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“We have found no reason for someone to want Robbie dead.” She searched Gibson’s charcoal eyes waiting for the rebuttal. It came swiftly.
“Hate crime,” Gibson retorted, thrusting his chin upwards in self-righteousness. Then he lowered his chin almost as fast. He had pledged yesterday he would maintain an open mind. Oh well! But what did they know for certain? It was time to review what they knew. Robbie had biked to work. He had been struck on the back of his skull. With a bat. Probably kneeling down to tie a loose shoelace. He quarrelled with his spouse regularly. Everyone in the maintenance division was either a bully or was bullied. Two witnesses may or may not have seen something.
Not much of anything.
Scottie put both elbows on the desk and interlaced her hands. Gibson pitched his empty paper cup in the trash basket. He wiped the crumbs off the surface into his palm and tossed them in too. Then he thought of another possibility.
“What’s Nick up to? He was shaken up when he saw the condom. Was he involved with Robbie sexually?” He stopped and let this idea whirl around in his mind. “Without passing judgement, Nick’s wife is so, so.” He gestured his hand, side to side. What did he mean by that? A husband would cheat on his spouse because she was plain looking? With another guy? He was losing it.
Scottie shifted her weight in the chair, her backside numb from sitting still and uncomfortable with those kinds of thoughts.
“Let’s go for a ride,” Gibson said as he pushed himself to his feet.
They set off in Scottie’s vehicle, heading east to the Rockland area. The streets criss-crossed at random and changed names at district lines making navigation difficult. At last they drew up to their destination. It was a substantial two-storey mansion built in the 1900s, a fine example of the Arts and Crafts architectural style. Samuel Maclure, he concluded. A cross-gabled roof with flaring eaves, a gable dormer, exposed soffits and double-hung leaded-glass windows dominated the design. The detailing was amazing with decorative tooth-like dentils on the fascia boards and large stones circling the foundation. The cladding was a combination of cedar shingles and narrower lap siding.
The detectives admired the house before they walked up the broad stairs leading to the veranda. It was framed by great square posts. The solid red oak door had recessed panels with clear bevelled glass inserted at the top. Once upon a time, this dwelling had been a private family residence. Now three bells were lined up beside the glass. Alongside each was a handwritten name inserted into a decorative brass plate. The first bell was labelled ‘A. Fraser’, the individual they were seeking. As soon as Gibson pressed the buzzer, the door swung open. A young man rigged out in a leather jacket with a red wool scarf hanging loosely from his neck almost ran into him. He had tousled brown hair and a dark bushy moustache that drooped down the edges of his mouth. At the moment, it was turned down in a gruff scowl.
“Aaron Fraser?” Gibson asked.
“Yes. Who are you?” He took a step forward but neither of the detectives made any effort to move aside.
“We’re with the major crime unit. May we speak to you for a moment?”
They both flashed their badges.
“I was just heading back to work,” Aaron said. He glanced at his watch and pursed his mouth disapprovingly. “What is this about?”
“Do you know Robbie Spencer?”
“Yes. Robbie is a good friend.” Aaron froze. “Has something happened?”
“Robbie was murdered.”
He bent over as if he had taken a bullet in the gut.
“Oh my god.” He covered his mouth with both hands and closed his eyes. “I saw him last week.” He paused and sucked in some air. “I can’t believe this.”
Setting a hand on Aaron’s arm, Gibson guided him inside. The entrance opened directly into a room as beautiful as the exterior. A massive fireplace with an extensive oak timber on top extended out two feet and overshadowed the entire space. The gilded mirror above it looked as if it had hung in a castle from the last century. The mantel was loaded with photos in metal frames. A jeweled chandelier left behind from glorious days hung to the side, misplaced by the partitioning of the house. The furnishings were masculine, simple and elegant.
Aaron flopped heavily into an armchair by the door. His head fell against the velvet brocade. The golden threads of the rich woven fabric picked up the light above his head. Gibson chose a seat across from him and rested his palms on his thighs. Scottie stood close to the hearth and scrutinized the faces in the snapshots.
“Who? Why?” He lifted his head and looked over to Gibson. His brown eyes had welled up with tears. He coughed to clear his throat and hold off his despair.
Gibson told him what had happened at the yard, trying to keep out the gory details. The glow on Aaron’s cheeks faded to an ashen hue. He clamped his hands into a death grip and held them on his lap. When Gibson suggested that Robbie was gay, he protested.
“No way!” Aaron sprung forward, but a look of doubt had washed over his features. He rested back, his hands clasped in prayer now and pressed to his mouth. “Maybe.”
Gibson believed the pain on Aaron’s face was real and gave him time to centre himself. After a moment he continued and told him that bullying seemed to be prominent at Robbie’s workplace. Aaron released a heavy sigh and let all his anger out in a shaking, rage-filled voice.
“No kidding. They pestered him relentlessly. If it wasn’t the bike shorts, it was his bone structure or his high-pitched voice. They clutched at anything to bring the guy down. He’s my best friend.” He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “The bastards.”
“We don’t know who did this yet or the reason,” Scottie said. She threw an annoying sideways glance to Gibson. “Have you noticed any changes with Robbie?”
Gibson could see Aaron working something out in his mind, so he kept quiet.
“There is something that’s been bothering me. Not sure if it’s relevant though.” He blew out some air. “He’s been spending a lot of money. Fixing up his car. Trips. Stuff like that.” He paused. “Although he was getting an inheritance from his dad who died recently. Maybe he already got it so I’m blowing smoke here. It’s probably nothing.”
“Every bit of information helps.” Gibson stood
up to leave. “Sorry for your loss. Take care.” He looked back before he closed the door. Aaron’s face seemed to slacken as he sunk into his grief. There was a rawness to the tears that rolled down his cheek.
They walked down the sidewalk to the truck.
“Money could be an issue here. Aaron noticed a change in his habits,” Scottie said.
“Yeah.”
“Gunner and Na are already checking finances. Should we see what they’ve found out so far? We should tell them what we just heard about the excess spending.”
“Sure.” Gibson leaned on the roof of the vehicle and nodded in agreement. Could be something there. Or not.
* * *
Getting from Rockland through downtown to Dallas Road took Scottie twenty minutes. Gibson sat in the passenger seat with his legs thrust out. He liked being chauffeured around town as much as she enjoyed driving. As they rounded the corner to the office, sunlight flowed through the windshield and struck his face. How long this dry spell would last was anybody’s guess, Gibson thought, as he reveled in the caress of the sun. November on the coast usually comprised of heavy rains and strong winds. It was coming. Just enjoy the reprieve from the imminent fall storms.
They parked on the street and entered the building through the hefty glass doors. He wasn’t sure if they were bulletproof, but they were thick and mirrored and kept stray eyes from snooping. This time the receptionist was on duty. She smiled pleasantly, her bright white teeth on full display. Although she recognized them by sight, it was protocol to log the comings and goings of all staff during office hours. On the off hours, the place was locked up tight with only a few having access to the electronic keypad.
They crossed the marble floors to the staircase, heels clomping on the spotless surface. Not a lot of civilian traffic got much farther than here. Up the stairs their footfalls echoed even louder. Gibson peered into the front offices as they passed by. Gunner was nowhere in sight. Probably in the can. Na was leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his desk and cell phone pinned to his ear. He held up one finger to let them know he was almost finished. They sat down to wait it out. Gunner bounced into the room.
