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“I’ll let you know what’s happening.” And then she disappeared through sliding glass doors.
* * *
The tires squealed as they struck and rebounded off the tarmac. Jackie stared through the tiny pane as the plane coasted down the runway to where they would disembark. The clouds had cleared out, the threat of rain abated in the transparent blueness. The early glimmers of light dropped through the buildings in the east and washed on the windows of the control tower.
Jackie bounded to the arrivals gate and snatched the first car. After a long ride from Toronto, the Uber driver pulled into the darkened cul-de-sac. She could see the silhouette of her mom standing in the bay window. A light from an upstairs pane shone over the neighbour’s blank wall. She swept her palm on her father’s car as she went by. Her mom swung the door open to greet her, and they headed to the kitchen. Cups littered the countertop as if all they served here was tea.
“Is Dad going to make it?” Jackie asked.
“I hope so,” her mom answered and switched to a less painful topic seamlessly. “The detectives phoned here.”
“Why?”
“They had more questions about the incident.”
“Like what?” Jackie asked.
“Who was at the store that day?”
“What about Gregory? I thought he was arrested for the…” She stopped at the next word, not allowing herself to say it.
“Beats me. But they were anxious to talk to you and David again.”
“Okay. Eckhart left me a couple of messages, but I didn’t phone back yet.”
“I guess you better,” her mom replied.
“Yeah, I will.”
Jackie slipped out of the room and headed to the washroom downstairs to freshen up. The twittering of birds as they swooped from branch to branch in pursuit of unsuspecting bugs, floated in from an open window. A sublime light shone through the wooden slates saturating the room with warmth. She went into the family room and stopped in front of her father’s favourite spot on the couch. The indentation in the cushion was permanent. Now she understood he was not. The tear rolled down her cheek before she could check it. Mom had turned the radio on, but even that noise didn’t fill the emptiness of the house without her dad in it. Her thoughts floated back to Elsie again. Would that pain never stop?
The hospital was a four-storey brick building designed in a u-shape so many of the rooms faced onto a courtyard. Gigantic old elms and maples from the turn of the century dotted the well-tended gardens. Cobblestone paths meandered through a rose bed to a pagoda.
Jackie rode the elevator to her dad’s suite and stuck her head in the doorway. A frail ashen face peeped out from cotton sheets.
“Dad.”
A smile filled the hollows of his sunken cheeks. Jackie balanced on the edge of the narrow bed, glancing at the green walls—the colour of wilted spinach. There wasn’t a picture or decoration in sight, just mind-numbing blankness. Jackie talked while Dad lay back on the pillows and listened. A soft knock on the doorframe stopped their conversation.
“Hi, Reggie. Have a seat.” Her dad pointed to the solitary chair left in the corner. He tugged his fatigued body further up in the bed, wrenching on the tubes and wires attached to his right arm. His other hand shot up to ward off help.
“Nice to see you, Reg,” Jackie said. They had been friends since high school, more than friends. He had done well, graduating with a law degree.
“Any word about what’s going on? My mom said Eckhart wanted to talk to me.”
“Gregory has been released,” Reggie answered.
“What? How do you know?”
“I’m his lawyer. He’s no longer a suspect.” Reggie smiled.
“Oh, so that explains it. Guess I better phone then. Although I’m not sure what I could tell them,” Jackie said.
“They obviously have a lead on something,” he answered.
They settled into a pleasant discussion and before long an hour had passed by. Her dad slumped down, his pjs riding up to his chin. His eyes wavered, flickered and shut. A snore escaped his soft mouth, and peace settled over his dull features.
“Time to go.” Jackie brushed her lips on her dad’s cool skin and shuddered. As they walked out of the room, her cell phone rang.
* * *
Gloom swirled around Gibson when he first woke. The artificial glow of street lamps trickled into the room past the heavy curtains he had neglected to shut. He got up and showered. Billows of steam wafted out of the open bathroom door, fogging all the mirrors and windows. He lingered under the scalding water cascading over his lean frame.
Gibson dressed, suppressing his inclination to tune out. As he stepped outside, indigo skies brought warmth to his core. It astonished him how many tones of blue the heavens could grant. With a lighter tread, he made his way to the café. He sat at the window observing the traffic stream by—a blast of a horn, a screech of tires and a few choice words. A sweet, earthy scent drifted to his snout as a professional woman scraped by, reminding him of Katherine. Why hadn’t she answered her phone last night? Or this morning? He stared off in a stupor until a string of toots caught his awareness. An idling Expedition was framed in the huge picture window, halfway on the walk, jamming traffic on both the road and the sidewalk. Gibson jumped up, tossed bills on the table and ran to the vehicle.
“What the hell.” Eckhart clipped at him. “Duh.”
“Sorry. Didn’t see you.”
“What’s up for today?”
“We have to keep pushing. Something will click.” He peered at her. “Did you hear from Jackie or David yet?”
“No. I left two messages.”
“Mm.”
“Where am I going?”
“Lawsons Lane. That’s where the crime took place. The answers are there,” Gibson said with conviction. “But let’s stop at Anatoe’s garage first.”
“Do you think he knows more?”
Gibson made a noise of acknowledgement, his thoughts already on another path.
She tilted her head to the side, lines forming between her eyebrows. “Are you thinking he makes a good suspect?”
“Not really.” His shoulders rose so vaguely the gesture was almost indiscernible.
She took fringe streets and cut across major routes to dodge the rush hour. She tore up to the garage doors of Sinclair Motors, but they were closed, locked up tight. She looked up to the second-floor windows, but there was no light or motion there either. “Where’s he gone? He had lots of work the other day.”
Gibson reached into his pocket and yanked out his cell. He glanced at the number on the sign above the door and dialed. While he waited for an answer, he said, “Maybe Anatoe has call forwarding.” He hung up on the tenth ring. “Guess not.”
Eckhart backed out of the property and headed north. The traffic had scattered so it was easy going now. They hit the bridge in twenty minutes, humming across the metallic surface. Gibson saw a flock of birds circling at the stern of a departing ship in the distance. He could just make out a lone figure flinging stuff out of a bucket into the canal. The gulls dived into the churning waters, coming up with full beaks of something. It was too far away to tell.
A trail of brown grunge flew out behind the truck as Eckhart careened down the lane. It swirled in huge whiffs, and then flattened into a sheet, extending out past the ditches into the fields. She ignored the dust storm she had created and crunched to a standstill in the Tatlow driveway.
“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home. What do you think?”
“Let’s go see,” she answered.
Gibson rang the bell and waited for an answer. He peered through a window, but the curtains were closed. He pressed on the bell again.
“Where has everyone gone?”
Gibson twisted his mouth into a frown.
“I’m not sure how I feel about Mr. Tatlow. Are we missing something?” Gibson mused. He stared at the camouflaged entry to the beach. “We should go back to Felton’s house.”
“Why? We’ve cleared Gregory. Although…” Eckhart had really wanted it to be him. Her first case closed, but it wasn’t to be.
“I’ve been thinking about the paths from the beach. I think there’s one at his place.”
“How will that help?”
“Felton or someone else could have slipped from the yard, bustled down to the waterfront and—”
“Gotten back to the party. Nobody the wiser,” Eckhart finished his sentence.
“Exactly,” Gibson said.
Eckhart turned the Expedition around in the wide driveway and headed across the street. She drove past the pump house and pulled in next to Felton’s vehicle. Gregory’s motorbike was missing. An occasional pop of yellow stood out amongst the green in the dahlia bed. They strode to the front veranda in companionable silence. From behind the screen door, they heard low voices. Gibson gestured to Eckhart. She stopped on the bottom step as he marched up to the door. He rapped on the wooden frame. “Hello there. It’s Gibson.”
“What the hell do you want with us already? Haven’t you done enough?” Felton yelled.
“We have nothing more to say.” Margaret pushed the flimsy door open and stepped out. “I have my family back.” She stood with hands on hips, chin jutted out.
Her husband shoved his face into the mesh, looking surly. He stared hard at the inspector and then narrowed his eyes. “That’s all that matters. So leave us alone.”
Gibson backed up, almost tripping on the top stair. “We don’t mean to bother you. Just checking out beach accesses.”
Felton cleared his throat, sending him into a coughing fit. He pulled out his dirty handkerchief and spat. Margaret glared at him. He waved a hand in dismissal. “Fill your boots,” he said to Gibson. “There’s a path in the corner.”
