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“Yes. I always read my clients’ files. His case seems flimsy on details. I would hate to see it happen again.”
“We have nothing definitive at this time. But Gregory discovered the body.” Gibson paused when he noticed Brandon incline his head. “Which doesn’t mean a thing, but he ran off and hasn’t been seen since. That was a week ago.”
“That’s a headache for you.”
“We figured he may have breached his conditions of discharge. Well, not all. But...”
“What condition?” Brandon asked.
“The crime took place during a fireworks gathering at his dad’s house.”
“Oh. Alcohol, drugs and maybe teenagers.”
“I haven’t confirmed he was drinking or doing drugs. It was an adult party; no kids were there.”
“So, the real problem is he’s missing,” Brandon said.
“Yes. I suppose that’s it in a nutshell.” Gibson frowned at his lack of direction.
“If Gregory has left the district, I can have him picked up. But you don’t know that for a fact if you can’t find him.” He grinned and looked back at his journal. “I’m not expecting to see him until...” Brandon flipped forward two pages, “Tuesday.”
“He might show up at home today. It’s Sunday dinner day,” Eckhart said.
“I have no reason to issue a warrant. But we have a legal right to go through his living quarters without cause. I could offer you approval for that.”
“That would be excellent,” Gibson said. “But if we turn up anything that ties him to our case, we’ll have to apprehend him.”
Brandon leaned back into his chair and set his palms behind his head, staring at the ceiling and said, “Do me a favour. Call me if that happens. I won’t retract his parole unless it is something incriminating. He gets a fourteen-day grace. Let’s see what you discover first.”
“Fair enough.” Gibson reached over the desk and shook his hand. “We’ll be in contact.”
The detectives scampered down the steps, reverberations of their footfalls bouncing off the marble as they launched out the exit. Eckhart’s eyes were alight with expectation. She wanted to waltz down the pavement.
“This is it.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Gibson suspected he was marching into a tempest. His eyebrows were compressed together in trepidation.
“It’s Gregory. I know it. Don’t be absurd.” Eckhart jabbed his shoulder and sprinted to the truck.
Gibson raced behind her. Eckhart fired up the motor and ripped away from the curb before he had his seatbelt fastened. He seized the dashboard and held on for the ride. There wasn’t much traffic, so she tore down the street. Before she could flip a switch on the panel, he gave her a look.
“We don’t need the siren and lights.”
“Okay. If you say so.” Her mouth lifted upward, crinkling her dimples. The smile reached her eyes, the deep pools of blue. She giggled.
Gibson pushed into the leather and closed his eyes. The growl of the tires on a metal grate alerted him to his whereabouts. He glanced to the side to catch the stern of the biggest ship he had seen so far. It sunk low. The wash left behind mushroomed out in a vast fan, striking the canal sides, and boomed back. The water bubbled in every direction.
Eckhart turned down Lawsons Lane and deliberately inched down the roadway. She pulled into the entrance and shut off the engine. Her hands fluttered on the steering wheel. She drew in a sharp gasp.
“Gregory’s here. I’m ready.”
Gibson looked past the motorbike parked next to Felton’s vehicle to a figure in the dahlia bed. Margaret glanced up and bestowed a wave, secateurs in her grip. The straw hat perched on her frizzy hair was secured with a bow under her double chin. Someone had propped a bucket packed with dead flowers against a dirt pile. A slight grin screwed her lip. She ambled toward them, her clogs slapping on her feet.
“What brings you out here?”
“To see Gregory,” Eckhart said.
“They’re inside.” Margaret trudged up the stairs, the two detectives right behind. She yanked off her hat and tossed it on the ottoman. Muffled voices and a wisp of smoke slipped through the screen. Margaret snatched the handle and swung the door open forcefully.
“What did I tell you about smoking in the house?”
“My leg aches.”
“Put it out,” she growled.
“There. Happy now?” Felton ground his cigarette in an ashtray and scowled.
Margaret seized a tea towel and flung it around in the air, driving smoke out the door. Felton rubbed his thighs, muttering. “Can’t do what I want in my own house.”
Gibson held back a smirk.
Gregory remained frozen in his chair. His posture was rigid, his expression dull as he gazed at the worn linoleum. His breathing was virtually undetectable.
“We’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Eckhart stood over him, fists on her hips.
“I didn’t do anything.” Gregory squirmed, eyes everywhere except on the detective.
Gibson pointed his chin at Eckhart indicating for her to take a seat. Felton plucked out his filthy handkerchief and coughed up phlegm. Margaret plopped herself down, arranging her secateurs on the table. The inspector sat next to Gregory, swung toward him and leaned in.
“Where have you been?” Gibson asked.
“At a friend’s house.”
“In town?”
“Yeah.” The lie slipped out, smooth and easy like an orange cello shot.
“You found Elsie on the beach,” Gibson said.
Gregory blinked.
“Did you see what happened?”
“No.” He shifted in his seat.
“Was she dead when you found her?”
“Yeah.” He wavered. “I...”
Margaret bristled. Gibson held up a hand.
“Did you touch her?”
“No.”
“Okay. What did you do after that?”
“I ran up the stairs. Jackie was there. I told her Elsie was dead. Then I got the hell out of there.” He paused. “I don’t know why. Jackie yelled, but I couldn’t go back.”
“Why is that Gregory?”
“Because I knew you would blame me.” His voice went shrill.
Margaret worked her mouth, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. Gibson shot her a warning.
“Because you’re on parole?”
Gregory formed fists, his lips clamped together.
Gibson plucked the photograph out of his upper pocket and passed it to Gregory. “Is this your ring?”
A weak squeak from across the table.
“I don’t think so.” He flinched, jerking backward. Two crimson spots grew on his cheeks, a sharp contrast to his chalk-white complexion.
“You’re not wearing one.”
“I put it aside when I…” A thickness in his throat stopped him.
“Should we go find it?” Gibson asked.
“Are you allowed to look at my stuff?” His eyes popped with panic.
“Yes, as part of your release conditions—”
The detective didn’t finish the sentence before Gregory propelled his chair from the table and jumped up. His face was pale and blank. His motions perfunctory. The detectives accompanied him down the corridor. Gibson expected clothes to be scattered about and a locker-room funk to linger in the air. Instead, the quilt on the bed lay smoothed, folded down from the pillow. In a corner, a guitar was cradled in a stand. Nothing was pitched on the floor.
“It should be here somewhere. I can’t remember.” Gregory rummaged through the drawers of a Tallboy dresser. He shrugged his shoulders and gave a slow shake of his head.
“Could it be in here?” Gibson asked as he opened the closet door. A whiff of copper escaped. He glanced over to alert Eckhart that something was up. Gregory’s body slumped. Margaret forced herself forward, aggression building on her mouth. Eckhart barred the entrance and stood fast against the elbow jabbed into her rib cage.
&nb
sp; “What’s going on?” Margaret asked.
Gibson snapped on gloves. He poked through a laundry basket and plucked up a shirt concealed at the bottom. It was discolored with a sticky substance. He dropped it back.
“Eckhart.”
“We’re taking you in for questioning.” She sailed across the room in one large stride, cuffs at the ready, twirled Gregory around and clamped on the restraints.
“What the hell!” Margaret shouted.
“Margaret, go sit down.” The explosive bark stunned everyone into silence. It was the first manifestation of Gibson’s pit-bull demeanour since his arrival east.
“Gregory you have violated your conditions of release—”
“No. I was trying to help Elsie.”
“Shut up, Gregory,” Margaret snarled. She hovered in the background. Her clodhoppers clunking as she paced in front of the doorway.
“As I was saying, a suspicion of being implicated in a crime is all I need to hold you. Your parole isn’t revoked yet, and you aren’t under arrest. However, you’ll be in lockup downtown until further notice. Do you understand?”
