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“And Elsie’s blood?”
“Presumably.”
Eckhart clapped her hands. They had a bite to eat before the next call came.
“Gibson.” He listened attentively before hanging up.
“The bones are human from a young girl about ten.”
“Oh, shit,” Eckhart exclaimed.
“They’re collecting the bones now. Frenchy is there too. They’ll take them to the lab. But it’ll take some time before they can identify them as Katie?
?s,” Gibson said.
“I know.” Eckhart closed her eyes and looked in her heart. “If they are, I’ll have to notify the Underwoods. Won’t I?”
“Yes, no getting around that,” he answered. Gibson didn’t envy her that task. “Regardless. You have two murderers. Two cases.”
Eckhart buried her face with her hands.
“You’ll be okay,” he reached over and touched her arm. “You have excellent people working for you.”
“I do.”
They finished up and drifted back to the station. Brown-shoes was seated on the bench that Gibson had deserted hours before. His briefcase lay flopped at his feet on the dirty, cracked linoleum. He looked up at the swish of the door.
“Inspector.”
“Yes.” Gibson towered over the shrivelling figure.
“May I have a word with you?” Brown-shoes asked as he grappled to rise.
“You are?” Although Gibson knew who the lawyer was.
“Philip Smith. Margaret wishes to make a statement.”
“Okay.” Gibson glanced at Eckhart. He cloaked his mouth to disguise the grin.
They followed Philip as he shuffled down the corridor to an interview room where his client had been cooling her heels. Margaret’s Brillo hair was greyer and flatter now. She fidgeted in her chair, her ample thighs sagging over the narrow plastic seat and her bare ankles swollen into knobs of fat. Philip sat next to her, his eyebrows looked like a fuzzy caterpillar stuck on his forehead. Eckhart took a seat by the door and stayed quiet. Gibson sat down and slapped the recorder on.
“Did you kill Elsie?”
Margaret clawed at the mole on her beak and worked her mouth, the trace of spittle at the corners growing larger.
“Go ahead, Margaret,” Philip said and brushed her scaly hand.
“It was an accident,” she replied. Her pudgy fingers gripped the rim of the table.
Gibson waited, his smoky eyes turning to steel.
“It was the final straw.” Margaret sat up straight, indignant at being quizzed about her actions. “She attacked us. Well, Felton for years.” She stopped and found her voice again. “First it was about Katie. Then Gregory was arrested. Elsie wouldn’t shut up.”
Her eyes burned holes into the wood surface of the table.
Philip altered his position. His neck wobbled.
“I was in the kitchen getting a beer for Felton at the fireworks. I saw Elsie walking to the beach access so I thought I would finally confront her. It needed doing. I took our pathway down to the beach. I asked her to stop gossiping about us. To leave us alone. Just that morning she had been going on about my family. She wouldn’t listen to me. She spun away and laughed. I seized her arm. I was only going to talk to her,” Margaret rambled endlessly. “She lashed out at me. She slipped.”
Gibson stared.
“It was an accident. Will you help me?” Margaret pleaded. Her face had gone beet red with the exertion. Her chin jiggled independently from the poison coming from her mouth.
“It wasn’t an accident. I can’t help you,” Gibson replied and turned off the recorder.
A sour stench of old age and fear pervaded Eckhart’s nostrils. The odour emanated from Margaret and penetrated the tiny space. Gibson stood up and called for an officer. Two uniforms came at once, rushing into the stale room.
“Get her out of here.”
The detectives escaped the room.
“What? Did she expect we were going to let her have a pass?” Eckhart asked. “Duh.”
“I have no idea about that but I do about something else,” Gibson said.
“Oh.”
“I think the ring is Gregory’s.”
“What? That’s no good. Is it?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“What I mean to say is, I believe Gregory left his ring at home when he went to jail.”
“Okay,” Eckhart said, not quite following his thoughts.
“The ring wasn’t dirty or scarred in any way. Remember how shiny it was when Frenchy showed it to us at the lab.”
“So?”
“So I don’t think it was lost some other time, and I don’t think Gregory lost it either,” Gibson said.
“Where are you going with this?”
“I think Margaret had the ring cleaned and polished, and she had it with her when she killed Elsie. Probably in a pocket.”
“And she planned to give it to her son at the party. Sort of a coming home present,” Eckhart finished his sentence.
“Exactly. Why don’t you find out where Margaret had the ring cleaned? If I were you, I would go to the jewelry store at Grantham Plaza. That’s the closet one.”
“I think you could be right,” Eckhart replied. “I know the place.”
“Good.”
“We should leave soon. Get you to the airport,” Eckhart said, as she glanced at her watch.
“I’m ready.”
Eckhart cruised down the Queen Elizabeth Highway with the sun behind them, just about to plunge below the horizon. Soft music played on the radio. Eckhart hummed along with the songs, tapping her fingernails on the steering wheel. Gibson pressed into the backrest. He closed his eyes and sailed off. The Expedition hopped the curb.
“I guess we’re there.” He chuckled.
Eckhart slanted her head and threw him a sweet smile, a hint of affection.
Gibson acknowledged with a nod.
“Stay in touch.”
“You bet.”
He looked backward after she drew away, then scurried out of the heat into the terminal. It was a short wait before the plane took off for Victoria. He stared out the tiny window at the city lights below. In the western sky, sunlight lingered where Katherine waited. A new life would shortly be part of his family. Gibson fell asleep to the purr of the engines.
