Det Annie Macpherson 02 - Programmed To Kill

by Speake, Barbara Fagan

  In the various small compartments she found two passports: one in the name of Barry Ainscough which had expired and a second one, in date, which was in the name of Bruce Crawley. Annie looked at both photographs side by side and was struck by how different the same man appeared in each document. Bruce Crawley had clearly gained weight and fitness in the intervening years. The earlier one, in the name of Barry Ainscough revealed an adolescent, on the cusp of manhood, the same young man who appeared next to the photograph of Jennifer Marks, found under Father Bannister’s pillow. The only similarity detectable was the date of birth. There was also a document certifying the change of name. Annie noted the date. It was the year the three murder victims had finished at the University of Westford. In the final compartment Annie found a white envelope simply addressed to Jennifer Marks in very neat handwriting. It wasn’t sealed.

  She called her two colleagues into the study.

  ‘Open it and read it out loud,’ Bronski instructed, as Ellison joined them in the room.

  She pulled the flap back and unfolded the letter. It too was hand written.

  To my love, Jennifer

  I have finally accomplished what I vowed to do that night. I am sorry that you will never read this letter. It’s still important for me to write it. That night was supposed to be the best night of our lives, the first time that we would make love to one another. You wanted to wait until we were both sure. God, I loved you so much. I still do.

  Patrick offered his room and I took it excitedly. The start of that night was all I had hoped it would be. Your touch, your lips, your whole body – the way you made me forget it was my first time. Both of us had been saving ourselves for the pleasure of each other and the promise of so many more nights like that to come.

  It was my fault that we didn’t leave when we should have. My fault for letting us fall asleep. I have rehearsed the ‘what ifs’ in my mind so many times. All I accomplished was to nearly drive myself crazy. The fact that you wouldn’t take my phone calls, or answer my letters after you left college destroyed a part of me. I understand now, after talking to your mom, that your own demons were worse than mine. You turned in on yourself, while I devoted the last twelve years of my life to planning revenge. Not just for me, for you too – mostly for you. They violated you in ways that I can’t even bear to think about, even after all this time. You found your own peace and with that, I finally felt vindicated to carry out my plan. That day at your burial, I decided it was time. I made a silent promise to you, as I dropped the rose on your casket.

  I never thought until that first morning that I could kill another person. I wasn’t even sure, with all my planning, that I could go through with it when the time came. When Brian was kneeling in front of me and pleading for his life, I remembered your pleas and how they went unheard. I knew that moment, with your face in my mind that I could go through with it. Brian was the weakest of the three. When I sliced him up, his eyes went wide, his screams muffled by the tape. I wanted to stay and watch him bleed to death slowly: watch him suffer, see in his eyes the regret, if there was any. I didn’t get the timing quite right and had to leave before I was sure he was dead. I got angry with myself because of that.

  I got it exactly right with Patrick. We had been friends – I thought best friends. He knew how important that night was to me: knew that you were my first serious girlfriend, that we had waited and wanted it to be special. He tried to blame the others, asked for forgiveness, wanted to know how he could make it up to me. He even offered me money. Money! I was incensed by that – as if money could make up for what he did to you, for what he caused you to do to yourself all these years later and how he destroyed our future together. He could have stopped it that night. It was his room, his call. He was more interested in pleasing them, than saving us. He betrayed me and he betrayed us that night and I will never be able to come to terms with that. As he pleaded with me, I heard again the sound of your screams and could see the tears streaming down your face, while each of them in turn raped you. However I hurt him, it was nothing to the degradation he and the others inflicted on you and then on me.

  I have to admit that the killing got easier. Matt was the most arrogant. Even when he knew that there was no escape he wouldn’t plead. He laughed at me. I scared myself with the pleasure I got from killing him – slowly. I stayed with him till the very last breath. Even then, more than anything, I wished I could have killed him again.

  If I could have, I would have got the three of them together and made them each watch what I did to them in turn, the way they made me watch you being raped and you seeing me being raped and forced to perform such grossness on Matt. Maybe they suffered in their own ways, knowing what I was going to do to them; being conscious when I sliced through those despicable parts of their bodies.

  I ask myself now if I could kill again and it scares me to even think about it. The real answer is that I don’t know. The only certain thing in my mind is that I could kill all three of them again. I have no regrets about what I’ve done. The only thing that haunts me is that I will never see you again. You were, you are, you always will be the most important person in my life, the one and only woman I have ever loved.

  I don’t care what happens to me now, except that I will never allow myself to stand trial for these murders. I will not have what happened to us be discussed in an open courtroom, have every detail raked over. If I think the police suspect me then I will take my own life first, as you were brave enough to do, my sweet angel.

  I have explained it all to you. We are both at peace now.

  All my love,

  Barry

  Annie finished reading and realised that tears were running down her face. ‘He pointed the gun at me only because he wanted to talk to Grace, to make her understand how he felt about her sister. He wanted us both to understand. Yet we didn’t know him, only what he was capable of and we were frightened that we were next. Now we have proof that he always intended to turn the gun on himself, rather than be arrested.’ She knew it was unprofessional but after all that had happened today, she couldn’t hold back the tears.

  Bronski looked embarrassed. Ellison walked over and put his arms around her.

  ‘Ellison, take Macpherson home. You’ve both done enough today. I’ll wait for Heaviley.’ Bronski took the letter, put it in an evidence bag and labelled it.

  Chapter 69

  The apartment buzzer sounded and Annie let Ellison in.

  ‘Wow, you look beautiful.’

  Annie blushed. ‘Thanks to you and your excellent shopping advice. You look pretty good yourself. Is that your special wedding suit?’

  Ellison laughed. ‘Come to think of it, the last time I wore it was to a cousin’s wedding last year. Good thing my weight stays the same.’

  ‘I need some help with this chain.’ Annie passed it to Ellison as she lifted her long blond curls and then turned around. He secured the chain and then kissed her neck gently, releasing her hand so that her hair fell back in place. Annie turned around to face him and they kissed. Since the suicide of Bruce Crawley, the two had become closer.

  ‘So does the captain know that I’m your date for Christine and Michael’s wedding?’

  ‘I told him yesterday. He never commented, just said that he would see us there. I understand that Bronski was also invited but he’s out of town this weekend. Not sure why.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s an excuse. I think Bronski’s a bit of a loner.’

  ‘Hmm, I think you’re right. Have a seat for a minute. I want to put some more lipstick on.’

  Ellison moved closer. ‘Well if you’re going to do that, you might as well have a reason to.’ He took her face in his hands and kissed her again.

  *****

  The ceremony was at Christine James’ childhood home. The lounge had been cleared of its usual furniture and repla
ced by folding chairs. Christine’s brother-in-law, Jack, introduced himself and then showed Annie and Ellison to their seats.

  Once they were in place, Annie whispered, ‘Jack is married to Christine’s sister, Beth, and is Michael Turner’s best friend. He introduced Christine to Michael.’

  Ellison tilted his head closer. ‘There’s the captain a few rows in front of us. The woman next to him must be his wife.’

  ‘Can’t wait to meet her,’ Annie whispered back. ‘That’s Christine’s mother at the very front. I met her last Saturday night at our meal out.’

  ‘I remember last Saturday night very well,’ Ellison responded, winking at his date.

  Annie blushed at the memory. It was the night after Bruce Crawley’s suicide. Annie had debated whether to keep to her plans that night. During the day, she had gone into the station to help Ellison with the inventory of stuff from Crawley’s apartment, as well as the reports. He was on the duty shift. Somehow, after all that had happened on the Friday, she didn’t want to be alone that day. It was Ellison who had convinced her to keep the dinner date and had dropped her off at the restaurant. The women had been great fun. Then afterwards, Ellison picked her up. She’d invited him in for a drink, finally realising how she felt about him. He hadn’t taken any persuasion to stay the night. She wondered now, how she had missed for so long, what was right before her eyes.

  The music started. Michael and Jack walked to the front of the room from a side door. They both looked very attractive in suits, rather than tuxedos. Beth’s four-year-old daughter Marcia walked down the aisle, throwing white rose petals from a basket. She was dressed in a pink outfit, which matched her mother’s. Beth was next, followed by Christine, arm and arm with her father. Annie thought Christine looked stunning in a cream dress with a long sleeved lace bolero. She felt a twinge of sadness seeing Christine’s dad kiss his daughter and then give her hand to Michael. She would never have that moment with her father. She still missed him every day; none more so than at times like this. Ellison must have read her thoughts, as he reached over and squeezed her hand.

  The ceremony was brief, but beautiful in its simplicity, and when it was over, the guests helped move the chairs around for the buffet. When Annie and Ellison had filled their plates in the kitchen, they wandered back to find a place to sit. They caught Franconi’s eye, and he motioned them over and introduced his wife.

  Over the next twenty minutes, Annie became more and more impressed with the woman, although she hadn’t really known what to expect. Mary Franconi was the head of a voluntary youth organization and was extremely knowledgeable about all sorts of political issues. The conversation flowed readily and Annie thought that she would like to spend more time with the captain’s wife on her own, especially as her organisation was involved in promoting inclusion for young people with intellectual disabilities, like her brother.

  When there was a lull, Mary Franconi got up. ‘I’ll get us some desserts. I’m sure you have some catching up to do. Marco switches off at any conversation with me not involving his work or food.’ She smiled at her husband who gave her hand a squeeze as she walked away.

  ‘So,’ Franconi said, turning back to Ellison and Macpherson, ‘how are you two? I didn’t get a chance to tell you that I saw the chief last thing yesterday and he is recommending both of you for bravery awards.’

  ‘But sir,’ Annie started to say.

  Franconi held both hands up. ‘Scottie, don’t but me. You deserve it. Facing up to a triple murderer, making sure a civilian was safe and using your skills to make sure you stayed safe yourself – that was something else. Besides, think how a bravery award is going to sound in your appraisal, especially since we’ve only reached the halfway stage of your exchange. You’ll probably get a promotion back in little old England.’ Then he winked at her. ‘I’ll tell you something else, I’d be proud to have you permanently in my squad.’

  Annie felt herself blushing. Franconi wasn’t usually effusive in his praise. She was lost for words.

  ‘And as for you Ellison, I know what you were prepared to do. Thank God, Crawley took that decision out of your hands.’

  Ellison nodded. ‘Thanks, Captain. We’ve all, Bronski included, appreciated your support on these three cases. So what’s the political fallout from the motive for the three murders?’

  ‘Difficult. It had to come out. The press has been like a pack of baying wolves. We’ve tried to keep the details to a minimum. It’s been hard. Crawley himself was a successful businessman, known more in New York, than Connecticut. Even so, when the public hears that someone like him, not their image of a psychopath or a serial killer, commits three murders, they want to know why. Unfortunately we weren’t able to spare the Marks’ family from some of the press attention. Grace Marks has managed to interest several publications in pursuing the impact of rape on victims, men or women, so that might help educate the public.’

  ‘That and domestic violence, the last taboo,’ Ellison commented.

  The three were reflective momentarily, until Franconi spoke again, ‘At least he did us a favour by killing himself. Imagine what a media circus the trial would have been. He would have got life three times over, no doubt about that.’

  ‘The very thing he didn’t want,’ Annie mused. ‘I think in his own mind, he was already serving a life sentence. In that single night, the future he’d planned with Jennifer Marks changed forever. For him suicide was the only acceptable ending.’

  A moment later, Franconi’s wife reappeared with a tray of desserts and a full bottle of wine in her hand, which she placed on the table. ‘OK, enough police talk, this is a wedding after all.’

  Franconi got up and took his wife by the hand. ‘Come on, I’m ready for a dance.’

  Annie laughed as Ellison filled her glass. A lovely refreshing breeze came through the window. It was turning out to be a beautiful day.

  By the same author

  (and available on Kindle)

  Secrets Only Sleep (2005)

  Ashridge Press ISBN (Print): 1 901214 41 9

  Michael Turner is content, if not happy. He has his own security business and is finally coming to terms with being invalided out of the Westford Connecticut Police after an undercover operation that went badly wrong. But as dawn breaks on the morning of May 21, 2000, he is unwittingly drawn into an investigation of a murdered bag lady, the body found by one of his security staff. Something about her is oddly familiar but where does he known her from?

  A chance meeting with Dr Christine James, the sister of one of his oldest friends, temporarily back in Connecticut and still grieving from the sudden and premature death of her British husband triggers off a memory and leads to the identification of the murdered bag lady. Christine is drawn into the investigation, becoming immersed again in the life of her former childhood best friend: attending her funeral, comforting her parents, discovering Maria’s ex-husband, unraveling her past, helping the police. For everyone Maria’s left behind, there are questions. Why did she take to living on the streets? Why was no one able to help her? What was it that she was never able to come to terms with? All questions with disturbing answers.

  As Christine and Michael are drawn deeper and deeper into the investigation, the two develop a closeness that Christine never felt possible again and she discovers that her life still has meaning, even without Richard. But the murdered bag lady had secrets that even Christine never knew and as she works closely with Michael and Detective Marco Franconi, from the Westford Police Department, to try to put the pieces of the puzzle together, someone else is following her movements, someone who doesn’t want secrets out in the open. When Christine finally learns the true motive for the murder, she is hurtling towards a precipice ... after all, a grieving widow can be unpredictable ...

  Primed by the Past (2011)

  Country Books ISBN (Print)
: 978-1-906789-52-7

  www.countrybooks.biz

  Scottish detective Annie Macpherson, on an exchange with the Westford Connecticut Police, didn’t believe that Angela Goodman was in danger when she presented herself at the station. Now Annie knows differently. Angela has been brutally attacked in her own home and left for dead.

  Annie is determined to make amends and catch the culprit, not only for Angela’s sake, but her own. She’s a third generation cop and has a tradition of fine police work to uphold.

  Within days, a fatal car crash in Massachusetts initially seems to be an accident but subsequent evidence points to something much more sinister. The result: yet another victim and yet another detective trying to fit the pieces of a jigsaw together.

  A convoluted trail of clues and misdirection propels this story at a cracking pace. On the way, there is murder, suicide and revenge. What makes Primed by the Past a police procedural with a difference is that it is written by a psychologist, so we also see into the lives of the characters, their relationships and personal tragedies. Needless to say, nobody is quite who they seem and as Annie investigates the layers of lies and half truths, the body count starts to mount. It then becomes a race against time to prevent any further deaths, a race that Annie must win.