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“Okay. Let the uniforms finish up here. I have a better job for both of you.”
“Whatever you want,” Na said.
“The neighbourhood needs to be canvassed. You know the drill. I can count on you. Right?”
“You bet,” Gunner replied, happy to be bumped up to a less tedious task. Everybody knew knocking on doors was better than scouring for clues in the dirt. He flipped his hair once again, letting loose a cloud of debris.
“Check houses and apartments in a three-block radius. And the park,” Scottie said, giving a sly smile. Undoubtedly, the unspoken word really meant: rouse the homeless camp while you’re at it. The guys knew. She didn’t have to spell it out. The police ignored the men languishing there as long as there was no trouble. “Oh yeah. The victim didn’t have cash or a pocketbook. Maybe it was stolen. Check for that too.”
The air had cooled down substantially as clouds had floated in all morning, threatening showers. The workers had drifted to the garage to warm up and gossip. A drone of voices rose and fell with the wind. Gibson followed the buzz. Someone had pushed the steel doors a metre off the ground, making a narrow opening for entry. He stooped over at the waist and slipped inside, giving a suitable grunt as a twinge rapped on his spine. The tables were still set up from the evening before, leaving scant space for the crew. They had squeezed together into groups. Only one guy stood alone, leaning against an old Zamboni which took up most of the floor space. Assorted tools vital for maintaining the university’s rink located across the boulevard hung on hooks in the wall or were placed haphazardly on shelves. Gibson heard some snickering and joking interweave through the low hum—a characteristic behaviour he had noticed before, even with his staff. Of course, they were muttering about Robbie and, unfortunately, about the condom found at the crime scene. The whole city would know before long.
“Are there any more workers around?” Gibson asked.
“I’ll get them,” AJ Stone responded. Although he was tall and solidly built, his face was fleshy. Gibson could see the beginnings of a beer belly. Youthfulness had been lost ages ago as the long dark hair woven with grey receded halfway across his skull. His fingertips discoloured by cigarettes were a ghastly yellow-brown.
“What’s your name?”
“AJ. I’m the welder.”
“Okay, go.”
AJ ducked under the garage door and strolled over to the adjacent building.
“Which one of you discovered the body?” A hush fell over the men. They gawked at the guy by the Zamboni. Someone pointed an accusatory finger in his direction.
“Me,” David whispered.
Gibson raised his eyebrows in question.
“David Hunter.”
“You knew who the victim was right away.”
“Yeah.”
“How did you know it was Robbie?”
“His biking shorts,” David answered. “His ride is out there.”
Gibson pulled up on the garage door, but it wouldn’t budge. He gave it a little more effort. The door broke free. David leaped away as it slammed against the frame with a crash. The DI rubbed a spot near his belt at the back, thinking that was a stupid move. He stepped outside into the pale sunlight and headed toward the end of the building, David following reluctantly behind him. There were several bikes in a stand bolted to the wall.
“Which bike is his?”
“The Kona. The black and silver one.”
“Thanks.”
David scurried back to the safety of the garage. Gibson looked around the yard for his fingerprint technician. He spotted him just a spit away hunched over an open tailgate, busy organizing a case filled with brushes, powders, tape, lift cards and a magnifying glass—everything needed to catch a print. The other bag beside him would contain all the physical evidence already collected. He walked up to the technician and clapped him on the upper arm.
“Have you got time? Could you fingerprint Robbie’s bike?”
“No problem.” Snatching his tools, the technician walked over to the bike rack. He pulled out a can of black velvet powder and brushed the silver surface in a circular motion until impressions became visible. Then, he took a photo of the prints before lifting them with tape. He stuck each piece of tape onto a print card. On the black surfaces, he used the metallic silver powder. After finishing, the technician faced Gibson, “Anything else?”
“That’s great. Thanks.”
“I’ll get the results asap. I’ll call you.” The technician wandered back to his truck and finished packing his equipment into the trunk, all in their appointed cubbyholes.
Some time had passed so Gibson beelined his way back to the garage.
The crunching of gravel under his boots would alert the men to someone’s arrival. When he appeared in the doorway, their voices swelled from a murmur to a light chatter. More faces had appeared in the crowd. He figured these were the men from the other building.
Scottie was leaning against the wall, scribbling in her notebook. She motioned him with her chin and pointed to an exit at the rear. “Take a gander,” she said, and tucked her book into a jacket pocket.
The detectives let the door slip behind them, closing off the gawps and gossip. Scottie indicated some steps leading to the second floor. The wooden stairs were attached to the wall of the steel-clad building but nonetheless looked rickety. Some of the bolts looked loose. Without hesitation, Gibson climbed to the top landing, the stairs swaying with his weight. He pressed down on the long metal handle, and the door lurched open with a thud against the cladding. The spring mechanism that should have stopped the door from hitting the building dangled from a broken bracket. He stepped into a dimly lit hallway. A single bulb hung from its wire, barely giving any light to the narrow space. He walked to the end of the corridor and peered down the stairs to the crime scene. Then he swung around and headed back the way he had come.
“Okay. Two ways in. Two ways out.”
“Could be important,” Scottie said.
When they returned to the garage, a quietness had fallen. The only noise was an uneasy shuffling and the odd cough as if they were getting ready to watch a movie. Gibson remained in the doorway and surveyed the room. The detectives had worked together for some time now, so Scottie stood calmly and waited for her boss to make the next move.
