Murder At Midnight Read online

  “It’s lovely, isn’t it?” She shielded her eyes against the blinding reflection of the sun, which glinted off the tall windows and roof antennas, like an interrogation light from the heavens.

  She remained deep in thought until they reached their destination: a dilapidated old church that hosted the local chapter of AA’s weekly meeting.

  “You know Mr. Preston, every time I pass the Romney Building it reminds me of Lisa and the last week or so before her death.”

  “How so?” Scott turned towards her with interest.

  Adelaide wrung a handkerchief between restless fingers, and looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

  “Mitford Realty built it you know,” she said after a lengthy pause. “It caused a great deal of excitement at the time. But when I joked to Lisa about robbing a bank so I could buy a suite there, she looked at me in the strangest way and said: “That’s the last place on earth you’d want to live.”

  “Hmm…” Scott replied thoughtfully. “There must have been something about the Romney Building that those in the know, didn’t like, perhaps a problem with the construction? You know like the leaky condo scandal?”

  Adelaide nodded and tucked the handkerchief into her purse. “It might be overly noisy too. Perhaps they cut corners on the soundproofing?”

  She leaned over and touched his arm. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us. I’m hopeful Alec Webb will be flushed out at last by your wonderful articles.”

  But the publicity blitz targeting Alec Webb did not produce the desired results. He did not make any rash or outrageous moves, and no one came forward with any useful or credible evidence about Judy or her disappearance.

  “We have to keep up the pressure on him,” Slater insisted. Scott noticed with more amusement than annoyance, how the dark-eyed detective was as fast to use the press to achieve his own purposes, as he was to condemn it.

  * * * *

  Scott watered the plants in his balcony window boxes. Flynn watched the proceedings with a cautious eye. He stayed well back to avoid being accidentally spritzed.

  It had been a brutally hot day with temperatures soaring in the nineties. Even now as it approached midnight, it remained warm and uncomfortably humid.

  A fan provided some relief in the stifling bedroom, where Scott read for a while before attempting to sleep. His window stood wide open, and across the inky harbour, he could see the lights of Vancouver, sparkling like diamonds.

  “Oh no, who can it be at this hour?” he muttered, as the telephone jarred him awake.

  “It’s Dorothy Minto, Mr. Preston. I hope I didn’t wake you, but there’s something important going on, that I thought you’d be interested in.”

  It took him a moment or two to place who this was. When he did, he perked up immediately.” I can’t sleep properly in this kind of weather anyway,” he assured her.

  Dorothy told him that Alec Webb had been locked up in his garage all evening. “He’s still there.” There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice.” He’s been making a lot of noise…he could well be digging up the floor…”

  “I’ll be right there.” Scott pulled on his shirt and jeans even as he spoke. This might well be the break they’d been hoping for, because if Webb’s wife was buried beneath the garage, the recent pressure and publicity may have panicked him into moving her remains.

  The Minto’s sundeck overlooked the Webb’s yard, which was all in darkness save for the lights burning in the double garage. “He’s been in there for hours,” Tony, echoed his wife’s earlier words, while he rocked contentedly on a patio chair.

  A tiny quarter moon winked down on the airless night, while the only sound except for the occasional thump and bump from the Webb’s garage, was the incessant chattering of a lone cricket from the vicinity of the privet hedge.

  Dorothy had set out a veritable banquet under the stars.” There’s no reason why we should go hungry while we wait,” she chuckled, reaching for a biscuit.

  The orange cat that Scott had met on his previous visit, lay curled up in a corner of the deck, quite indifferent to the eccentricities of the occasion. It seemed that entertaining a guest in the middle of the night, while spying on a neighbour, was of no interest to him.

  Dorothy had just topped up Scott’s glass with more lemonade, when Tony suddenly called out in a voice at once urgent yet hushed.

  “He’s coming out now! Look, he’s putting something in the trunk…”

  Scott was immediately alert, his eyes peeled to the activity across the lane way.

  “Watch it,” Tony warned, his gnarled little face strained with worry. “If he’s got her in the trunk, he’s going to be dumping her somewhere right now.”

  As if to validate his prediction, Webb got into his car and started it up very quickly. Then he backed onto the road with extreme caution, and drove off slowly not turning on his lights until he was a couple of blocks away.

  “After him,” Tony ordered, no longer keeping his voice down. “Don’t let him get away. We’ve got him now. We’ve got him!”

  Scott needed no added encouragement. In fact, before his host even finished speaking he was already halfway across the star-lit lawn, sprinting toward his car in Olympic fashion.

  Webb drove with almost exaggerated slowness in what Scott viewed as a determined effort not to be stopped by the police. He followed him cautiously, staying a block or two behind. The roads were quiet, and he knew how suspicious Webb would be of any car that appeared to be following him too closely.

  As they headed in the direction of Whistler, via the lonely Sea-to-Sky Highway, the small amount of traffic that had been on the roads soon thinned out. It was the very last place that Scott wanted to be, especially at this late hour. He shuddered despite himself, as he caught his first glimpse of the ragged cliffs towering like ancient stone Gods above the thundering sea.

  He stayed as far behind Webb as he dared, without allowing his taillights to disappear from view. The dark road coiled and curved like a snake on the back of some monstrous dragon. To those unfamiliar with it, the peril was increased. One wrong move, even a minor misjudgement of distance, could send one crashing head-on into oncoming traffic, or plummeting down to certain death on the rocks far below.

  Scott, only too well aware of the danger, concentrated intently on his driving, as mile after mile of treacherous road sped by. On many portions of the old highway, there was no place to turn off on either side. Just towards the end of this difficult stretch he suddenly realised that Webb’s taillights had disappeared from view.

  He immediately increased his speed to catch up, but there was only tarry blackness up ahead, as he rounded one massive cliff after another. Where on earth had his quarry gone?

  Had he become aware of being followed and either picked up speed, or turned off as soon as he was able? Or could he have gone over the edge? But he thought this unlikely. The road was deserted, and Webb had been driving so cautiously.

  A cold slick of perspiration settled on Scott’s brow. He wiped at it impatiently. The ethereal fingers of dawn began to lighten the eastern horizon.

  He pulled over to the side of the road and cut the engine. It felt pleasantly cool on this high plateau above the swishing ocean. He breathed deeply and willed himself to relax. A small fishing boat headed out to sea, the burring of its engine sounding unnaturally loud in the hushed silence of the pre-dawn hour.

  “Damn,” he cursed aloud and slammed an angry fist on the steering wheel. He should have called the police before heading out to the Mintos. But it had all happened so fast. He shuddered when he thought of what Slater’s reaction would be when he told him.

  * * * *

  “How could you have been so bloody stupid?” Slater raged, predictably. “How dare you poke your way into police business. Didn’t you think, for even one minute, how important this was? My God man, if Webb had his wife’s remains in the trunk, they’ll be washed out to the open sea by now, and he will literally have gotten aw
ay with murder… a triple murder: Lisa Craig, Judy Webb and Garrick Boyd. Plus, the attempted murder of Meg Bryant.”

  “I’m sorry,” Scott murmured feebly. But then tired of being berated at such length, challenged Slater as to why, if he were so concerned about Webb’s activities, did he not have the burly ex-swimming coach tailed?”

  “What on earth have you been smoking?” he snapped. “I’m having the fight of my life just trying to keep the investigation on Webb open. Except for myself, there is no other manpower available.” Slater took a ragged breath before adding. “Don’t you realise Scott that the powers that be, just want the Craig file sealed up and forgotten about!”

  But Slater was not the only one enraged about Scott losing Alec Webb. Greg Mowatt slammed a pudgy fist down on his untidy desktop and demanded to know why he had not taken Ben with him?

  “Surely between the two of you, you could have kept him in your sights,” he added sarcastically. “You could have well cost the Morning Herald one of the biggest scoops of all time. Can you imagine a shot of Webb, throwing his wife’s bones into the ocean?”

  Scott moved with all the enthusiasm of a sleepwalker through the long and tiring day. When he finally arrived home, he crashed out on the sofa, falling asleep almost instantly.

  The ringing telephone, as if from a great distance, jerked him awake. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  It was Slater.

  “No wonder you lost Webb’s car,” he commented wryly. “It seems it left the road.”

  “Oh lord, you know I did think of that. But Webb was travelling so slowly, and there was no other traffic around…” Good God, Scott thought, as the realisation that the treacherous highway had claimed yet another victim dawned on him.

  Chapter Six

  However, Alec Webb had managed to survive his tumble down the precipitous cliffs that bordered the Sea-to-Sky Highway. His car had veered off the road at a particularly nasty curve and vaulted over the barrier. But fortunately for him, after scraping and banging against the ragged rocks, it had come to rest on a shallow, pebbly ledge some thirty feet below.

  He had been badly bumped around and knocked unconscious by the ordeal. When a rock climber discovered him, shortly before dark that same night, he was in great pain, and suffering from dehydration.

  “According to the hospital, he’s resting comfortably,” Slater, reported. “He was groggy with pain killers when I spoke to him.”

  “But what about the car?” Scott asked with a nail-biting degree of urgency. Since Webb had been unable to move since the accident, he had had no opportunity to empty the contents of the trunk into the ocean.

  There was a mirthless laugh at the other end of the line. “There was nothing in the trunk except boxes of designer swimwear.”

  “What?” Scott had never felt so dejected. “Why on earth would he be tooling down the Sea-to-Sky Highway, in the middle of the night, with a car load of bathing suits? It’s pretty crazy behaviour, if you ask me.”

  “Not the way he explains it. There’s a swimwear fair in Whistler this week. He was on his way there early in order to get a good stall, in a prime location.”

  “So all that thumping and activity in his garage last evening, was merely him raking out the merchandise for this fair,” Scott commented. “Do you buy that Neil?”

  “It would appear to check out.”

  Flynn jumped up on his lap and studied him with eyes that glowed like liquid gold. “Yeah, I know I’m crazy,” Scott told him playfully.

  But crazy like a fox he repeated to himself. Because whether or not this had occurred to Slater, it certainly had to him. While Alec Webb was laid up in hospital, it might be possible to gain entry to his garage and have a look around.

  * * * *

  “There’s no need to break in,” Tony Minto winked. It was almost 2:00 a.m. under a cloudy sky that had sequestered the moon and threatened rain.

  He hadn’t intended to disturb the Mintos at this late hour, but on seeing their lights still blazing out from the living room, knocked discreetly on the door.

  “I don’t understand,” Scott replied, puzzled. “Unless Webb has been thoughtful and left the door unlocked. I can’t see any other way.”

  “I have the key,” Tony exclaimed triumphantly. He looked almost demonical in his glee.

  “You what?”

  “I went down to the hospital as soon as I heard the news from Detective Slater,” he explained, proud of his connections and ingenuity. “I knew that Webb’s little dog was still in the house, because I saw her at the window. So, I did the neighbourly thing and offered to look after her, until he came home.”

  Good heavens, Scott thought admiringly, you really did have to hand it to the man, he was incorrigible. He suspected that Slater had hoped for just such an outcome when he telephoned Tony and then himself. Unwilling to engage in an illegal search himself, he had no qualms about instigating one indirectly.

  Alec Webb’s garage, as well as housing an old banger of a station wagon, also doubled as a storage area. Ranged along the north wall were a series of shelves and cabinets containing mostly swimwear items, promotional material and a new line of beach towels. A sawhorse and a pile of lumber sat in silent testament to what Webb had been engaged in the night before: the construction of similar shelving along the south-facing wall.

  So much for digging up his wife’s remains, Scott thought ruefully, carefully locking the automatic overhead door and following a disappointed Tony towards the house.

  Nell was delighted to see them, and while Tony filled her food bowl, Scott made a swift but thorough check of the other rooms.

  The house had a Spartan, unlived in feel about it. The walls, which hadn’t seen a paintbrush in years, were a drab and dingy shade of green.

  Scott rifled carefully through a roll-top desk, but all he came up with were the usual items plus a hefty stack of unpaid bills. The dresser in the chilly bedroom was no more illuminating, except for some photographs stashed at the back of the bottom drawer.

  There was the hard-nosed Judy challenging the camera lens with brazen eyes, a much younger Alec, relaxing on a golden beach with a turquoise ocean in the background. Then there was the shot of him with Lisa Craig. A professionally finished eight by ten glossy, it captured the couple sitting at a candle-lit table in a nightspot called the Bear’s Den.

  They were laughing and toasting each other with long-stemmed champagne glasses. Lisa looked stunning in an exquisite jade dress. Her auburn hair piled high on the top of her head.

  Scott gazed at the image for a long time, wrestling with the emotions it stirred within him, sadness mainly at the cruel fate that awaited Lisa, but also anger against Webb and jealousy too, that he should have had the privilege of knowing this fascinating woman. Then in all likelihood destroyed her and threw her away.

  “Well, did you find anything interesting?” Lost in his reverie about Lisa, Scott had not heard Tony pad into the bedroom.

  “No,” he replied guiltily, replacing the photograph where he had found it.

  Tony himself had been far from idle while Scott checked the upstairs. He had rummaged none too carefully, through cupboards, drawers and cabinets, his impatience and disappointment mounting with every frustrating minute.

  Then they searched the basement together, where Tony spent a disproportionate amount of time poking about in the freezer. “You never know, he might have cut old Judy up and kept her on ice for years,” he remarked. But all to no avail. There was not a thing in Alec Webb’s house to incriminate him in either the disappearance of his wife, or the death of Lisa Craig.

  “I’m going to take Nell out for a walk.” Tony managed to look both disgruntled and dismayed at the same time. Scott knew, that like himself, he had been convinced they would come up with evidence against Webb, and perhaps, even Judy’s earthly remains.

  * * * *

  “Well?” Slater’s voice was steady, but with an impatient edge to it, revealing that he too, had been anxious
for news of the search.

  “Not a thing,” Scott admitted, balancing the phone on his shoulder while he stroked Flynn. “Except, for a photograph of Webb and Lisa at a club called the Bear’s Den.”

  “So it seems they were more than just swimming coach and student,” Slater commented dryly. “I don’t believe that gadding about in night-clubs would be part of the curriculum, do you?”

  Scott felt weary and dejected. “Either way, the fruitless search lets Alec Webb off the hook.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Slater. “Or, he’s been very careful in covering his tracks.”

  * * * *

  “Hello Mr. Preston, it’s Vera Holt. Do you have a minute?” The voice had a nasal quality to it that grated on the ear. “We spoke about the suspicious behaviour of my neighbour Victor Kenny. I believe he killed Lisa Craig.”

  “Why of course Ms. Holt. How are you?”

  “I’d like to see you as soon as possible,” she said. But refused to elaborate further.

  The newsroom fairly buzzed with activity as everyone worked to deadline. So Scott arranged to drop by her place later that afternoon.

  “You know I don’t believe for one minute all this guff about Alec Webb being Lisa’s killer,” Vera declared. Her beady eyes glinted with purpose. “I think our man lives just a few doors down, and I pointed that out to you last time you were here.”

  It was a sultry afternoon. Storm clouds gathered on a purple horizon.

  “So have there been any new developments?” Scott prompted. He hoped she had something more concrete to offer regarding the uncooperative Victor Kenny. He remembered how the great husky lumberjack of a man slammed the door in his face, when he attempted to interview him a few months back.

  But Vera was clearly enjoying the moment, and had no intention of speeding it up. Yet, she was obviously excited about some new discovery that she thought would incriminate her suspect. In the end the latter won out.

  “His whole electrical system crashed and he had to call in an electrician,” she explained, in what amounted to a whisper. Although, there was no one even remotely close enough to hear.