Killers by Gough Laurence

Author:Gough, Laurence [Gough, Laurence]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2016-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Willows dropped Parker off at her apartment. As he drove away, leaving her standing at the curb, he tried not to think about the many things she could have said but didn’t, and the utterly direct way she’d looked at him as he’d grimly told her there was nothing he’d love more than to come in for a drink, but it was impossible because he had to drive straight out to the airport to pick up his kids.

“Wife and kids,” said Parker, and gave him another piercing look. For a long moment he thought she was going to say a great deal more, none of it very pleasant. But all she’d done was get out of the Ford and shut the door with exaggerated care, stand there looking down at him through the glass with her shoulders set a little too square.

Willows drove down to Southwest Marine Drive and made a left, followed miles of road past the towering cedar hedges and granite walls that separated the real world from the south side’s huge lots and multi-million dollar residences. What kind of people lived in those gigantic mock-Spanish and Tudor houses? Willows had no idea. No one had ever been murdered in any of them, yet.

Dual railway tracks marked an abrupt deterioration in the quality of the neighbourhood. Willows turned right past a cluster of California-style condominiums in pink stucco, then made another slow left, cruised through an area of light industry, and then on to the Arthur Laing Bridge and over the wide sweep of the Fraser River to the flatlands of Sea Island, the straight run to the airport.

There was a radar trap on Grant McConachie Way. Willows had been speeding since he’d dropped Parker off — he was late — but was saved from a ticket by the vagaries of the traffic flow.

He parked on the arrivals level, shuffled through his pockets and discovered he didn’t have change for the meter. He lowered the sun visor. Old man Sinclair had been quick to agree to ferry them back to the ‘mainland’, but slow to actually do it. He had a captive audience, and a disarming, oddly charming assumption that they’d be fascinated by a detailed verbal history of Eagle Island, cleverly and tantalizingly intertwined with every fat and juicy scrap of gossip he knew about Gerard and Iris Roth. The chance of a titbit of useful information kept Willows from cutting the old man short. As a result, he arrived at the airport almost twenty minutes late.

Fortunately, due to unexpected headwinds, Air Canada flight 857 was a full half-hour behind schedule.

Willows bought himself a foam container of airport coffee. He found the flight listing on a monitor and wandered over to the baggage carousel.

Now all he had to do was wait.

He’d just finished his coffee when the flight began blinking rapidly on the monitor, indicating that it had arrived. He began distractedly pinching small chunks of foam out of the cup and depositing the pieces inside it.

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