Det Annie Macpherson 01 - Primed By The Past

by Speake, Barbara Fagan

  65

  Annie walked into Angela’s kitchen. Somehow it felt awkward being there the next morning. But why? After all, they were two single people. Last night it just seemed sensible that she should stay over in the guest room, rather than get a late taxi.

  Charlie smiled as he put some toast on the table and poured coffee for the two of them. ‘Sleep OK?’

  ‘I did, that sofa bed is really comfortable.’

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got much food in; hope toast is enough to keep you going.’

  Before Annie could answer, the phone rang.

  Charlie looked at her. ‘That could be the hospital.’

  She watched him get up from the table, silently hoping that this wasn’t the phone call he’d been fearing.

  ‘I didn’t catch your name … Gus Wojinski.’ Annie watched as Charlie noted the name down on the pad by the phone. ‘No, Angela Goodman isn’t here right now. I’m her brother, Charlie Hegarty. I’m staying at her house for a while.’ Charlie hesitated while the man spoke and Annie was trying to get the gist of what was being said. ‘I’m sorry for your loss: you must be devastated. No, I’m sorry, I don’t recognise your wife’s name. I was a kid when Angie was in the services. Of course, I’ll let Angie know. Gus, give me your number.’

  As Gus Wojinski was giving his number, he broke down on the phone. Charlie put his hand over the receiver and motioned to Annie. As he pressed the speaker button Annie could hear weeping. Charlie mouthed to her, ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  Annie stood there, debating whether to take the phone from Charlie but thought better of it. He hadn’t said what the situation was with Angela, but something struck her as strange. She mouthed back to him, ‘How did she die?’ The cop in her wanted an explanation.

  Charlie waited until the man at the other end of the phone had composed himself enough. ‘Gus, I am really sorry for your loss. Was it sudden, unexpected?’ He glanced at Annie, not feeling very comfortable talking to a stranger about his wife’s death. All he really wanted to do was hang up the phone.

  The voice through the speaker said: ‘She died in a car crash, which we thought was an accident at first, but now the police are treating it as a homicide.’

  Charlie and Annie looked at each other, the surprise showing in both their faces. Annie whispered to him to find out how Gus’s wife knew Angela.

  Gus was starting to explain that they’d been roommates in the army during basic training. Then Charlie heard voices in the background. It was obvious other people had arrived at the house. Minutes later, Gus said, ‘I’ll call again when I know the details. I know she would want Angela there.’

  Again, Charlie couldn’t bring himself to mention the situation with Angie. ‘OK, we’ll wait to hear from you. Gus, I’m sure Angie will be devastated over your loss. Thanks for letting us know.’

  Putting the receiver down, Charlie repeated what they’d both heard. ‘They were in the services together: hadn’t met up in quite a few years, but Carol mentioned Angie from time to time. He knew Angie would want to know.’

  Annie just nodded.

  ‘I just couldn’t tell him about Angie.’

  ‘Charlie, he wasn’t in a state to hear any more bad news. You did the right thing.’

  Annie kept her own counsel for the time being, though in terms of the manner of Carol Wojinski’s death, it would be bizarre if her death was linked somehow to the attack on Angela Goodman. Could there be a connection between what had happened to these two women? She needed to read the diaries covering the years Angela was in the army. There were several diaries in her bag already to take into work. Best to stay quiet until she’d learned more.

  *****

  That’s strange, thought Annie as she came into the squad room an hour later. Unusually, Bronski had arrived before her, with his coffee already on the desk. Thanks, she thought, I usually do one for you. No return compliment, I see. The other unusual thing was that he hardly acknowledged her, so engrossed was he in what he was reading. He was also murmuring to himself. Annie decided to go off to the kitchen. She was planning how she would tell Bronski about the phone call Charlie had that morning without having to let on that she’d stayed the night with him. Bronski would probably read more into it than necessary. The diaries were in her bag, still to read. Maybe the information on the phone call could wait until she knew more.

  She felt a bit hurt that Bronski hadn’t acknowledged her yet this morning. Was it because she’d questioned, even subtly, both his and Franconi’s judgement about Moorcroft’s death? Even the interview with Jackie Winters, when she admitted that Moorcroft had spoken of suicide once before, hadn’t convinced her. Bronski had been more persuaded, though. She could tell that much.

  The coffee was fresh, at least. Hesitating in the kitchen for a few minutes, Annie looked across at the squad room. No one was there, except Bronski, still absorbed. No Dave Ellison this morning, but she expected he would be in later. He was working on a series of burglaries in Westford, the most expensive section of town, in which the Congressman for the State lived. That just wouldn’t do. Annie smiled at the thought that money talked wherever you were in the world.

  Finally, she spotted Bronski putting the file down. That was her signal to make her way back.

  ‘So, Detective Macpherson, want a job with us?’

  ‘I thought I already had one, sir.’

  ‘I mean we could do with a detective of your calibre on the force.’ Bronski smiled at her before he continued. ‘You were right all along. We’re dealing with the homicide, not the suicide of Jim Moorcroft.’

  ‘We are?’ Annie was pleased, but didn’t want to come over as too pleased.

  ‘Let me explain.’ Bronski got up from his desk.

  For the first time since she’d met him, Bronski went over to the white board and started to draw pictures on it. ‘So this was Moorcroft when we arrived at the scene.’ The stick drawing portrayed the body hanging from the noose and the chair on the floor knocked over. ‘Remember the signs we saw immediately, the signs of hypoxia?’

  ‘You mean the blue complexion and the chest extended because of the lungs?’

  ‘… and the burst blood vessels in the eyes. All that is in the report.’ Bronski listed the signs on the board. ‘So the hanging itself isn’t in doubt. The question is whether he was dead before his neck was placed in the noose or whether he died as a result of the hanging.’ Bronski hesitated for a moment, and then carried on. ‘Now the report shows that the next bit isn’t consistent with suicide. The rope marks on the neck don’t have the inflamed edge of a ‘vital reaction.’ So this suggests homicide instead. So Moorcroft was dead before he was hanged.’ Bronski drew another figure on the board.

  ‘But there were no major signs of a struggle in the house. I imagine Moorcroft was pretty strong, so why didn’t he fight his attacker?’ Annie was leaning back in her chair.

  Bronski put another arrow on the board. ‘The autopsy found some bruising around the nose and mouth, not obvious at the scene because of the discolouration of the face from the hypoxia. They also found traces of an anaesthetic in the lungs.’

  ‘So he was subdued and then what, strangled?’

  ‘No, not strangled. The hypoid bone in the neck wasn’t broken, and it usually is in strangling, but not in hanging.’ Bronski was standing in front of her with his arms crossed.

  ‘So what then?’

  ‘Jim Moorcroft was smothered. That’s what the report is listing as cause of death – suffocation, but not as a result of hanging. So the hanging was intended to make it look like suicide. The note would have been a part of that.’

  ‘But if he was smothered, then the perpetrator would have had to lift the body up.’

  ‘Hmm, so the perpetrator is obviously strong and calculating. The noose would hav
e had to be set up, the whole scene planned.’

  ‘So I assume we are looking for a male, pretty fit?’

  Bronski put a question mark on the board where he had been drawing the scenario. ‘I agree, I think we are looking for a male. Jim Moorcroft was stocky, and about 5 foot 7. Not sure many women would be able to lift that weight, certainly without help. Nothing to say that there weren’t two people involved, of course, although we have nothing to show that as yet.’

  ‘And are we thinking that his death has anything to do with the assault on Angela Goodman, apart from the obvious that the note mentions the assault?’

  ‘Seems a coincidence, doesn’t it? I think if we find out who killed Moorcroft, we will find Angela Goodman’s attacker.’

  ‘Are you going to tell Jackie Winters?’

  ‘No need just yet, is there?’

  66

  Charlie was sitting with his sister. He noticed that the activity of hospital staff around her seemed less attentive than it had been just days ago. They’re giving up on her, he thought, as he wiped some perspiration from her forehead. Staring again at the machine monitoring her every breath and heartbeat, he wondered when the staff would broach the idea of shutting it off. Her hand felt limp in his as he gently stroked it with his other hand, remembering all the times when he was little and she’d walked him hand in hand to the grocery store on the corner of their road. The list from their mother took priority, but she’d always managed to save a bit, searching for anything reduced in price so she could get him some candy. He was smiling now, but there were tears in his eyes.

  An hour later, it was time for a coffee break. The hospital canteen felt like a second home as he got a cappuccino and an apple turnover. Placing the snack on the table, he glanced around, seeing if there was anyone else there he knew. Funny how he wasn’t alone in keeping vigil over a relative, but today he didn’t recognise anyone. Switching his phone on, there were three text messages in his inbox.

  ‘Are u at hosp. Free for lunch? See u on ward at 12? Jackie x’

  Before replying he opened the next one, ‘Is house OK for u? Let us know if we missed anything. Dave & Wayne’. Good of the guys from the decontamination company to do a follow up, thought Charlie. In truth, he’d been amazed at how thorough they were.

  The final text was from Annie, asking if she could see him that evening, and to give her a call when he could. Deciding there was no time like the present he pressed return call.

  ‘Macpherson.’

  ‘Hi, it’s me, Charlie. Got your text.’

  ‘Hi, are you at the hospital?’

  ‘Yeah, just taking a break in the canteen. What’s up?’

  ‘Just wanted to spend some time tonight going through the diaries. Is that OK with you?’

  ‘Sure, should I pick you up when I leave the hospital?’

  Next, he texted Jackie and confirmed a meet in the canteen for lunch. Taking a last swig of coffee, and pushing the half eaten apple turnover to one side, he returned to the ward.

  Waking up with a start, Charlie realised he must have dozed off. A glance at his watch told him that nearly an hour had passed since he’d come back to Angie’s bedside. Hearing voices outside, he caught a glimpse of the Catholic priest talking to the ward sister: the priest’s back was to him. Charlie retreated to his chair, secretly hoping the priest wouldn’t want a word with him, as he had studiously avoided him so far. He hoped one of the nurses wouldn’t insist on them meeting. Priests and he didn’t mix, although he wouldn’t deny his sister any prayers or blessings that were forthcoming.

  The intrusive thought he’d spent years trying to push back into the recesses of his mind tumbled out. The evening service, being the privileged altar boy invited back into the sacristy to help the priest with his robes, remembering hearing the unzipping of the priest’s fly and still not getting what he had in mind. Too embarrassed later to tell anyone, Angie included, that he had been held by one arm and had to watch the priest pleasuring himself. Remembering also how he’d recoiled when the priest wanted him to touch it too. Just thinking about it made him break out in a sweat. Charlie looked at his watch. It was only ten minutes now before he was due to meet Jackie, but he wasn’t leaving the room until the voices died down and he was sure that the priest had left.

  It was another twenty minutes before he ventured off the ward and headed for the canteen, spotting Jackie waving to him from a table in the corner. ‘Sorry, I got a bit delayed on the ward. Have you been waiting long?’

  Jackie Winters had been sipping a coffee, which was now half empty. ‘No, just thought I’d have a coffee while I was waiting. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll get us a couple of sandwiches.’

  ‘I can do that. What do you want?’

  ‘Charlie, please, let me.’

  ‘OK, I might just have one of those pizza slices they do, and a bottle of water.’ Charlie sat down watching Jackie moving gracefully to the ordering area. She was an attractive woman, tall and slim, much too attractive for Moorcroft, he mused. Although she looked subdued, he really didn’t know to what extent Moorcroft’s death was affecting her. Suicide was guilt provoking no matter what or who was to blame. But that note, professing love for his sister rather than for her, must have hurt her deeply. Would she resent Angie? This was her first visit since the death.

  A few moments later Jackie Winters was back with their food, carefully placing everything on the table. She then returned the tray to the collection area before she took her seat again.

  ‘So tell me, how is Angie today, any change?’

  ‘Pretty much the same to be honest. Every time I go in I think things will be different. I’m dreading the doctors asking me to make a decision.’

  ‘I’m so sorry Charlie. This is awful for you.’ Jackie Winters reached across the table and placed her hand on his, just for a few seconds.

  Charlie didn’t look up at her. ‘It’s awful for Angie, but they keep assuring me that she isn’t in any pain.’ He picked up the slice of pizza, not really wanting it, but knowing that he had to eat. He’d already lost ten pounds. ‘More to the point, how are you doing? Jim? I mean, it must be hard coming to terms with it.’ He finally focused on Jackie and she put her fork down before answering.

  ‘I guess I have mixed feelings. Sometimes I hate him for what he did – what he did to Angie I mean. I just don’t understand why he never told me how he felt about her. I could have lived with that, let him go. They could have been together if that was what they wanted.’ She hesitated, for a few minutes, taking a drink of her coffee before continuing. ‘I would have moved on with my life, but now his suicide has made that so much harder. I feel this awful guilt.’

  Charlie saw her eyes filling with tears and this time it was his turn to try and offer some comfort. Touching her hand, he smiled. ‘What a pair, we make, eh?’ Jackie smiled, wiping her eyes with her fingers.

  ‘Will you go back to the house or find somewhere else?’ he asked, taking another bite of the pizza.

  ‘I’ll have to go back and sort through all my things, when I’m allowed back in. Jim has a sister, Debbie, and she’s coming to sort through his things, decide what to do with the house. It was his. I never paid anything towards the mortgage, and we just shared the bills. I guess he probably had a will and I imagine he left it all to her, as their parents are dead and there weren’t any other brothers or sisters. He certainly never said that we should have a joint will or anything like that. But I expect if he had one, she’ll find it.’

  Charlie just nodded, and Jackie continued. ‘I couldn’t live there anyway, even if she let me, not after finding him.’ Her voice broke a bit, but then she composed herself. ‘Besides I never really did get along with Debbie, although I only met her three or four times. I think she felt Jim could have done better than me. Maybe she was right.’

 
‘She was wrong, Jackie, but I think you need to move out of there for your own sake. It will have too many memories. God knows, I’m trying to redecorate Angie’s house, but that might not be enough to make her want to live there again. She may not get past the events of that night.’ He paused, aware that what he was saying might just be wishful thinking on his part. Angie might not even survive, never mind move back into her house.

  ‘What’s happening with the police investigation? Have you heard anything?’

  ‘I suspect they think it was Jim, following his confession in the note. At first I didn’t want to believe it myself, but I guess it makes sense. I’m sorry, I know that’s hard for you to hear. Selfishly, it stops me worrying that there is still someone out there who wants her dead.’

  ‘Of course, that will be a huge relief for you. I didn’t really think of that aspect.’

  ‘Jackie, you’ve had enough to think about.’ He smiled at her again and finished off his drink. Then he added, ‘But I think Detective Macpherson is keeping more of an open mind, even though suicide seems the most likely scenario.’

  ‘What makes you say that about Detective Macpherson keeping an open mind?’

  ‘It’s just that she’s taken several of Angie’s old diaries to look through. See if they have anything relevant in them.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m sure they won’t add anything, but she seems determined to read through them anyway. I feel a bit uneasy as they are private to Angie.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like she’s convinced then, that it was Jim I mean.’