There was no way we could properly secure the crime scene because essentially it encompassed the entire park. All we could do was keep contamination to a minimum. The forensic team arrived, but as the body had been in the water there wasn’t a lot they could do on the spot except take photographs of the area. Finally, the body was loaded into the van and taken off to the morgue.
“D’you feel like having a coffee?” Chaffey asked me. “You’ll have to share my Thermos.”
I was about to say, “And your bed too if that’s what it takes,” but I wouldn’t want him to take it the wrong way. At this hour of the morning, in the rain, with damp clothes, no breakfast, I was a coffee slut.
We settled into the patrol car and he unscrewed the lid of the Thermos and poured me a cupful. It was sweet and I don’t take sugar but I was past caring.
He helped himself to some, put the cup on the dashboard, and took out his notebook.
“All right. Start at the beginning. How the hell did you and the shrink get to be here at dawn, fishing the body of a murdered girl out of the pond?”
Chaffey was a good cop. He allowed me to tell my story with the minimum of interjections on his part. What follows is what I told him, although I left out the personal bits concerning my mother.
I was awakened by my phone. It was ten minutes past five, and as I had gone to bed late because I was working on some statement analysis requests, I was a tad grumpy when I answered. I thought it was my mother, Joan, calling from the Hebrides. She has a cavalier disregard for time zones and this wouldn’t have been the first time she had phoned in the early hours of the morning. It turned out the caller was Leo Forgach. He’s the resident forensic psychiatrist at the Behavioural Science Centre where I work, and frankly, he’s not one of my favourite folks. He can be an irritable cuss when he’s under pressure, which is often. When he wasn’t taking everybody’s head off for asking him a stupid question, he was all right, but he could never be called warm and fuzzy. I hardly recognized his voice over the phone; all that aloofness had vanished. He was almost frantic. He said that his daughter, Deidre, appeared to be missing. Her roommate had called to say that she hadn’t come home that night. She herself had just woken up and discovered Deedee’s bed hadn’t been slept in. This was so totally out of character that both of them — Leo and the roommate, Nora — were alarmed. Apparently, Deidre had left about seven o’clock for her usual Tuesday evening jaunt to Casino Rama. She did this on a regular basis but never, ever stayed past midnight. He asked me to help.
Leo picked me up and we drove straight to the casino to see if for some reason she was still there. He recognized her car, which was parked in the lot. The driver’s side front tire was flat. We checked inside the building just in case, but there was no sign of her. Leo pulled rank and got the security staff to help us, and the stamped receipt at one of the blackjack tables indicated she’d left at 10:33.
“What made you think you’d find her in the park?” Chaffey asked.
“Leo has a spare key to the car and he found a note on the passenger seat. It was handwritten and said … let me get this as exact as I can … it said, ‘Okay. I’ll meet you in Memorial Park at the monument. Eleven. Don’t be late, I won’t wait.’”
“Do you have the note?”
“No, I don’t, sorry Ed. It must be in Leo’s pocket. I didn’t think to retrieve it.”
“That’s understandable. You had other things on your mind. There won’t be any prints on it anyway.”
I sipped some more of his coffee, trying to make it last. “I’ve never met Deidre, and at this point, I thought she might be shacking up with somebody and would show up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed back at home.” I hesitated, feeling as if I was betraying a confidence. “He was particularly concerned because she did make a fairly serious suicide attempt when she was sixteen. She jumped off this same pier but was rescued by a pair of joggers.”
“So he was afraid she might have done it properly this time?”
I nodded. “We got here as fast as we could and started to search the shore. When he found her and we got her out of the water, at first it seemed she was in fact a suicide. Then we saw the scarf. There’s no way she could have strangled herself like that.”
“We’ll have to see what forensic tells us.” Ed groaned. “I’m sorry for the girl and I’m sorry for him, but I’m also bloody sorry for myself. All traces are likely washed off; this is a public place with dozens of people going back and forth even at this time of year. And trying to get statements from witnesses at the casino will take us months. Do you know how many people go through those doors on a given day?”
“A lot, I’m sure. Even at five-thirty in the morning, there must have been a couple hundred players in there.”
“Three thousand a day! Give or take.”
He switched on the windshield wipers and stared out gloomily at the black wind-whipped lake.
“Poor bugger. Is he married?”
“Divorced. He also said that relations were strained between him and his daughter.”
“Reason?”
“He didn’t say.”
Ed poured out the last of the coffee into my cup and I finished it off.
“I told Leo I’d phone him as soon as I could. The roommate should also be informed. She’s probably worried sick.”
Chaffey turned to look at me. “This is tricky, isn’t it? You’re absolutely the best person to do that job but you’re not exactly on the case, are you?”
“I could be your consultant if you want to go through proper channels.”
For the first time, he smiled. It looked good on him. “Done. You’ve got yourself a job, Christine Morris. The thrill of the chase is still in your blood, isn’t it?”
I shrugged that off. He was partly right. I had inadvertently got involved and I knew I would have to follow that up as far as I could. I might not have a close friendship with Leo Forgach but I had a lot of respect for him. He was also one of us, one of the team, and as far as I was concerned, that counted for a lot.
CHAPTER THREE
The nurse on emergency said that Leo was under sedation and asleep. He was in no danger and she thought that he could be discharged by tomorrow. I left a message to say that I had called and gave her my personal cell number.
Ed decided to send Constable Johnson with me to speak to Deidre’s roommate, Nora. First we had to drop off Mr. Torres, who was sitting quietly in the back of the police car, Lily asleep beside him.
I got in the back seat, not wanting him to feel awkward with the protective grid separating us.
“What do you think happened to her?” he asked.
“I don’t know at this point. Did you know her well?”
“No, not at all. She live on my street, that’s all I can say. I see her perhaps once or twice when I’m walking Lily.”
“Do you live alone, Mr. Torres?”
I saw Johnson glance at me in the rear-view mirror. He could hear what I was saying and I had obviously slipped into a familiar mode of questioning. I couldn’t really help it. You can get too suspicious when you’re in homicide and can end up suspecting everybody, which isn’t helpful. On the other hand, I didn’t want to make the mistake of not asking questions that might help us later.
“Why do you ask?”
“You’ve had a shock. I wanted to make sure somebody was at home for you.”
This was a bit of prevarication on my part. I was frankly “gathering,” as we call it. Pulling in as much information as possible.
“I’ll be fine,” he said. “My mother is at home.” He leaned forward and tapped on the screen. “Turn left at the next street,” he said to Johnson. “I’m in that apartment building on the right. The one with the canopy.”
“Thank you for your help, Mr. Torres. I’ll get your things back to you as soon as I can.”
“I hope the poor man recovers.”
He slid out of the car and with Lily tucked underneath his arm he hurried away.
I sighed, not relishing the task ahead. “Let’s give the roommate the news. She’s on Mary Street.”
Lights were on in all rooms in the house, which was a small red-brick detached with a covered porch. There was a child’s tricycle on the front lawn. With Johnson behind me, I went up the steps and rang the bell. The door was opened at once. A woman, twentyish, husky, whom I presumed to be the roommate, Nora, stood in the doorway. A skinny little blonde girl of about three, still in her PJs, thumb in mouth, was beside her, eyeing me curiously. I felt a clenching in my stomach. How do you tell a child that age her mother is dead? I didn’t think I’d shown my feelings but I must have revealed something because Nora took a quick intake of breath.
“Have you found her?”
I nodded. “Do you mind if we come in? I’m Detective Sergeant Morris and this is Detective Constable Johnson.”
“I’m Nora Cochrane. We can go into the kitchen. Joy is just finishing her breakfast.” She tapped the child on the shoulder and when she looked up at her, Nora pointed to her own mouth in a gesture that was universally recognizable for food and pointed down the hall.
“You don’t have to be careful about what you say. She won’t hear you. She’s deaf.”
She took the child by the hand and stepped back so we could come in. The living room and dining room were open concept, with a plant-filled divider separating them from the hall and the stairs.
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” said Nora. “We’re back here.”
We followed her into the kitchen where she stowed Joy in a chair. She put a spoon in her hand and shoved a bowl of cereal closer to her. Then she turned to face us.
“Is Deedee dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Nora bit her lip hard. She was a tough-looking young woman, mannish in her red plaid lumberjack shirt and spiky black hair. A tattoo of a skull and crossbones decorated one side of her neck and she had several studs, one in her nostril, another in her lip. The kind that always made me wince.
“I knew it. I knew something bad had happened. Dee would only ever not come home if she was dead or unconscious. What happened? Was she in an accident?”
“No, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but we are treating this as an equivocal death.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“We found her body in the lake at Memorial Park. She appears to have been strangled.”
Nora gaped at me. “That’s fucking ridiculous! Who the hell would do that to Dee?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Seeming to sense the disturbance in the air, Joy suddenly made a guttural noise deep in her throat. She made some rapid hand signs which Nora responded to slowly and awkwardly, reinforcing her movements with words.
“Mommy at work. Joy finish brekkie now. There’s a good girl. See Mommy tonight.”
The child didn’t look convinced but she went back to spooning her cornflakes into her mouth, her eyes steady on Nora.
Behind me, Constable Johnson shuffled his feet. I could sense his discomfort with the whole situation but he’d have to get used to it if he was going to make it as a police officer. Heartbreak came with the territory.
“Where’s Leo Forgach?” Nora asked.
“He jumped into the water to help get Deidre’s body out and he’s currently at the hospital. He’ll be all right. He’s got a touch of hypothermia.”
“Yeah? I’m surprised. Him and cold water are compatible.”
Nora’s shoulders were shaking and I would have tried to comfort her, but I had the feeling she was one of those people whose grief converts into anger in a second. I thought it was wiser to keep my distance for a while. She looked up at the clock on the wall.
“I’d better call work and say I won’t be coming in. Somebody’ll have to stay with the kid.”
“Is there anybody else who can help out? I know this isn’t easy for you.”
She glared at me. “Don’t give me that fucking cop speak. You don’t have a fucking clue what I’m feeling.”
Johnson made a scolding noise. “No need to carry on like that, miss. Detective Morris is only trying to help.”
She flung him a look that would have shrivelled the soul of a stronger man.
“What isn’t easy, as you put it, is that I’m the one who has to turn my life inside out now. The kid’ll be dumped on my lap and I’m just the fucking babysitter, for God’s sake. Well, let me tell you, I’ll do it for today but that’s all. He’s going to have to find somebody else. I’m not going to lose my job for anybody.”
The words were ugly and sounded abysmally selfish but I could feel her panic underneath. I tried again.
“Miss Cochrane, I wish I could have told you the news in a softer way but there is no blunting the truth. Deidre Forgach…”
She interrupted me. “Larsen. Her name was Larsen. She changed it years ago. She took her mother’s name.”
“Deidre Larsen was most likely murdered and at the moment we don’t know who did it. We intend to find out. If you can answer some of my questions now, I would appreciate it.”
Joy growled and made signs at me. Nora managed a smile. “She wants to know why we are going bam-bam. She’s a sensitive little brat. She picks up feelings like a radio antenna.”
She signed something back to the little girl. “I told her we were just discussing something and we’re friends.” Some of the tension in the room relaxed and Joy grinned at me.
“I’m going to have to get her dressed. I’ll see if Mrs. Somerset can take her for now. She runs the daycare. It’ll be better for her there.” She beckoned to the child, who got out of the chair. Nora picked her up and held her close for a moment but Joy squirmed to be put down. “I’ll be back in a minute,” Nora said to us. “Help yourself to coffee if you want. It’s on the stove.”
The door closed behind her. Johnson exhaled ostentatiously. “Boy, why do dykes always have to prove they’ve got the biggest balls?”
I felt like snapping at him that dykes weren’t the only ones but he was too easy a target. We were all upset.
CHAPTER FOUR
Joy was picked up by a babysitter who had been quickly apprised of the situation and whose shocked face immediately provoked a wail of anxiety in the child. Protesting, she was however carried off.
“She’ll have to get used to it,” said Nora. “Life’s shitty for kids most of the time anyway.”
While she’d been getting Joy ready, I’d had a chance to take in the setting, always helpful. The kitchen was bright even in this dreary morning light, with white cupboards and daffodil yellow walls. It was as tidy as you’re going to get with a three-year-old around and there was lots of evidence that Joy was the centre of the universe, the fridge adorned with crayon pictures, stick figures doing the important things they do in a child’s life. I could see through an arch, blocked off by a baby gate, into the main living area. It too was pleasant with good light, comfy-looking furniture, crammed bookcases.
Nora came back into the kitchen. In spite of her “I’m so tough” attitude, she looked really distressed and I thought her interactions with the child had been very affectionate.
“Do you want some coffee, cuz I do.” she asked.
“Sure, thanks.” I answered.
The constable shook his head. I would have dearly liked to have got rid of him but you’re supposed to have a second person present if you are conducting any kind of official interview. It would have been better if he could have faded into the background, but his dislike of Nora was palpable and it hung in the air like a bad smell.
She busied herself making the coffee, not looking at us. “Have you got in touch with Deedee’s mother yet? She might even tear herself away from saving
the planet and come up here to take care of the kid. Not that Joy knows her, really, but she is family. She should do something.”
“I expect Dr. Forgach will take care of that.”
“Are you kidding? From all I’ve heard, you might as well ask Israel and Palestine to form a government. Those two don’t talk. Period.”
“I gather the family was not close,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Not close” in this case seemed to mean utter alienation. Nora got two mugs out of the cupboard, slamming the cupboard door as she did so.
“Deidre’s mother, Mizz Larsen, is what you might call a career woman. She’s an environmental lawyer in the Big Smoke. She travels all over the country suing people who cut down trees and shit like that. I’ll give her this, she’s not a hypocrite. She’s always made it clear she’s not going to be doting grannie, especially since Deedee deliberately produced a handicapped kid. I’ve been on the scene since the week after Joy was born, and in two plus years, I’d say Mizz Larsen has visited twice. No, I lie. She came last Christmas. That makes it three times.” She poured out a dark aromatic mug of coffee and handed it to me. “Do you take milk?”
“Just black.”
We were both acting as if Constable Johnson wasn’t in the room. I wished he was a smoker and would go outside for a few minutes. To my delight, he obliged.
He touched the phone on his shoulder. “I’d better call Sergeant Chaffey and report in.”
“The reception should be better outside,” I said.
“Be right back.”
He shambled awkwardly out of the room, aware that Nora was scrutinizing him with hostility.
The K Handshape Page 2