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“Not surprised.”
Scottie gave a gruff laugh. Gibson perceived there was further news.
“We went to Jeff’s house. Liam thought it could be the truck he had seen.”
“How confident was he?” Gibson asked.
“Pretty sure.” She blew out a sigh.
“Not good enough. The DA would howl at us.”
“Yeah, it’s lame. But maybe it all adds up. With the bat. The money…” She hesitated.
“Same with Nick. Something there but not. Probably nothing to do with us,” Gibson said.
There was no feedback from Scottie.
“Ah, shit. I forgot to ask him about Kim. Where’s my head these days?” Gibson said.
Scottie grunted. Was she morphing into her boss with all the body noises?
“I’m calling it a day. See you tomorrow.” All at once he felt exhausted.
Chapter 28
The sky was an unbroken sea of faded blue. Muted pinks and oranges piled on top of each other as the sun hit the horizon. Gibson was halfway up the island to Duncan. He had received an unexpected call about a missing girl. The Vancouver Island Integrated Major Crimes Unit’s jurisdiction extended as far north as Nanaimo. Any incident of kidnapping, lost children or other serious crime within these boundaries would reach down to Gibson and his squad for cooperation. They needed it now. He listened to the radio as he drove, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He shouldn’t be happy, but it was nice to leave his own case behind for a while. Scottie had several details to attend to so he took it upon himself to go. Well, the boss had suggested it. Traffic was substantial in the opposite direction with commuters heading into Victoria. His side of the highway was clear sailing. He hit two traffic lights on the way up. He pulled into the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP) Department on Sheldon Avenue by eight o’clock. The ever-changing sky had darkened to a robin’s egg blue.
The station was a modern low-slung building built of concrete with long, narrow windows every three metres inset deeply into the thick walls. The desk sergeant was missing from behind the reception counter. Just a couple of flags and a portrait stood guard. The sound of braying phones could be heard from somewhere within the building. Gibson followed the deafening chatter down a wide flight of stairs to a tight corridor, made even more constricted by the number of people milling around. The loudest noise was coming from a set of open double doors near the end. He made his way through the commotion and stood at the entrance of a large conference room. Inside, there was a flurry of activity.
A huge map pinned to a wall was pierced with different coloured tacks. A sharpie divided the map into sections with notations beside each area. There were fewer crossed out spaces than checked marked ones. Makeshift tables and old school-like desks were shoved into the centre with people sitting at most of the spots. Their faces were stern and their heads pressed into phones, trying to hear over the din. The voices were flat and subdued, barely perceptible. Everything echoed against the walls. Each call answered was a chance—a possible crack in the case.
At the centre of activity soaring above the assembly was Chief Superintendent Stu Kelly, authoritative and self-confident. He noticed Gibson’s arrival as soon as he stepped foot in the room. That awareness to detail had made scaling the corporate ladder a sure bet for Kelly. They were friends and had worked on several situations together, always amid a tragedy. The chief gave him a hearty handshake but lips compressed white told the truth of the situation. Without fuss Kelly provided him the grim details, and then pointed to one of the rickety desks for him to set up shop.
The desk was too small for Gibson so he squeezed in as far as he could and let his legs stretch out. The little girl missing would be way more uncomfortable than him. He spent most of the day on the phone taking tips from the public. He consulted with the men who scoured the woodlands, the meadows and the abandoned buildings. When the phones stopped ringing so insistently, he joined the search outside. He became one of the guys rushing in and out of the building, marking where he had been and where he needed to go next. The circle on the map grew wider as the day grew longer. Back at his appointed desk inbetween the hunt, he guzzled copious amounts of coffee to sustain his energy level. But as time crawled on for the lost minor and flew by for the rescuers, Gibson—exhausted, depleted—felt bogged down in the quagmire. He glanced around at the haggard expressions, the distressed eyes and the slumped bodies. But it was the continual nervous tapping of fingers and pencils resonating through the room that conveyed despair the most. Time—it was all about time. He knew it and the faces surrounding him proved they perceived it too. The initial period was crucial if they were to locate the child. He plowed on.
Finally someone brought in sandwiches causing a traffic jam at a table in the corridor. Hunger was rampant and they consumed trays of food within minutes—fear and anxiety creating a desire to replenish.
Ten hours passed by, then twelve. The sun had left an hour ago, the black desolation of night closing in. As the sky deepened, the harvest moon cast luminous rays of silver onto the dark grounds. Nobody wanted to give up.
Chief Kelly rubbed his forehead and sucked in some air. He stood up and called for everyone’s attention. Bleary eyes stared up at him.
“Okay, everyone. It’s late. We’re all tired.”
There was an audible sigh, but no one objected.
“We’ll leave a skeleton crew for the phones.” Kelly pointed to a few men who had joined the rescue party later in the day. “The rest of you, go. Get some sleep.”
Gibson followed the crowd out the door and headed to a motel. He didn’t want to talk to anybody—just Katherine. He kept it simple. He kept most of it to himself. But hearing her voice was enough.
* * *
Gibson was up early. The sun was just peeking over the hilltop. He squared his shoulders and put on a brave face. These cases were worse than murders. He wondered if Scottie was making any progress. She would only call if she actually had a killer in handcuffs. A child’s life was at stake here. He entered the hall and took his seat. The faces around him were grim—hope almost lost. He stayed at his station answering phones for hours—six, eight. All at once someone yelled and leaped upon a wooden bench. The man held up his fist for stillness. The throng paused what they were working on and turned toward the shout. Palms covered the mouthpieces of phones, pens stopped scribbling on notepads and chalk on blackboards froze mid-sentence. There was a collective intake of breath. Everyone stared at the individual who had barked out for attention. A phone was pressed to his ear. His hand remained paralyzed over his shoulder as he listened. A smile broke his sullen face. His lips curved up into a broad ear-to-ear grin. It was funny to see a grown man giggle. Slow drops of pent up moisture ran from his emotional and unblinking eyes. He hung up. A lungful of air rushed out his mouth in a whoosh.
“We found Gracie!” he roared, then collapsed in his chair.
It took a minute for the announcement to register.
“Hurrah!” A harmony of voices bellowed out from the enthusiastic gathering. Bountiful tears spilled down cheeks. People gripped their neighbour in strong hugs with soundless sobs. Thin laughter and silent prayers spread across the town. Frequently the outcome was unsuccessful. Today the sun had shone on their efforts. How the child had survived the cold night alone Gibson didn’t know. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know. It only mattered that she had.
He joined in the celebration, drained and emotional. All the members of the force and volunteers were equally diminished. Chief Kelly patted him on the back as the men and women crowded close. Someone cracked open the whiskey. He slipped out and made the long drive home.
* * *
Scottie had spent an arduous time at the maintenance shed, chatting, interviewing and working over particulars. Na ran second shotgun—zilch. There was no agreement on anybody leaving the meeting. No one saw AJ’s attacker. What homeless man? Didn’t see a thing? Round and round they spun seeking the weak link, but
something sealed the men’s lips. There was nothing to be discovered. Who were they protecting? Or were they all innocent?
After two days, Na was left exhausted by the experience. Scottie would never give up.
Chapter 29
It was a sunny day, cooler with a slight breeze from the Northeast. Gibson stood at the window when Scottie placed her grip on the door frame and snooped around the corner.
“Wasn’t sure you’d be here,” she said in response to her partner’s quizzical expression.
“It was dreadful. But they found the girl.” He ambled across the office and perched in his chair. He pulled out a lower drawer, planted his feet on top and leaned back into his seat. She gave him a progress report. His cell buzzed. He plucked up the receiver.
“Gibson.”
The chief was on the other end so he punched another button.
“Give me an update,” he bellowed.
“Scottie’s here too.” Letting the chief know he was on speaker phone. They gave him the latest.
“Keep at it.” Rex muttered. “They need you in Duncan again.”
Gibson frowned. How would they ever get their case solved? As soon as he put the phone in its cradle, a second call came in.
“Got something I think would interest you,” Gunner said. “The dealership is repossessing Jeff’s new work vehicle.”
Gunner had been diligent in his efforts to scout out more reasons to consider Jeff. They thanked him for his painstaking digging into the finances. The two detectives looked at each other. Scottie slapped the desk and crinkled her eyes. Finally something they could touch.
“Let’s get our reports caught up today before I leave.” He checked his watch. “Two hours and I’ll head out.”
“Sure. But I still haven’t caught up with the camp guys.”
