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e street for Katie and found her bike at the top of the stairs. She figured Katie was on the beach and had headed down to the shore. But there was no trace of her anywhere. After a few hours, Mrs. Underwood realized Katie was gone.”
Cooper hesitated and blew out air. He had pretty well recited the article verbatim.
“That’s when she called the police. The search and rescue team dragged the bay for her body, but there are undertows here and there. In the end, the detectives figured she just went out too far and got caught in an undertow.” Cooper trailed his finger down the final sheet. “There’s a description of her garments. Blue shorts, white and blue striped top, and sandals.”
“Did you ring the lead detective?” Gibson tapped the folder.
“Harry something. I forget. Anyway, he died a few years ago. Heart attack,” Cooper answered.
“Nothing else?”
Cooper shook his head.
“That’s okay. Elimination is as important as finding things. Right?”
“I suppose.”
“What about Mr. Tatlow? Did you find anything there?”
“No. There was never an investigation, but I went to the hospital and rifled through a ton of paperwork. I didn’t have a date to start with. But there aren’t that many infant deaths, so I found the file fairly quickly. His wife died in childbirth. No funny business.”
“Well, it was a long shot. I’m just looking for people connections.” Gibson wasn’t sure how any of it would have fitted in, but he had been surprised before. He looked around the office. “I see you guys are prepared to rock and roll now. Great set up.”
“Yes. We are. Because of you,” Eckhart said, her voice warm with appreciation. She smiled at Gibson.
“No problem. I—” His phone chirped. He checked the screen and held up a finger. Oh good. “Hi, David. I’m with Inspector Eckhart and DC Cooper. I’m putting you on speaker.” Gibson fumbled with the buttons. A buzz sounded, and they could hear David breathing down the line. Gibson arranged the cell on the desk and hunched forward.
“Okay. Thanks for calling,” Gibson said. “On the afternoon of the fireworks, I understand you and Jackie stopped at Jacobs Landing.”
“Yeah, we did.”
“And you sat in the car while Jackie went inside.”
“Yeah.”
“Were you watching who was coming and going?”
“Sure, I guess I was. But I’m not from around here so I didn’t really know anyone,” David answered.
“Okay. Tell me what you can,” Gibson said.
“The first person I saw was this old man. He had the creepiest eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it. They were pure black and freaky looking. He went in the store right after Jackie did. Later I found out that was Mr. Tatlow. Apparently, he’s well known around here, lives by the beach. Then, after a few minutes, an old woman in a straw hat left the store and headed down the lane. Mr. Tatlow came out of the store right behind her and went down the lane as well. There were a few other people that I can’t remember much about. But then a nice turquoise pickup pulled into the parking lot. Of course, I know now that was Anatoe. Then Jackie returned and we left.”
“That’s it? A few more details would be helpful,” Gibson said.
“What? Did you want me to write up a report or something? Nobody rushed out with a bloody knife,” David yelled, emitting a scornful sound.
No one spoke.
“Oh, that was lousy of me. I don’t know why I said that. But how many times can I go through this?”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re all feeling tense,” Gibson answered. He kept forgetting that David’s boss had been murdered last year. Give him a break. “If you think of anything else. No matter how trivial it seems, call me.”
“Sure. Sorry. I really am.”
“Thanks for your help.”
David hung up without retorting. The speakerphone droned for a time before he punched a button and silence gripped the room.
“Let’s have lunch.”
“You guys did well,” Gibson said and extended the DC a fist pump.
“Thanks.” Cooper collapsed into the leather seat, intertwining his fingers behind his neck and gazed at the ceiling with a plucky grin smeared around his features.
“I’m taking you to the Skyline,” Eckhart announced. When they walked out of the office, Daisy was on the phone so they chopped her a salute.
A sweltering heat pushed in when Gibson swung the door open. “Whoa. It’s hardly past noon.”
They plunged into the blaze of brightness. The Iris skies had dulled to a paler rendering of blue. Even the birds were subdued. They headed out of town. Gibson relaxed, unfolding his legs in front, always ready to stretch out his tall frame. Eckhart raised the volume of the radio to one notch below annoying. The roads spread in all angles, from the escarpment to the lake and overflowing into the next town. The suburban sprawl bumped into the vineyards that had sprung up over the last decade. Once they struck the Queen Elizabeth Highway, it was easy sailing to Niagara Falls. Eckhart meandered through the boulevards when they hit town, but parked in a no-parking zone nonetheless, her normal MO. They hastened to the relative cool of the glass and steel lobby and jetted to the top of the tower in a box of white marble walls and a grey tile floor. As Gibson stepped out of the elevator, he collided into the last person he expected to see—Arthur Brockelman. He stroked his crooked snout, recalling in that instant the tussle with Katherine’s ex-husband.
The bloke stared hard at him, his eyes taking on a lethal edge. His hands bunched into fists at his side, ready for a tumble. After only a moment’s pause, he snarled, “Gibson.”
“Brockelman.” Gibson pressed his lips together. They remained in limbo, Eckhart wavering in the background.
Arthur’s young companion twiddled her hair in an absent-minded fashion. A slight smile trembled on her mouth, not sure whether this was a friendly encounter or not. Arthur caught her arm, compressing it as if he was making lemonade. With a little manhandling, he navigated her over the elevator’s threshold. Before the doors glided shut, he gave Gibson the finger.
“What the hell,” Eckhart cried out.
“Don’t fret about it. It’s not important,” Gibson answered even as his insides churned. Arthur’s emotional abuse toward Katherine had been cruel and unforgiving. He had cut her off from her friends and family. The bullying had continued unabated until she miscarried. Gibson clutched his fists, wishing he had taken another swing at the bastard.
* * *
They were seated by a young hostess in a cap sleeve blouse and brightly coloured frilly skirt. Tinted windows filtered the sun’s intensity, giving the space a warm glow. The panorama view unfolded in high definition. The movement of the revolving dining room was imperceptible. They relaxed in billowy cushions. Gibson glanced two hundred metres below to tiny people snapping selfies and minuscule vehicles roving the streets. He imagined the prime attraction was the renowned Canadian Horseshoe Falls, which spilled tons of water from lake to lake. He never got sick of seeing the fast-flowing river charge past the rocky peak and topple onto the boulders below. Like a train barrelling through the prairie lowlands, there was no speed limit. The mist created by the force sprayed loftier than the steep dive of the water had. Although Gibson couldn’t hear the roar from the top of the tower, he knew it was deafening.
Contentment—a feeling of connection to life—overwhelmed him. Something he had misplaced over the last few months. He rolled his neck back and forth and savoured the moment. Bodies of water always brought him peace.
They ordered lunch from an equally young waitress with the same cap sleeve blouse and a vividly coloured skirt. Eckhart twirled her glass of water making the ice cubes clink, breaking the stillness.
“So, what do you think?” Gibson asked as he watched the falls tumble on a never-ending journey.
“About what?” She inclined her head toward her shoulder and peeked sideways.
Gibson discounted her blatantly co
quettish manner.
“Elsie.” He gazed at the falls when it rotated back into view. “Did the gossiping get her killed in some way? Did she confront someone weeks before? Maybe months ago.”
“And what? The killer waited?” Eckhart asked.
“Perhaps. For the perfect stage.”
“What could she have said that would make a person go to such extremes?” Eckhart waggled her head in incredulity.
“Maybe she found out someone’s nasty secret. Or heaven forbid.” The notion smacked him in the face. “Was she blackmailing someone?”
“For what?”
Gibson’s weak smile stretched his lip down over his teeth. He was considering the madness of the human race—greed, wealth, power.
“So, whose ring is it?” Eckhart demanded. “Was that a fluke? Was it lost some other time?”
“I’m not sure. We may never break the case. Be prepared for that. You appreciate how it is. We have one print, a partial at that. No match. No straight path to follow.”
“I know. Shit. My first case of the Task Force,” Eckhart replied. She tugged at the barrette holding her hair into a bun. Her long locks gushed over her shoulders in a free fall. As the view rotated to the west, the late afternoon light slanted through the window and advanced across the tables. It lit her amber hair into a sheaf of gold.
“It happens.” Gibson reached over and laid his palm over hers to reassure. No electricity. No jolt. Eckhart jerked her hand back and broke her gaze. A sour and vile taste slipped into Gibson’s mouth. He craved to spew the shame away, but realized he had to accept it. He lowered his head and caressed his temple. All he sought was to hear Katherine’s gentle voice, her innocence. Was he as rotten as Arthur was? He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached. He thought about the brunette in the pub the other day—Cecilia Sinclair. It was his little fling with her that had ended his first marriage. He had debated, at the time, whether to confess to his wife. Women say they want to know, and then when you tell them they go berserk. But he didn’t get a chance to tell her because Cecilia had phoned the house. She had something to tell him. After all these years, he knew what it was. Cecilia had been pregnant with his child. Just like his good buddy had told him. Should he tell Katherine what he had done here? Would she give him a second chance or throw him out of the house? Yeah, he was a rogue.
