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David perched himself on the edge of his seat and gave a jerky shake of his head. He glanced around the office before locking his eyes on the detective.
“You can go.”
David bounced out of the chair and left the room.
Gibson thought David would be the best person to get the real story about Robbie, but he seemed to be reluctant. He wasn’t sure why. They had been friends. He leaned further back into his chair, closed his eyes and reflected on something. Had Tim just threatened David? About what?
Scottie heard soft footfalls on the stairs. David hesitated on the bottom step and then poked his head through the doorway. He glanced around the garage. Tim’s bug eyes stared him down. The pulse pounding in David’s temples was almost visible. He fled.
“Grasser,” Tim shouted.
“You’re next, Mr Sanderson,” Scottie said.
Tim took his time leaving, an arrogant swagger as he crossed the room. He gave a big thumbs up to AJ, grabbed the door frame and swung himself out. He vaulted up the steps, hitting each tread purposely with all his weight. The stairs vibrated noisily against the steel wall. A bang of the door sent another loud reverberation down the siding. It took a while for the echoing to fade. Gibson opened his eyes, distracted by the racket. It had sounded as if the building was coming down around him. Tim appeared in the doorway, chin held high and hands on hips. He stood unabashedly at the disturbance he had caused.
“Have a seat.”
Tim pushed the chair along the tile floor until it was at an angle to the detective. He fell into it, slumped down and sprawled his legs out wide in front of him.
“Just trying to get comfortable.”
Gibson stood up and closed the door. He sat back down in his chair and let into Tim immediately.
“What was the fight about?”
“What! Who told you about that?”
Gibson had heard the ear-splitting boom when Tim had pushed Robbie into the wall. Afterward Tim had glared at his opponent with ill intent in his expression and probably his soul.
Gibson didn’t reply but watched Tim fume about a possible rat in the group.
“Yeah sure. David’s the snitch. That asshole.”
“Doesn’t matter who. I want to know why.”
Tim had passed his thirties a while ago, and yet he still acted the fool. He had ears that stuck out from his undisciplined hair. His sizable forehead was glistening with sweat along his receding hairline. Long blonde lashes flirted with his cornflower-blue eyes. Wrinkles at the corner of his mouth pointed to large pale lips. His complexion darkened from long hours in the sun was pockmarked from teenage acne. Altogether a plain face.
“I don’t know. Guess we don’t see eye-to-eye. Robbie’s such a dweeb.” He lowered his chin, biting his nails. “I have nothing to do with that. Really. It wasn’t me.”
“So the bat’s not yours?”
“No!” he shouted. “Don’t pin this on me.” He jumped out of his seat.
“Sit down. We’re not finished,” Gibson said firmly.
There was a knock on the door. It opened a crack, and Scottie peeked in. She held up a bag of food in one hand and a coffee in the other. Gibson smiled and waved her forward.
“Thanks.”
She placed the package on the desk, gave Tim a smirk and left. Gibson pulled out a hefty-sized sandwich and took a bite. It tasted good. Food always made him feel better. He looked up at Tim and continued munching.
“Tell me about this morning then. What time did you leave for work? Anybody see you?”
“I came straight from home. Sometimes I stop for a coffee, but I didn’t today. Got here right after David.” He settled back into the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Did the condom mean anything to you?”
“Yeah. Robbie’s gay.”
“Okay. Did everyone know that?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. He acted gay.” There was a big grin hiding behind his words. It showed itself by the twitch at the side of his mouth.
Gibson twirled a pen in his fingers frustrated with the answers he was getting.
“Who else disliked Robbie besides you?”
Gibson smiled in that tense way he did just before he was about to vent. The door swung open interrupting Tim’s response. A large paunchy man leaned against the frame. His plump face was pasty with blotches of red up to his balding head.
“Is there a problem?” Gibson asked sharply.
“Yeah, I want this harassment of my men to stop.” He tugged at his belt to pull his sloppy pants up higher.
“Okay. You can go, Tim. Come in and have a seat. Tony, right?” He had heard a description of the supervisor. They were right on the money.
Tim launched out of the chair and pushed past Tony to make his escape. There was another slamming of a door. The rumble of the stairs thundered against the building again.
“Tony Sarcone. I have nothing to tell you. My guys were in a safety meeting. We’re not involved.” He remained in the same spot, his breathing sporadic.
“Not all. David found Robbie,” Gibson snapped back.
“Well, my building crew was in the meeting. It was one of those homeless guys. The nutcases.” He brandished a hand toward the park. “Nothing to do with us. Period.” He punched his finger in the air repeatedly, his voice was shaking.
“We’ll talk more about this later.”
Tony marched out without another word.
Gibson picked up his coffee and looked out the window again. It was pouring now, hiding the university buildings across the grounds. Did everyone have something to hide here? His brain hurt.
Chapter 9
Andrew was a Professor of Philosophy at the University of Victoria—UVic. to the locals. Philosophy comes from Greek roots, Philo means ‘love,’ and Sophos means ‘wisdom.’ A philosopher seeks the meaning of life and the universe. How and why people do things. It is a reflection on everything—to think big thoughts. In reality, he lectured in the mornings and spent afternoons reading and writing. His blog, ‘Shattered People,’ was a hit with Generation Z.
His office was on the top floor of a building overlooking the sports field. A short corridor led to an elegant waiting room with plush carpeting and soft spot lighting
. There was a plethora of colourful animal and bird prints hanging on the walls, showcased by Renaissance nickel art lamps. Today a young lady was busy typing in front of a thin computer monitor. She was dressed in a floppy white knit sweater with cowl neck and black jeans. A carved African motif door with large polished handles and a sign that read ‘Welcome’ was on her right.
Inside his office, Andrew sat behind the mahogany desk with the overhead lights reflecting off the gleaming surface. Not a paper, pen or file was in sight. The laptop at the side had its lid closed. He leaned back in his ergonomic styled black leather chair and swivelled to look out the window. The sun had been shining earlier, but now the clouds hurried down the Strait of Juan de Fuca to blanket the city with gloom. A brass clock chimed a melodious sound announcing ‘time to go.’ Andrew turned back toward the room. The timepiece had a special spot on a shelf beside a photo of his two sisters. The bookcase took up a whole wall and extended from floor to ceiling with hundreds of books lined up, row on row. He closed the book on his lap and placed it back in its appointed nook. Then he grabbed his coat, looked around once more and set out for his lunch date. He locked the office door and faced the receptionist with a cheery smile.
“Headed out now. Not sure how long I’ll be.”
“Okay. See you later. You have an appointment with a student at three.” She looked at him over her reading glasses. Her lengthy blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail and swished as she turned her head. He detected a slight bronze colouring on her eyelids. Her lashes were exceptionally long and her cheeks rosy red. She tapped on the keyboard with pink coloured nails.
“Thanks.”
Andrew had chosen her from among several postgraduates who clamoured to get this prodigious job. It was a fast track to coveted permanent positions at the university. She had been setting up appointments and screening visitors for a few months already. So far so good.
