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“Yes,” Gregory answered. He swallowed hard, sucking his lips inward.
Gibson drew out his cell and called Frenchy. “We’re at Felton and Margaret’s place. We discovered some bloodied clothes. Could you get here ASAP?”
“On my way.” She hung up.
“I’ll alert Brandon,” Gibson said and perched on the bed to wait for the forensics.
Eckhart steered Gregory past his mom.
“You can’t do this,” Margaret hissed, spit flying from her twisted mouth as they pushed out the door.
Gregory remained on the rear bench of the Expedition, slumped so low he sank from sight. Frenchy tore into the driveway forty-five minutes later. Eckhart leaned against the hood of her vehicle and signaled to the house. With a case fastened to her side, Frenchy vaulted up the steps. She gave a quick rap on the door and strode right in.
Felton blew smoke rings across the room. Margaret sat fixed, a scowl tracing lines along her face. Frenchy cracked a modest grin and called out down the hallway.
“Gibson?”
“I’m back here.”
She followed the sound. “Tidy.”
“Yeah.”
“You seem kinda put out. What’s up?” she asked.
He shrugged with one shoulder and pointed to the closet. “In there.”
“You bet.”
“Catch you later.”
Margaret shrieked at them as Eckhart backed out of the driveway. Felton hobbled to the porch and lit another cigarette. Gibson was worried. What motive did Gregory have to kill Elsie? Nothing came to mind. His partner sure thought he was guilty. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. In the back, Gregory had retreated into a blackness he knew well.
* * *
The RCMP depot was next to the Parole Board at the rear of City Hall. All the church-goers had fled home for lunch, leaving bunches of parking spots. However, Eckhart had phoned ahead and the steel barrier to the lot was unlocked. Over the door, the stone lintel was engraved ‘Police Headquarters’. They marched into the station unfettered.
A big old clock hung on the wall behind the desk sergeant at the front reception. The second hand swept smoothly around and around, ticking away the lives of the people in the building. The sergeant greeted them with a gruff smile. A leather-bound book lay on the counter in front of him. He recorded their arrival taking note of the person in custody and the detectives’ badge numbers. He wrote with a flourish, proud to be doing things the old-fashioned way still.
The large room was an open-plan space with two rows of battered oak desks facing each other. A few of them were currently occupied by uniforms that were busy typing or on phones. The sergeant motioned for an officer to take Gregory into custody. With hands still cuffed, he dragged his feet down the long hallway, not glancing back even once. Eckhart chatted up the sergeant, leaning into the counter with her hip. Gibson rested on the bench against the wall and dialed the superintendent. Despite Rodney’s office being located upstairs, it was Sunday, so he would be somewhere else having fun. After giving Rodney an update, Gibson hung up the phone. He struggled to get comfortable on the hard, wooden surface.
“Inspector.”
Gibson looked up.
“Hi, Brandon.”
“I take it you uncovered something.”
Gibson gave the parole officer the details.
“It’s sketchy. Gregory could have gotten blood on himself by leaning over Elsie to check her pulse, to see if she was still alive.”
Gibson nodded in agreement.
“No. He did it. Gregory has a propensity for violence. And he fled the scene of a crime like a guilty person,” Eckhart said, her voice rising with each accusation.
Nevertheless, Gibson recognized that more evidence would be needed—his fingerprint on the rock would do.
“And the ring,” Eckhart added.
“Can I speak to him?” Brandon asked.
“Yeah. Tell him to get a lawyer,” Gibson said.
“Thanks. I’ll keep in touch.”
They shook hands. Brandon strode down to the holding area with a police officer. The detectives left. Nothing more for them to do here.
Eckhart danced down the sidewalk, humming a secret tune. Gibson walked casually along, too many conflicting notions on his mind. He stubbed his toe on an irregular section of concrete. “Shit, that hurts.”
Her sweet, joyful laughter echoed off the niches and gables in the glut of churches.
“Late lunch?”
“Sure,” Gibson replied.
They walked down the street to the Mansion.
“I feel positive. My first case solved. How about some free time for tomorrow? We have to wait for the processing anyway,” Eckhart said. Her lips puckered, hinting at something more.
“I agree. I have something to do.” His eyes brightened. A spin in a kayak sounded promising. He wasn’t as sure about Gregory though, but he pushed that thought aside for another day.
Chapter 13
“It’s all your fault,” Margaret howled. The sound warped down the line like a boom of thunder.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Savannah screeched back.
“They’re your friends.”
“Who?”
“David and Jackie.”
“So?”
“So, they said it was Gregory who killed Elsie. Now he’s been arrested.” Margaret slammed down the phone.
Savannah moaned and slithered down the wall, rubbing at her face, tears forming. Whom could she call? She wiped the moisture from her cheeks.
Todd’s footfalls made no sound at all. He stood over her crumpled form.
“What the hell?” Her watery eyes widened.
“What’s the matter?”
“You scared me.”
“What are you doing on the floor?”
“Gregory’s been arrested.”
“Oh, my god.” Todd sniffed deeply, an edge of his lip trembling. He collapsed into the nearest armchair. “Why would he...?”
“It can’t be true.” Tears welled up anew. “I don’t believe it.”
“He was there.” His voice became icy.
“Todd.” Her chin thrust high, an unblinking gaze resting on his face. He couldn’t make eye contact.
“I’m sorry. I realize you like Gregory.” He put folded hands on the table. “But if...”
“Let’s leave it for now.” Savannah stood up and set the kettle on for tea.
* * *
Gibson took an Uber to Henley Island. He had been a spectator at the Royal Henley Regatta long ago, but now he wanted to test the waters for himself. He wandered over to the clubhouse. Racks of rowing shells hung off the outer wall. He glanced through the wide shop door. The crews had packed rows of shelves with oars, floating devises and jackets to the roof peak. A few people milled around looking busy.
“Can I help you?” A
n energized lad darted over.
“Sure. Where are the kayak rentals?”
“Just follow the path. There’s a shack by the dock.” He pointed to the left.
Gibson skipped diagonally over a grassy field shaded by huge trees. Visitors were picnicking on rough wooden benches, the kids playing tag. Two teenagers were attempting to fly a kite with no wind. He followed the track down stone steps to the water.
Martindale Pond shimmered in the sunlight. Several teams were skimming across the pond in eight-man boats, practicing for the upcoming events. Luckily for boaters, the reservoir created during the development of the original Welland Canal had been abandoned for their enjoyment.
Gibson set himself up with a kayak and shoved off to explore. He dipped the paddles from side to side and traveled east. Following the shoreline, he observed interesting canal ruins and a dam. He swung the boat west to Richardson Creek and stayed for a snack, leaning against the backrest, letting his face catch the full beam of the sun. From there, he paddled to the south toward Twelve Mile Creek. It was more dangerous in this section with currents churning up the water. After five hours, he was confident he had discovered the entire area and headed back to the old dock.
Gibson stopped in Port Dalhousie at Harry’s Diner. Fish and chips, a beer and a view of Lake Ontario was a good way to end a perfect day. After dinner, a friendly Uber driver took him to his motel. It was getting late, and suddenly he wondered what Katherine was up to. Why hadn’t she phoned? He picked up his cell and stabbed at the speed dial for home.
“Hello.” She was panting.
“Are you okay?”
“I had to rush for the phone.”
“What’s going on?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? Heather had a showing at a gallery in Vancouver.”
“Honestly? Good for her. She makes beautiful watercolours,” Gibson said. “Did you go?”
“Yeah, we stayed downtown. I had a manicure and pedicure. Naturally, after that, I roamed the stores for new shoes.” She laughed. “A lady knows what she likes. Right?”
“That’s great. We have some progress here, but I’ll be a few days further.” Gibson thought to himself, don’t make it a whopping lie. “Maybe a week.” He sucked in his breath and waited.
