James Carol - The Quiet Man

Was Cathy Gifford alive?

And where was William Gifford?

The first question was down to the police to answer. It was like he’d told Jefferies, they had the resources. They’d be able to access the records that needed to be accessed. Maybe she was working, in which case her Social Insurance Number would point them in the right direction. Or maybe she had family who knew where she was. Mrs Franklin had said that Cathy Gifford’s family never visited but that didn’t mean they were all dead. Estrangements happened. Winter could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen his mother in her final years. That didn’t mean he didn’t know where to find her.

When he opened his eyes, Anderton and Sobek were staring at him. He had no memory of closing his eyes, but he must have done. It was a habit he’d had since he was a kid. With his eyes open it was too easy to get distracted. There was just too much sensory input. Too many visual stimuli. When his eyes were shut it was so much easier to think and focus. Sobek was studying him intently, like he was trying to crawl inside his head. Winter just stared back, unimpressed. Anderton had her phone in her hand. She gave the impression that she’d just taken a call and had something to share.

‘What is it?’ Winter asked.

‘Good news and bad. The good news is that Cathy Gifford is still alive. The bad news is that she won’t talk to the police. She doesn’t want anything to do with Gifford. Says it’s a part of her life that she’d rather forget about.’

‘So we turn up at her house with the thumbscrews. She’ll be talking in no time.’

‘And that would probably work. The thing is, she doesn’t live in Vancouver any more. Hell, she doesn’t even live in Canada.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Idaho. A small town called Nordman.’

‘Then what are we waiting for?’

‘Winter, it’s got to be five or six hundred miles to Idaho.’

‘We need to talk to her, Anderton. She moved out just before Isabella Sobek was murdered. That isn’t a coincidence. Also, she’s going to know Gifford better than anyone. Her insights will be invaluable.’

‘And you’re not hearing me. We’re not talking a quick trip to the store to pick up some groceries here. It would take us the rest of the day to drive there. Then, after we’ve talked to her, we’ll have to turn around and drive all the way back again. We’ll be driving through the night.’

Winter smiled. ‘Who said anything about driving?’

Boundary Bay Airport had two runways and a scattering of buildings. Hangars and maintenance sheds, for the most part. The southern boundary pushed right up to the water’s edge. They walked into the terminal building side by side. For once Winter didn’t have to wait in line to get his passport checked. That didn’t mean security was lax, it just meant that they were the only ones there. The woman doing the checking was as serious as any border guard he’d come across. Once upon a time the US–Canadian border had been billed as the longest unprotected border in the world. That all changed after 9/11. These days there were eyes in the sky and satellite surveillance and thermal imaging in the more high-risk areas.

Sobek’s little Cessna was fuelled up and ready to roll. It was sitting on the tarmac, glinting and sparkling in the bright August sunlight. It looked brand new, like it had just rolled out of the factory. They climbed aboard, buckled up and put on their headsets. The pilot turned and they shook hands across the seat back. He introduced himself as Dan. He was in his fifties, his hair turning to grey. He gave off a been-there-done-it vibe. Dan went through his final checks then taxied to the end of the runway. He hit the throttle and they buzzed along the runway, picking up speed. They were in the air in a fraction of the distance of a passenger jet, climbing steeply over the water, the plane bouncing and bucking as it went higher. The Cessna levelled out when the altimeter hit nine and a half thousand feet. They were heading east, passing over an immense forest. There were trees as far as the eye could see, spreading out from horizon to horizon in every direction.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Winter said.

Anderton turned to face him. ‘About what?’ Her voice was infected with static, all mid and top end and very little bass.

‘Billy Gifford. Right now, we don’t know a huge amount about him, but we can speculate. What income bracket would you place him in?’

‘Middle to upper. His house is a good size and it’s in a nice part of the city.’

‘And that’s interesting straight away. No matter how good he is at his job, I doubt that he could afford a place like that on the money he earns as a wedding photographer.’

Anderton thought this over. ‘He must have inherited money when his parents died.’

‘That’s what I’m thinking. His social status isn’t a new thing. He’s always been in the middle to upper income bracket. His father was a surgeon and he owned a light aircraft. That’s a long way from collecting food stamps.’

‘So how does that help?’ Anderton went quiet again, then said, ‘The house is his safe place. That’s where he feels most comfortable. Inside those four walls he can be the person he wants to be. But that’s been taken away from him. He can’t go home, because if he does he’s going to be arrested. That’s got to throw him. The more unsettled he is, the more unpredictable his behaviour is going to be, which isn’t necessarily good.’

‘Granted, but on balance I’d prefer things like this rather than how they were. Yesterday he was still calling the shots. That’s not the case any more. We’ve got him on the run, and that’s always going to be good. The upside of him acting unpredictably is that he’s going to be making mistakes.’

Anderton sighed a staticky sigh. ‘Sure, but how much collateral damage is there going to be in the meantime?’

‘That’s the downside. In any war there’s always going to be collateral damage. All we can do is try to keep it to a minimum.’

‘Amen to that.’

Winter looked out of the window again. There was nothing but trees below. This really was the wilderness. Most of that forest had probably never been touched by human feet. They hit a patch of turbulence and the plane suddenly dropped.

‘We should be out of this soon,’ Dan said. There was a smile in his voice, reassurance in every syllable.

The plane bounced one last time, then the air settled and they were flying level and true again. Winter looked over at Anderton.

‘I’ve been thinking about what it must have been like for Gifford when his mother was in a coma,’ he said.

‘Me too. It must have been grim. He would have buried his father then watched his mom die, and he would have gone through it all on his own. It’s a complete tragedy. And he was just a kid. It’s heartbreaking.’

‘Heartbreaking isn’t the right word. Let me ask you something. Do you think that killers are born or made?’

Anderton mulled this over. ‘Based on what I’ve seen, I’d say it’s a bit of both. Some people are born bad, no doubt about it. Then there are others who gravitate toward the dark side. For the most part, though, it’s not a black and white situation. There’s a huge grey area, and that’s where most killers seem to originate from.’

Winter nodded. ‘That’s more or less how I see it. Now, if we apply this idea to Gifford then the one assumption we can make is that he’s always had psychopathic tendencies. And I’m talking all the way back to when he was kid. We don’t like to think of children being psychopaths, but just because we don’t like to think about something it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t happen. You said his parents’ death must have been heartbreaking. I’d argue that it was more of an inconvenience.’