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Gibson was expecting handcuffs to be holding Jason’s hands together, but he had them clasped in his lap unfettered. His knuckles were white and his face paled. His eyes darted around the room as if each thought he had was more worrying than the last. The bravado was gone. Gibson planned to use this crack of apprehension to his advantage.
Jason’s lawyer had arrived earlier to speak with him. Now Glen remained quietly beside his client with a notebook on the scarred furniture, his finger tracing someone’s name carved in the wood. He flicked a lock of hair off his forehead. The stern look on his face looked cemented on.
Gibson placed a document on the table. He spun the paper around so the writing faced Jason and his lawyer. He shoved it along the surface. Jason kept his hands—turning to fists—in his lap. Glen reached for the sheet, but Jason slammed his palm on top.
“Never mind. It’s over,” Jason shouted. His voice was grating like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“This lab report proves the blood on your jacket is Robbie’s,” Gibson said. “And hair too.” He crinkled his nose at the whiff of something unpleasant.
“Don’t say anything,” Glen advised. He applied a grip on his client’s arm. Jason pushed it aside with a jerk.
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” Jason said. He looked at the grey walls.
The lawyer shrugged and slumped in his seat.
“I arrived early to confront Robbie about forcing money from me. He shoved me against the wall and jammed his elbow into my throat. I could hardly breath. He was laughing. I got free and grabbed the bat. It was self-defence—”
“Robbie’s jacket!”
“What?”
Gibson’s charcoal irises went dark and smoky. His thoughts drifted to reasonable murder—if there was such a thing, he would have killed Katherine’s ex for all the damage he had done. He rubbed the crook in his nose—not caused by a bar brawl but in a fight with Arthur—and knew he could have stepped over that invisible line just as Jason had. But he didn’t.
“You put on Robbie’s jacket before he got there.”
“Premeditation,” Scottie said.
“Don’t say another thing.”
Jason jumped up and knocked over the frail metal chair. It clanged on the cement floor.
Chapter 33
The drive back to VIIMCU was short. Even the late-night shoppers had finished long ago. Gibson stared out the passenger window, his thoughts lost in the purr of the tires. The moon cast a golden sheen over the landscape. He watched it disappear behind a nebulous mist. In the distance, the mass of clouds had vanished. The sky had darkened from sapphire blue to midnight black. His cell chirped.
“Gibson.”
“Good job,” Rex thundered down the line.
“Thanks.”
Rex rambled on with Gibson barely listening.
A buzz in his ear startled him. The chief had hung up.
Scottie stopped in the ‘no parking’ zone in front of their building. They let themselves in with an electronic key and dashed up the stairs—elation giving them one last spurt of push. Gibson called the DA, but he didn’t get an answer so he left a message. They wrote up the final report hunched over the desk in Gibson’s office. The air was thick with the smell of burnt coffee from a machine in the far corner. One that was rarely used except for these nights. The lights from the docks blazed through the large window casting long shadows on the floor. A blues radio station played in the background and stopped them from falling asleep. The ceiling lights flickered as if they were tired as well. Soft scurrying of tiny feet resonated down the empty corridor. Scottie stifled a yawn.
“Even the mice are rushing home.” Her laughter turned into an episode of hiccups, halting her speech as she tried to recover.
“Let’s go.”
Back out on the street, the detectives did a fist tap. Scottie drove away, tooting her horn as she took off. Gibson hopped into his truck and made a beeline for Brentwood Bay. As he cruised down the highway, he opened his window. A breeze blew off the ocean and over the peninsula. He inhaled the pure air.
Gibson parked in the driveway and glanced around as he often did when he got home. A minute grin played over his worn features. He could taste the ocean salt on his lips. He let out a single sob and wiped his face with the back of his hand before anybody could notice. Was the salt from the sea or from the tears hiding behind his charcoal eyes? Gibson released a weak chuckle and bounded up the stairs—he thought he had spent all his energy.
The door swung open to a burst of warmth and the aroma of baked bread. He followed his snout down the hallway to the spices and a murmur of voices. Katherine’s velvety contralto stood out among them. When he walked into the kitchen, two friends were seated at the table. His wife hovered by the stove stirring a pot.
“Rosemary?” he asked, inhaling deeply, his mouth watering.
“Yes. Heather and I are collaborating on some recipes. With my greenhouse herbs.”
Katherine brushed by him—fingers grazed, a fleeting glance—and swept over to the counter. A generous slice of bread with jam and a hot pour of coffee was placed at the head of the table. Gibson plunked down and felt his muscles unwind instantly. He held the present company responsible.
“Delicious.” Andrew’s empty plate was witness to his remark.
Three eager faces waited for the story.
Gibson took a few swallows and nibbled slowly to savour the herbal flavour. Andrew jabbed him in the ribs to prod him along. Gibson gave a discreet cough. His eyes sparkled. He didn’t speak. Not even a glance over.
They stared harder.
“There were many motives but nothing fit,” Gibson said. “When Katherine reached for her diploma it twigged.” He pointed to the side of his temple. “There it was. The link I was looking for. Robbie and Jason.”
As he explained the events in detail, his wife looked intently into his bleary-eyed face. She wondered if her problems had encroached upon her husband. Gibson recognized her worries and gave an imperceptible signal. She smiled. It had been his past misgivings that were distracting, not Katherine’s.
“All the innuendos and gossip about Robbie being gay weren’t true. That sent us running in circles trying to grab our tails. And Nick with the secret he was keeping from his wife and his buddy, Tim. Oh boy. We thought Nick was guilty, but he was just hiding from himself. There was no affair with Robbie, but…”
Gibson caught his breath and stole a glance toward Andrew.
“The fight David heard was about seniority.” He stopped. “Did I leave anything out?”
“I’m glad you guys know about my gay inclination,” Andrew said.
Heather let out a low exclamation. Her hair swooshed as she swung her head to peer at Andrew. Finally, she understood why the attempts to attract him had failed.
“Would you like a rose garden? A fresh dawn for your new life.” Gibson grabbed his wife’s hand and squeezed hard. Katherine was a soul that could soar. Her gold locket twinkled in the light.
He hoped the panic attacks would cease. If not wholly, at least a road to happiness could be found. His eyelids flickered—with good expectations or with drowsiness? Gibson knew tomorrow would be a brilliant day for a kayak adventure.
