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They piled into the truck and headed for the university. Gibson hit the freeway and then took the off-ramp at McKenzie. The traffic was light, and shortly they arrived. He dropped them at the main entrance so he could hunt for a parking spot. It was a big day for many graduating students and their families. He circled farther and farther from the building in search of a vacant space. He got lucky. He tapped his upper pocket to make sure the gift for Katherine was secure. He jumped out and trekked it back to the auditorium. The high-ceilinged room was abuzz with gaiety intermingled with elation. The front ten rows were reserved for the graduates. He spotted his wife sitting in the third row with her chin held high and her hands poised on her lap. Relaxed. Andrew was on the left side of the room and waved him over. Gibson made his way through the slow-moving crowd and plunked down on a folded chair. Heather had beat him there and was already seated. She had her legs crossed with fingers intertwined over one knee.
Faculty clad in academic regalia were settled in their assigned chairs on stage. The president climbed up the low steps and strode over to the podium. She adjusted the medallion on her blazer and stepped up to the microphone.
“Could everybody quiet down, and we’ll begin the ceremony?”
The buzz in the air fell as all attention shifted to the dais. In reverence of the r
itual observances, they quieted to coughing or clearing of the throat. The president’s speech filled with words of wisdom and intermingled with humour ended with a thunderous clapping. The robed graduates walked in procession up the steps and across the lengthy platform to be awarded their papers and congratulations. Gibson anticipated Katherine’s turn with euphoria. He held onto Heather’s hand, his own palms damp. As the Dean of Business placed the diploma in Katherine’s outstretched palm, some erroneous element swirled into his mind like ripples on the water that show where the danger lies. It wasn’t about Katherine this time but everything to do with murder.
Gibson released his hold on Heather and perched on the edge of his seat, impatient to rush out. Katherine turned. Her lit face was staggering. It pushed him back into his chair. He pulled out his cell and texted Scottie with brief directions. He crossed and uncrossed his legs nervously, looking at his phone too many times. He tried to focus his attention back to Katherine. She cranked her neck and peered over the crowd to find her man. Gibson did not let her down. He waved energetically to draw her in his direction. They locked eyes. Hers were twinkling. He struggled to suppress the anxiety in his. Another hour passed before hats flew in the air, some reaching the ceiling. Katherine approached them, her body quivering with pride. Even the news that he would have to leave didn’t hinder her delight. He left Andrew to accompany the ladies to the luncheon and dashed out to his truck. As he was jogging through the parking lot, his cell rang.
“Gibson.”
“You’re right,” Scottie said.
“Okay. I’ll go over to the college.” He bulldozed his way across town through heavy gridlock and congestion at every crossroad and traffic light. At the administrative office, he found a knowledgeable person amenable to searching through years of files. Among the vast data banks, Gibson found the verification that he had expected.
Meanwhile Scottie headed to Ottiva to sort through the files that she had been assigned. She hunched over her plate, biting into the sandwich absent-mindedly and taking sips of lukewarm coffee. She had scattered papers across the table. Now they were bundled together. She lined up the edges and got down to business. She picked up the first sheet from the heap and ran a finger along the border as she read each word. Laying it face down to create a pile beside the original one, she studied the next document. She pulled a pencil out of her pocket and circled a phrase at the bottom of the page. She started a new stack on the left and worked until she had gone through everything. The files on the right side were of no use to them. She picked up the other sheets and thought of the possibilities.
The noise of the door slamming shut startled her. Scottie watched the couple as they crossed the room and headed to a booth. She glanced at her watch and shifted back to her thoughts. Gibson should be along shortly so she spent the time reviewing a particular paper more thoroughly. She believed this played a crucial part in exposing the truth.
When her cell trilled, she checked the screen for a message. It was Gunner. He was en route with the requested order. The waitress inched closer with a hot steaming pot of coffee. She hoisted it in a gesture that suggested a refresh. Scottie offered her a lopsided smirk. The waitress topped up her mug, cleared away the plates and proceeded to the next table.
Scottie placed the document back on the table. She added cream and sugar to her mug and stirred mindlessly. A violent gust of wind swept up the street and rattled the door. Gibson blew into the room, hanging tightly to the knob. His hair whipped around his face. Crunchy leaves scurried over the ground and tumbled in after him. The restaurant patrons returned to their conversations when it banged shut. He gave a slight tip of his chin and strolled over to her. The table squeezed into the corner made getting in and out tricky. He pushed it around and plunked down heavily, causing the wooden chair to protest with a loud creak. The waitress was on the ball and hurried over with coffee. He ordered a sandwich, lamenting the luncheon at the university he was missing. Scottie passed him a document with the most notable item highlighted. He took a quick look and nodded in agreement. But being the thorough man that he was, he scanned through the whole lot himself—the brochures, the application forms and Robbie’s notes. His eyes flashed. The papers corroborated what he had discovered at Royal Roads College.
Gibson looked up. The café was full. There were businessmen in their grey suits, students with their cells and young women gossiping. The chatter and laughter rose and subsided in waves. He produced a blue folder the assistant had compiled for him. Scottie opened the binder and skimmed through the photocopies. The pages were stapled together efficiently and contained all the material needed to apply pressure on the suspect. It satisfied both of the detectives. They ordered more coffee, inclined their heads in partnership and completed their strategy.
“Now we have a motive. Compelling motivation but no proof he killed Robbie,” Gibson said. His eyes stuck on a picture behind Scottie’s head. An eagle swooping down on its prey. His cell chirped, and he answered sharply.
“Gibson.”
“What’s going on?” the chief barked down the line.
Gibson told him the sequence of developments that had brought them here.
“I told you to follow the money.”
Gibson muttered something about the right course of action. It wasn’t only about money. It was more. But he listened as Rex rambled on.
“It fits the facts. Opportunity and motive.”
“The DA is with us,” Gibson said.
“Get the proof,” he retorted in a huffy voice and cut off the call.
The veins on Gibson’s neck pulsated. He was disconnected from everything except for the pounding of his heart. Another blast of chilly air whistled into the cozy café when the door opened once again. Gunner hurried across the room, a sealed envelope in his hand—the search warrant.
“This is it.” Gibson twisted to Scottie.
Feeling renewed, they surged out of their chairs and hastened out. The wind was sharp and unpredictable, churning in all directions. Gibson and Scottie hopped into the F150 ready to rumble. Gunner walked away dejected. His lips twitched. The fire in his eyes doused. He wandered to his vehicle and regarded the detectives with wispy envy.
“Meet us there,” Gibson shouted out after the constable.
A modest grin pulled at the corner of Gunner’s mouth, and he flung his hand skyward in acknowledgement. He picked up the pace keen to be involved in the takedown. By the time he got to his vehicle, he was running.
“Gunner has turned into a likeable guy.” Gibson showed a self-satisfied smirk.
Chapter 31
Scottie tore up gravel as she pulled into the entrance of the maintenance yard. Gunner jerked to a halt behind her, almost tapping her back bumper.
Na stood near the closed doors, a breath of vapour escaping his lips, gently chattering teeth and a red nose hiding under his upturned collar. With each gust of wind, more heat whisked away from his half-frozen body. Undeterred by the discomfort, he remained at his post watching as Gibson and Scottie stepped out of the F150. Crime scene officer Raymond emerged from around the corner—lanky in his classic suit, a case in hand—and joined the pack.
Scottie flipped Na a salute. Gunner jabbed him on the shoulder showing a bond of friendship between them. Gibson nodded in approval. Na stood up taller and prouder, pleased that the DI had acknowledged his dependability. Scottie shoved open the door. They followed her as she marched up to the second floor. Only Na remained at the bottom of the stairs, combating the cold outside and scanning the courtyard for trouble.
Scottie rapped on the door frame with her knuckles. Jason peered over his laptop and locked eyes with the intruder—cop eyes, hard and unwavering.
“Can I help you?” He flicked a glance at the others crowding in the doorway.
Three large, menacing bodies squeezed through the opening and invaded his space.
“What’s going on?” Jason demanded. His hands bunched into fists.
No reply.
r /> Scottie and Raymond moved along the wall and waited for their part in the take down. Gunner stayed in the hallway to guard the door. He took a power stance, holding one wrist with the other palm and legs spread apart. It would be hard to get past him. Gibson closed his fingers around the door knob and pulled it shut. The latch bolt clicked with a snap as it hit home. The well-oiled team was in position.
Jason curled his lips and snorted an arrogant laugh. He settled back in his chair with an exaggerated casualness. He figured they were up to some shenanigans, nothing that worried him. It was a game he knew fully, and he was willing to play along.
Gibson parked himself on a well-worn seat, wiggling into the cushion. He reached into his upper pocket and flashed an envelope.
“We have a search warrant for your office,” he said with no preamble.
“What!” The blow knocked every wisp of air from Jason’s lungs along with the conceited look on his face. Trepidation replaced it. The sneer that was prominent moments before had vanished. He averted his eyes and rubbed his cheek, biding his time.
Gibson could almost hear the little wheels spinning. This had been an unexpected action on their part.
“You have no right to come in here waving ill-gotten warrants,” he said.
“Robbie knew.”
“Knew what?” His voice was petulant and sanguine.
“That you’re a phoney.” Gibson was sick of mincing words.
Gibson turned to his partner and flicked his wrist toward the notice boards. With one giant stride, Scottie reached the target. Her stony expression gave no clues to her intent. But Jason understood quite clearly what the next move would be. He sucked in his breath to ward off the inescapable.
Scottie grabbed the metal frame and loosened the hold-downs. She drew out the diploma in a slow, deliberate motion. She shoved it toward Jason.
“It’s a fake.” The stillness in the room was complete.
A squeal of casters rolling along the rutted linoleum broke the silence. Just as quickly, the hush returned as Jason checked his backward shuffle—the last of the smugness wiped from his face. His eyelids drooped and his lips quivered. Almost defeat.
