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Francis (Frenchy) Cross was a petite woman, with a heart-shaped face and a short bob haircut. Between the wisps of her fine hair, Gibson could see a tiny Chinese symbol tattooed behind one ear. She wore a long green lab coat, buttoned tight to her neck and no jewelry except for one ring on her right pinky finger.
“Hi, I’m Frenchy. I’ll get right to it. That’s why you’re here. Right?” She gave the slimmest of grins.
Gibson nodded. He liked her already. All business. She looked smart too.
“We have two pieces of evidence from the beach. Let’s start with the murder weapon. There is a partial print. So that’s good news.” Frenchy crossed to a counter halfway across the room. They followed. Top dog and puppy dogs right behind. She stood in front of a glass container with a rock inside. It was a light shade of crimson flecked with dark speckles. “This is an igneous rock. Mostly composed of granite. It’s an extremely tough, almost weatherproof stone. That’s ideal for us because obtaining a print from a nonporous rock is simpler. That doesn’t mean it won’t be difficult though. It will be.” She paused. “I won’t be able to lift a print until the blood is completely stabilized. It will be a few days. If I do it too soon, I’ll lose the clarity of the print at best. Might not get anything useful for you at the worst.”
“Better to wait, then,” Gibson agreed.
She shot him a glance as if to say, doesn’t matter what you think.
“I’m not sure if you know this or not, but I’ll go over it for you anyway. We have a software development kit that provides multi-biometric fingerprint identification. The ID program matches prints whether they were taken flat or rolled. It’s quite a unique kit and very accurate. The finest available.” She drew in a breath. “If we could get the software to work, I’d be happy.”
“Sorry about that.” A lanky young fellow leaped up from behind a partition. “I’m working on it.” He peered at them over wire-rimmed glasses and then retreated.
“I know you’re doing your best.” She frowned.
“Couldn’t we send everything to the RCMP Automated Fingerprint Identification System (AFIS) in Toronto?” Eckhart asked.
“Oh, sure we could. And I will if we don’t get this thing fixed.”
“I’ll get it soon.” A voice sounded from the corner.
Frenchy whirled and marched to the far end of the room. They followed her like sheep. When she tugged on a handle, the drawer slid free. She fingered a leather pouch and placed it on the surface. With a tip of the bag, a signet ring spilled onto a velvet pad. Then she took out some photographs from the rear of the storage and gave one to each of the officers.
“The ring was found under the body.”
“Interesting,” Gibson said.
“The inscription around the stone says, ‘Alpha Zee’.”
“Is that a local fraternity?” Gibson looked at his partner.
“From Grimsby, I believe.”
“Do you know who the members are?”
“Not really, but we’ll find out,” Eckhart promised.
“I couldn’t get any prints off it. Even though the ring has been recently buffed, there are too many nicks and scratches. There aren’t any initials either. The lettering you can see here says 10K, as in gold.”
“Rats. What else do we have?”
“That’s it.”
“Shit. That’s not much help.” Eckhart twisted her mouth.
“An RCMP officer…” Cooper stepped forward, drew his journal from his pocket and flipped the pages. He glanced up and proceeded, “A Constable Dufferin gave me a buzz this morning. He was the first officer on the scene. He said a David Hunter was the fellow who called it in.”
Gibson’s eyebrows shot up. That rang a bell. “Have you got a number?”
“Yeah. They’re from BC and staying at the wife’s parents’ place.” Cooper rapped off the information and then stared at his notebook. “Oh, this is a landline. Must be the parents’ contact.”
“Is his spouse called Jackie?” Gibson asked.
“How did you know?” Cooper produced a sharp snort.
“David’s boss was murdered last fall at his workplace.”
“Whoa!”
“I’m sure it’s just a fluke.” Although the detective in him didn’t like coincidences. He spun to Eckhart. “Nothing more for us here. Time to hit the pavement.”
“Back to work, Jonsey,” Cooper said.
“Boring.” His buddy jabbed him in the ribs.
They dragged their feet back to the chaotic rubble in Cooper’s office.
“See you guys later,” Eckhart said as she pulled on the front door. She shielded her eyes from the glare wishing she had sunglasses and jumped into the driver’s seat. They sat in the Expedition with the air conditioning on full blast, going over their course of action.
“We’ll talk to David and Jackie first. We know they were at the crime scene.” Gibson looked at his list again. “There are only five houses on Lawsons Lane. We can visit everyone on the street without too much trouble. There were a number of people at the party. Let’s see who we can narrow it down to. Until we identify that print, we have no suspects really.”
“You mean like a needle in a haystack?”
He shrugged.
It was a clear route to bring them to Jonnie and Abigail Cunningham’s home off Niagara Street. Eckhart parked against the curb, taking care not to rub the sides of her tires on the concrete. She didn’t usually mind jumping the curb, but the lawn was too nice to mess with. The split-level house was set back off the street. They walked up the long driveway to the front door at the side of the house. An older Lincoln Continental, in a shade of blue hovering between midnight black and deep ocean sapphire that Gibson had never seen before, rested in the carport. They shuffled around it, cautious not to mark its pristine shine. He stood at the top of the stoop and rang the bell. The door was opened instantly by an older woman with curly blonde hair from a bottle, grey showing at the roots.
“Hello. May I help you?” Abigail asked.
The detectives flashed their badges.
“My husband’s in the family room.” She smiled and invited them in. They followed her down six steps of plush kiwi lime carpeting. A brick fireplace at the far wall had a wide cement mantel crammed with photographs from the last twenty-odd years. There was nobody around.
Abigail looked puzzled. “He was just here. Oh, maybe he went outside for a minute.” She scurried away, her lips pressed into a concerned frown.
Gibson used the time to study the photos. One of a sailboat caught his attention, making him think about his kayak sitting in its rack at home. He drew in a heavy sigh. Eckhart plunked herself into a swivel chair next to the television, notebook fixed in her hand. The back-door latch rattled. A stout man clad in knee-length shorts and a golf shirt, ambled in, his wife bumping in behind. Her face looked more relaxed now.
“Here he is.”
“Hello. Can my wife get you something to drink?” His double chin jiggled with a stifled laughter. Jonnie took his position on the couch where an indentation in the cushion marked his regular spot. His wife parked on the opposite side.
“No. We’re good. Thank you. I’m Inspector Gibson and this is Inspector Eckhart. We have a few questions? First, are David and Jackie staying with you?”
“Yes, Jackie is our daughter. They live in BC,” Abigail said.
“Are they around today?”
“They’ll be back shortly.” She looked at her husband for confirmation.
He nodded.
“Are Elsie and Jackie old friends?”
“Yes, but she was closer to Savannah, Elsie’s sister. Then Jackie moved to BC. She only comes home once in a while. This time it was a special trip to see her dad. He’s ill,” Abigail said as if her husband wasn’t in the room. She plucked at a hair on her chin and looked off.
Jonnie remained silent, sipping a brew he had abandoned beforehand.
“You both went to the fireworks.” Not a questio
n.
“Yes, we did.” Abigail answered for both anyway.
“Did you know Elsie as well?”
“For ages. The whole family,” Abigail said calmly, but her eyes betrayed her.
“Sorry for your loss.” Gibson didn’t know what else to say. He would be saying sorry to a lot of people. So far it seemed as if Elsie had plenty of friends but obviously one enemy as well.
Jonnie took another mouthful, draining the crystal tumbler. He held it up to his spouse. “Would you mind?”
“Okay.” She grabbed his glass and turned to the detectives. “Sure you don’t want anything?”
Gibson waved a hand in reply. She bustled to the kitchen, next floor up. The clinking of glass and a slammed cupboard door sailed down the stairs. She reappeared and arranged the drink on a coaster. Gibson let everyone settle back down before he continued.
“Did you see Elsie there? See her leave? Anything you noticed would be helpful.”
“She was sitting with Jackie and Savannah, but she left before the fireworks started. That’s pretty well all I know.”
“What about you?” Gibson turned to her husband.
“She left right after the scuffle.” He stirred his drink with a celery stick.
“What scuffle?” Gibson glanced at Eckhart. She shrugged.
“One of the young fellows from out of town and Anatoe.”
“That’s Jackie’s second cousin removed. From Grimsby,” Abigail added.
“He lives here now, dear.”
“I know that. He has a garage. He fixes cars. Where is it again?” She peered at her husband.
“Down Niagara Street, close to town. Called Sinclair Motors.”
