Det Annie Macpherson 02 - Programmed To Kill

by Speake, Barbara Fagan

  ‘Would Jennifer have kept that from you?’

  ‘Jennifer was so attention seeking that I’m sure we would’ve known all about it. So it does make me wonder if it’s true.’

  The food arrived and the conversation reverted to other matters. Bill was a huge fan of musicals and live theatre and regaled Grace with the latest Broadway offerings. Grace hoped he might ask her to accompany him some time. He was such good company and she would welcome spending time with him outside of work. Lunches were a start.

  By the time Grace left the office, most staff had already gone home. Having a car made the journey much faster. Grace parked in the designated space, underground in the apartment block, and thought about the box from the psychiatric unit still in the trunk. She knew she couldn’t lift it on her own, as it had taken two of them to put it in the car. How stupid not to insist on smaller boxes. She debated whether to buzz the building superintendent and then decided against that. It had been a long day, after an extremely emotional weekend. The box would have to stay there for the time being.

  Unlocking her apartment door, she heard her cellphone ringing in her handbag. She pulled it out quickly. The number wasn’t one stored in her contacts list. She debated momentarily whether to answer it or not.

  ‘Grace, it’s Barry Ainscough.’

  ‘Barry, how did you get my number?’

  ‘Your mother gave it to me. I hope that’s OK. I asked, she didn’t offer.’

  It wasn’t. Grace preferred to keep her private cellphone as private as possible. Very few people had the number. If she said something to her mother though, it would only upset her. ‘That’s fine. I’m surprised to hear from you, that’s all. Is there something I can do for you?’

  ‘I was wondering if you were coming back again next weekend, only I thought we could go out for a drink.’

  Grace was hesitant. Jennifer’s ex intrigued her and yet she was unsure about spending time alone with him. She didn’t want him thinking that they might start a friendship. She was a lot older than he. Besides, she was starting to have feelings for Bill. Then again, maybe he could provide the key to unlock the mystery that was Jennifer. ‘Look, I’ll save your number to my phone and if I’m at my mother’s at the weekend, I’ll give you a call.’

  ‘If you have to stay in New York, I could always drive there. I know the city really well,’ Barry persisted.

  Grace paused, feeling uneasy. The guy was too earnest. ‘Barry, I have a lot on this week. I’ll have to get back to you.’ Grace shut the phone, debating whether she should call her mother.

  Chapter 43

  ‘So, how about we review where we’re up to before we call it a night?’ Bronski suggested, going over to the whiteboard. The key issues in the investigation had already been noted days earlier. He made another column. ‘As we go through this we need to note anything else to follow up, no matter how small. If we haven’t got the time to do it, I’m sure the captain will give us more resources.’ He headed the column Outstanding issues. Then he started the review at the top of the whiteboard and read out loud for his colleagues to comment, ‘The first obvious issue is the possible child pornography or child abuse. So far, Dan Parker has accessed Bannister’s laptop. We also co-ordinated with Detective Baxter and we have photographs in common between Bannister’s laptop and the regional unit investigation file. Baxter now has copies of some of Bannister’s photographs and he’ll get back to us if they come up with anything else.’

  ‘Now that Brother Jonathan’s name has surfaced in connection with Merton, can we ask Parker specifically to look at any email correspondence or sharing of files between Brother Jonathan and Father Bannister?’ Annie asked.

  Bronski made a note, as Ellison replied, ‘I’ll do that.’ Then Ellison hesitated and the other two looked at him. ‘If Brother Jonathan is connected, is he a potential victim? We know now that Merton has previous with Brother Jonathan. He turns up today with the wreath and with his friend Tony Amato, who has a thing about Bannister. All that could put Brother Jonathan in the spotlight, couldn’t it?’

  ‘So the question is, do we talk to Brother Jonathan, see if he has any concerns about his own safety? After all, he was there at the burial. Still, I didn’t notice either Amato or Merton approaching him, did you Ellison?’ Annie remarked.

  ‘No, but let’s make a note of it. I’ll see if Parker has anything. If there is, then I think we need to talk to him again,’ Ellison replied.

  Bronski put Brother Jonathan’s name in the outstanding issues column and also circled the names of Amato and Merton. As he did this he commented, ‘Not enough to bring them in yet.’

  ‘I agree. We should visit them again tomorrow, though,’ Ellison added. ‘The chief will want their visit to the cemetery followed up anyway. Who knows, they might mention Brother Jonathan. Put Macpherson and me down to do that.’

  ‘I’ll also ask Detective Baxter if Brother Jonathan’s name has come up.’ Annie said.

  Bronski noted those. ‘OK, next item: Mearns’ computer and connections to Bannister. We now know that Mearns was acting for Bannister. Baxter knew his name and Mearns’ former secretary says their relationship goes back even further.’

  ‘That connection might help with motive if we’re convinced about the child abuse angle,’ Annie commented.

  ‘Right, so I’ll put an arrow back to our first thoughts then. Before we leave that point, how far has Parker got on Mearns’ computer?’ Bronski queried.

  ‘I’ll check before I leave tonight,’ Ellison offered. ‘Make a note also that we need to follow up on the cases Mearns worked pro bono in his other law firm, the ones that Lucy Sanders mentioned.’

  ‘I’ll put my name to that one,’ Bronski said, before he read out the next point. ‘So, the file on Bannister that Bishop O’Brien passed to you.’

  ‘That point relates to the discrepancy regarding the complaint letter. Now we know Frances Amato never mailed it, so the bishop is in the clear for any conspiracy,’ Ellison said glancing at Annie.

  Annie came in. ‘I still think it’s strange that Frances Amato went to the funeral knowing how her husband felt about Bannister and given her husband’s actions later in the day with Merton.’

  Both Bronski and Ellison were thoughtful. ‘Does make you wonder if Frances Amato had some other connection to Bannister,’ Ellison mused.

  ‘Or to Brother Jonathan,’ Annie added.

  ‘Right, we need to talk to Amato again anyway. Maybe you’ll get a chance to talk to Frances Amato while you’re at it. Will you two do that tomorrow?’ asked Bronski.

  Annie made a note. ‘One more thing on that. Do we need to think again whether we let her or her husband know there were photos of their son on Bannister’s computer?’

  Ellison leaned forward. ‘They weren’t pornographic so I suggest we could keep that to ourselves for now. Let’s consider it tomorrow when we speak to either of them.’ His colleagues agreed.

  Bronski turned back to the list. ‘The next item is the two autopsies. Apart from the similarities between the two mutilations, we’re still awaiting the full autopsy reports, as well as the full crime scene reports and any other forensics from the autopsies. Up to now, it looks like our murderer was very careful not to leave any calling cards for us.’

  ‘Are we settled on one murderer or more?’ Annie asked.

  Bronski put a question mark on the board. ‘Nothing tells me it’s two, so far, except how the two men were subdued and the lack of defensive wounds. So, let’s still keep an open mind.’

  ‘The new thing: Mearns’ connection to the mayor,’ Annie offered. ‘That needs to go on the list.’

  ‘Depends if you believe him or not. I’m still waiting for the phone company records. We might find out more from those. So far, my instinct is not to believe the little story he spun to you two abo
ut the new initiative that’s still under wraps,’ Ellison remarked.

  ‘OK,’ Bronski summed up, ‘I think we’ve got our next lines of inquiry figured out. Why don’t you two get going? I’m expecting the captain back. I’ll review things with him. I imagine he’s getting an earful from the chief and the mayor about the wreath.’

  Annie and Ellison both grabbed their jackets and headed out. ‘Want a ride home?’ Ellison asked.

  The thought of returning to her apartment and checking her phone all evening didn’t appeal to Annie. ‘How about I buy you a meal first?’

  Ellison laughed. ‘Can I have what I want for dessert?’

  Annie shook her head. ‘You have a great sense of humour, Detective.’

  Ellison opened the door to the stairs and pointed upwards. ‘Let’s drop by Parker’s office before we leave and ask him to check the Brother Jonathan link. We can also ask him how much longer it’ll be before we get a report on Mearns’ computer.’

  Chapter 44

  The man in the brown uniform watched as the lights downstairs were switched off – another hour or two to wait, in his estimation. He drove past the house, not wanting to park in the immediate vicinity, even with the precautions of a rental car and a fake driver’s licence. This was the most prestigious neighbourhood in Westford, though it seemed a misnomer to define it as such. It wasn’t as if the nearest neighbour was in striking distance. Each property had a swath of land and most had outdoor pools, built in barbecue areas and decking at the back.

  Thoughts of the first reconnaissance came back to him: Mrs Lansdowne in her driveway, loading the car. Then accessing the basement: inserting an additional code number into the alarm, checking there were no motion detectors fitted and leaving one of the windows slightly ajar. Finally, back upstairs, and noting that the door leading to the basement wasn’t fitted with any additional locks. Despite that preparation, he had to be sure of getting in undetected, switching off the alarm and subduing Matthew Lansdowne before the man could take any defensive action. So, earlier that day there was another practice without the main character present.

  As the man drove around the vicinity now, he amused himself reviewing his attacks on Brian Bannister and Patrick Mearns. Both men were really quite submissive, not believing they were really in danger until it was too late. Now Lansdowne would be forewarned. Did he know the nature of the injuries inflicted on the two men or had the police kept those details from him? The thought of Lansdowne trying desperately to get that information amused him. Matthew Lansdowne’s death was the long awaited one. Failure was not an option.

  A glance at his watch again – one a.m. – time to put the plan into action. He parked the car where the practice runs had shown that it would go undetected. This time his backpack was holding the gun, duct tape, gloves, shoe coverings and the knife. The knife was brand new in honour of the mayor – a trophy to keep. The neighbourhood was really quiet and the man was emboldened knowing he wasn’t spotted on the five-minute walk to Lansdowne’s house. He entered from the rear of the property and crept along until he reached the basement window. There was a slight breeze in the air, which made the leaves swirl around in the back yard. He thought about the symbolism of the leaves falling in September only for the re-growth in the spring. There would be no more spring times for his three victims. By then, their bodies would be rotting in the ground. The thought was comforting. Putting the gloves on, he pushed the basement window open. As anticipated, Lansdowne hadn’t checked the windows or spotted that one was unlocked and slightly ajar.

  So far, so good. Even so, his heart was pounding. This one was the most important one – critical to the completion of his promise. Opening the window fully, the man slid down the basement wall, feet first, dropping the last several inches to touch the floor. The flashlight located the old stool needed to reach the window to secure it from the inside again. The stool had to be returned to where it had been. Mrs Lansdowne might notice if it was left in the wrong place.

  ‘Shit …’ The stool was old and the splinter stuck out of his gloved finger. Pulling it out, the fragment was lost in the process. He examined the gloved area with his flashlight. There was a tiny spot of blood underneath the glove. Carefully he unwound a piece of duct tape and covered his finger with it, not wanting to leave even a microscopic piece of evidence behind to link him to the scene. By now he was sweating, scared that things were going to go wrong. ‘Failure is not an option,’ the man repeated under his breath.

  The next hurdle was the basement door. The pick had worked earlier in the day. His heart was beating faster now and it felt as if it would leap out of his chest. He stopped for a moment trying to calm himself. Then he carefully worked the lock until the door opened. There was a nightlight on in the hallway, something not spotted earlier in the day, probably there for Monica Lansdowne’s benefit getting up for the baby in the night. He tried not to think of her. During their brief conversation in the driveway, she’d struck him as a lovely woman; definitely too good for Matthew Lansdowne. Who knows, maybe she’d be relieved to be rid of him? He wanted to think that was the case; couldn’t imagine that arrogant piece of shit being a good husband.

  The alarm was the easy part. He programmed in the new code and the beeping stopped. Now, he stood very still by the hall closet, in case Lansdowne had heard the beeping. If he started down the stairs, the man would move into the kitchen. The house remained quiet – another hurdle surpassed with his meticulous planning. He could almost taste success now. Silently he crept up the staircase, passing the child’s room on the left, the door open. Glancing at her crib in the corner of the room, he felt regret for how differently his life could have been.

  The master bedroom was after the family bathroom. The door was open. He paused looking into the room. Matthew Lansdowne was sleeping: lying contentedly on his stomach, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other splayed to the side. This was it – this was his moment. He stepped back to calm himself once more, and carefully retrieved the gun and duct tape from the backpack. The gun he tucked into his waistband. Before Matthew Lansdowne could stir, he had a knee shoved in his lower back and both arms dragged behind his back. The duct tape bound the two hands together.

  ‘What the …’ were the only words Lansdowne got out before being flipped over on to his back and his ankles similarly bound. The big powerful mayor didn’t look so powerful any more, lying there there in his boxer shorts, his hands behind his back and his ankles bound and held taut with the tape secured to the baseboard of the bed.

  ‘You bastard, what do you think you’re doing,’ he screamed. ‘That alarm is connected to the police station. They’ll be here in a few minutes.’

  The man smiled, ‘Not now I’ve overrode it.’

  The mayor’s face was flushed with anger. ‘We should’ve killed you that night, you jerk. You …’ Lansdowne stopped mid sentence, his eyes widening when he saw the duct tape.

  ‘So, no regrets then about what you masterminded? Not asking for forgiveness?’ the man commented securing the tape over Lansdowne’s mouth, despite the mayor’s struggle. ‘And I thought you and I could have had a conversation. That you might want to beg me to spare you. Too arrogant, Matt? Just like you always were. Matthew Lansdowne, big man on campus with your adoring followers, ready to do whatever you wanted them too. At least, I was spared being one of them.’

  There was only fury in Lansdowne’s eyes, his cheeks puffed out as he tried to shout. The tape made that impossible.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t beg. That’s why I saved you till last. The other two begged. Oh, and they blamed it all on you. They were all following your lead; what you wanted.’

  The fury was there but there was little that Matthew Lansdowne could do. His chest was heaving, as his breathing got harder. Pushing against the duct tape with his lips only caused further constriction.

  The man
left the room for a moment and retrieved the backpack. He placed it on the dressing table in clear view of Lansdowne, taking the knife out. The gun was put back, no longer needed. Then the man rolled up his sleeves, taking care not to dislodge his gloves.

  ‘I’ve waited a long time for this moment,’ he said, placing his fingers in the waistband of the mayor’s boxer shorts and dragging them down his legs.

  Matthew Lansdowne reared up, trying to head butt his assailant, managing only to knock the knife away. The victory was short lived. The man punched him in the jaw and he fell back on the bed, momentarily stunned. Then the man reached for the duct tape again and dragged it across the width of the bed to hold the mayor down more securely, before retrieving the knife, which lay a few feet away.

  ‘That wasn’t clever, was it?’ he said, slapping the knife across his hand.

  Again, the mayor’s chest heaved although movement was severely hampered now by the duct tape.

  The man smiled as he placed the knife on the tenderest part of the mayor’s body. Then very slowly he picked it up again and stared straight into the Lansdowne’s eyes while driving the point of the knife into the flesh and slicing down one side of his genitals. Blood spurted out, but the man was prepared, a cloth in place to keep his uniform unstained.

  The shock registered on the mayor’s face instantly, followed by a muffled scream and another attempt to dislodge himself from his tethers. To no avail.

  Matthew Lansdowne took longer to die than Patrick Mearns. The man didn’t mind waiting. Finally he touched the mayor’s neck to feel for a pulse and there was none. Matthew Lansdowne didn’t look powerful any more.