibson the finger.

  “What the hell,” Eckhart cried out.

  “Don’t fret about it. It’s not important,” Gibson answered even as his insides churned. Arthur’s emotional abuse toward Katherine had been cruel and unforgiving. He had cut her off from her friends and family. The bullying had continued unabated until she miscarried. Gibson clutched his fists, wishing he had taken another swing at the bastard.

  * * *

  They were seated by a young hostess in a cap sleeve blouse and brightly coloured frilly skirt. Tinted windows filtered the sun’s intensity, giving the space a warm glow. The panorama view unfolded in high definition. The movement of the revolving dining room was imperceptible. They relaxed in billowy cushions. Gibson glanced two hundred metres below to tiny people snapping selfies and minuscule vehicles roving the streets. He imagined the prime attraction was the renowned Canadian Horseshoe Falls, which spilled tons of water from lake to lake. He never got sick of seeing the fast-flowing river charge past the rocky peak and topple onto the boulders below. Like a train barrelling through the prairie lowlands, there was no speed limit. The mist created by the force sprayed loftier than the steep dive of the water had. Although Gibson couldn’t hear the roar from the top of the tower, he knew it was deafening.

  Contentment—a feeling of connection to life—overwhelmed him. Something he had misplaced over the last few months. He rolled his neck back and forth and savoured the moment. Bodies of water always brought him peace.

  They ordered lunch from an equally young waitress with the same cap sleeve blouse and a vividly coloured skirt. Eckhart twirled her glass of water making the ice cubes clink, breaking the stillness.

  “So, what do you think?” Gibson asked as he watched the falls tumble on a never-ending journey.

  “About what?” She inclined her head toward her shoulder and peeked sideways.

  Gibson discounted her blatantly co
quettish manner.

  “Elsie.” He gazed at the falls when it rotated back into view. “Did the gossiping get her killed in some way? Did she confront someone weeks before? Maybe months ago.”

  “And what? The killer waited?” Eckhart asked.

  “Perhaps. For the perfect stage.”

  “What could she have said that would make a person go to such extremes?” Eckhart waggled her head in incredulity.

  “Maybe she found out someone’s nasty secret. Or heaven forbid.” The notion smacked him in the face. “Was she blackmailing someone?”

  “For what?”

  Gibson’s weak smile stretched his lip down over his teeth. He was considering the madness of the human race—greed, wealth, power.

  “So, whose ring is it?” Eckhart demanded. “Was that a fluke? Was it lost some other time?”

  “I’m not sure. We may never break the case. Be prepared for that. You appreciate how it is. We have one print, a partial at that. No match. No straight path to follow.”

  “I know. Shit. My first case of the Task Force,” Eckhart replied. She tugged at the barrette holding her hair into a bun. Her long locks gushed over her shoulders in a free fall. As the view rotated to the west, the late afternoon light slanted through the window and advanced across the tables. It lit her amber hair into a sheaf of gold.

  “It happens.” Gibson reached over and laid his palm over hers to reassure. No electricity. No jolt. Eckhart jerked her hand back and broke her gaze. A sour and vile taste slipped into Gibson’s mouth. He craved to spew the shame away, but realized he had to accept it. He lowered his head and caressed his temple. All he sought was to hear Katherine’s gentle voice, her innocence. Was he as rotten as Arthur was? He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He thought about the brunette in the pub the other day—Cecilia Sinclair. It was his little fling with her that had ended his first marriage. He had debated, at the time, whether to confess to his wife. Women say they want to know, and then when you tell them they go berserk. But he didn’t get a chance to tell her because Cecilia had phoned the house. She had something to tell him. After all these years, he knew what it was. Cecilia had been pregnant with his child. Just like his good buddy had told him. Should he tell Katherine what he had done here? Would she give him a second chance or throw him out of the house? Yeah, he was a rogue.