Page 22 of Murder At Lake Ontario (DI William Gibson 2)

Gibson glanced down and thought about his family. A clamor in the corridor broke the spell. A door slammed and the clomping of boots on the hard floors echoed into the office. He didn’t raise his head at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Cooper rolled up to the doorway. “Hey. Coffee anybody?” He stopped. “Oops. Didn’t realize you had someone here.” He withdrew into the corridor.

“It’s okay. No coffee for me,” Gibson shouted after him. He had already had his fill for the day and didn’t need another jolt to his frazzled nerves. He stared at the ladies. “Yes, no?”

Eckhart brandished her hand in a big no.

“No.” Jackie jumped out of her chair. “Are we done?”

“Yes. Thanks for your help. Are you okay?” His smoky eyes presented the unease he felt.

“I’m fine. I hope you get the killer. Elsie didn’t deserve...”

Jackie struggled to stem the downhill plunge. The sadness robbed her of the person she had formerly been. She chewed her lip, keeping in the deluge of tears that had been menacing since she landed in town. Gibson moved from behind the desk and placed his arm around her shoulders. He escorted her across the central foyer and released the door. A sultry breeze swirled in.

“Another heatwave is growing.”

“I think you’re right.” Some colour flooded into her honey brown complexion.

“Take care,” Gibson said.

Jackie climbed into the Lincoln and fired up the big V8. She hustled down the lane like there was no tomorrow. Maybe there wasn’t for her. Her eyes welled up. No one to witness her pain streaming down her cheeks now.

Eckhart swung back to the window, her gaze concentrated on the maples again. Gibson entered, the prance lost in his stride. He perched in the lone chair Jackie had occupied.

“We need to talk to David. He had a front-row seat of everyone coming and going from the store. Although I’m not sure where this is going yet.” Gibson rang the number that Jackie had given him. He shook his head and left a message.

“Why don’t people answer their cell phones?” Eckhart asked.

“There’s something, however,” Gibson mused.

“What?”

“So much death on Lawsons Lane.”

“Huh?”

“It’s just an idea. We should check it out.” His gaze darkened, and he looked out the window. They remained in silence for a few minutes. Gibson stood up and went to the doorway. He called out, “Cooper. Get in here.”

The DC scooted down the corridor almost knocking Gibson flat. “Oops.”

Gibson clapped him on the upper arm and winked. “I have a project for you.”

Cooper’s face lit up.

“Jones can lend a hand.”

“Okay.” Cooper waited.

“Katie Underwood. The child that drowned at the beach on Lawsons Lane—”

“Yeah,” Cooper interrupted.

Gibson tightened his eyes. “Hold on. Could you locate her file? You may have to dig around. It was years ago.”

“How does any of that tally into this?” Eckhart asked, her pouting lips pink and full.

“Not really sure. Probably doesn’t. But it bothers me when more than one suspicious death happens on a street. Especially when they all know each other.”

“I guess,” Eckhart said.

Cooper bounced on his feet, swinging from side to side as if he was expecting a gun to signal the launch of a marathon. He didn’t barge in again, but compressed his lips together.

“Okay, Cooper. Maybe the superintendent can confirm where the files are. Who knows if they are digital or paper?” Gibson stopped. “Come to think about it. There was another death. Two actually.”

“What are you talking about?” Eckhart exclaimed.

“Mr. Tatlow. His wife and child died? Who knows? Are the deaths connected?”

“That’s stretching it, don’t you think?” she asked, giving him a funny look.

“Maybe.” Gibson shrugged and turned to Cooper. “Any questions?”

“No.” The DC sprung off the balls of his feet and sprinted to his partner’s office. His voice reverberated around the building.

“What a case,” Eckhart said.

“If nothing else, it will be good practice for them,” Gibson replied and glanced out the window.

Chapter 17

The sun had barely risen and was already chasing the coolness of the night away. Gibson walked down the street with his head bowed, feeling thwarted. A trill of a lone bird made him glance upward. The feathered lover sat on the rim of a hanging basket calling for its mate. Maybe there was a nest concealed in the flowers. The blossoms reminded him of his home on the island. Spring in Victoria brought the robins, the rufous hummingbirds and 1,600 flower baskets suspended from the lampposts. Hence the city’s nickname—City of Gardens. He dragged his heels on a pavement that would be scorched by noon. The café was packed this morning, a sign of a hectic weekend ahead. He grabbed a coffee and moved outside to wait for his ride. The Expedition crept stealthily around the corner and bolted the curb. He hopped into the truck and slumped into the seat. Eckhart glimpsed over, humming faintly and tapping the steering wheel.

“Cooper called. He has some info for us.”

“Already.”

“He’s a keeper.” Her voice was bubbly.

It was a twelve-minute drive to the office. Gibson watched the endless expanse of flatness. His hometown comprised of mountains, infinite ocean and forest. He gazed into the distance with a vague longing. The truck jerked to a halt.

“Sorry.” Her eyes crinkled, deepening the creases in the corners.

The large steel door lurched open as they approached the station. Cooper’s towering figure was straight and proud, holding up a binder for them to see. A pleasant glow flushed his cheeks. Then his hand dropped to his side along with his grin, thinking maybe he had jumped the gun.

“I found the info, but I’m not sure it’ll help,” Cooper said as his posture sagged.

“Let’s see.” Gibson reached out for the folder.

They strode inside, barring the surging heat out.

A girl bounded into the foyer from the lunchroom, headphones hooked over her ears and a ponytail swaying with her gait. Her complexion was flawless, like many young women who stayed out of the sun. She wore Bermuda shorts with a tight T-shirt and red running shoes that squealed on the tile when she stopped abruptly.

“Oh, hello. I’m Daisy. The receptionist.”

She grinned and scrutinized Gibson’s lean frame, his un-bleached sandy hair, a mere hint of grey, and smoky eyes.

“Gibson. Pleased to meet you.”

The phone sounded from somewhere above. Daisy pressed a button on her headset with neatly trimmed nails and returned to her post at the receptionist counter. “Niagara Task Force.”

Gibson looked around the entrance hall for Cooper, but he had disappeared. Eckhart motioned to the offices at the end of the corridor. The DC was behind his desk, waving them in. They sat in straight-backed chairs with cushioned seats. Gibson placed the folder on the top and flipped it open. Eckhart leaned in to steal a peek. He nudged it over so they could both read. It didn’t take long. There were only six pages.

“This is the entire inquiry?” Gibson was hoping he didn’t sound condescending.

“I’m afraid so.” Cooper coughed to clear his throat. “The detectives on the Katie Underwood case never suspected foul play. It was declared an accidental drowning right from the start.”

He drummed his palm on the file.

“The girls were on the beach and left their bikes on the landing as they usually did. Savannah and Jackie left for lunch. Katie stayed to inspect a frog or something. That’s not definite. They were just scared kids. Not really sure what was going on, I suspect. Anyway, her mom got concerned when Katie didn’t appear by one o’clock, more than an hour past lunchtime. Mrs. Underwood phoned over to the store, but her daughter wasn’t there. Then she went hunting down th

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