Programmed To Kill: Featuring Detective Annie Macpherson Read online

  About the author

  Barbara Speake was born in Connecticut, moving to England in 1972 following her marriage. She has had a varied career as a research psychologist and a clinical psychologist, as well as holding various management positions in the NHS. She and her husband Terry have two grown-up children.

  Programmed to Kill is her third book and another Detective Annie Macpherson thriller (2012). The Scottish detective was introduced in her second book, Primed by the Past (2011). Her debut crime novel is Secrets Only Sleep (2005). All three novels are set in the same police department in the fictional town of Westford, Connecticut.

  Kindle editions of all three books are published by Barbara Fagan Speake © 2012

  By the same author

  Secrets Only Sleep

  Primed by the Past

  PROGRAMMED TO KILL

  Barbara Fagan Speake

  Kindle edition published by Barbara Fagan Speake © 2012

  Printed version first published by

  Country Books

  Courtyard Cottage

  Little Longstone

  Bakewell Derbyshire

  UK DE45 1NN

  www.countrybooks.biz

  ISBN (Print): 978-1-906789-75-6 © 2012 Barbara Fagan Speake

  The rights of Barbara Fagan Speake as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1993.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank the various people who read and commented on drafts of my book. I am particularly indebted to three fellow writers: Trevor Williams, LJ Hutton and JJ Franklin who offered valuable editorial advice. As always, my American readers offered suggestions, especially Tom Covill and Joe Fagan. Their feedback was very helpful.

  I am also grateful to George and Evelyn Manson for inspiring me to create my series character, Annie Macpherson, and lending me their hometown of Huntly in Scotland as the place where she was raised. I started to write this book while staying with them and, as always, they offered me comfortable surroundings to let the story unfold.

  Thanks to Dick Richardson, as always, for his publishing support for my printed edition; Terry Speake for the cover design and book layout; Sam Speake for website consultation and Alicia (Speake) Caher for her continued encouragement.

  To Charlie Caher

  Welcome to the family

  Chapter 1

  For a long time, all that came back to me were the bright lights and the voice saying, ‘What have we got here?’ Then I’d find myself covering my ears, as if that would muffle the sound of the screams. Were they coming from me? I’m not sure. Maybe I was submissive like I’d been as a child. Only thing is, I can’t remember. Why did this happen again and why that night? It wasn’t deserved, any of it.

  Sometimes when I catch my profile in the mirror I hardly recognise my own face. Will anyone else? Then there’s my body. It’s taken me years to hone this look. I like what I see. There’s no question of that. Definitely been worth it. I’ll never be overpowered or vulnerable again.

  The last piece of the jigsaw is in place. It’s payback time.

  Do they have regrets?

  They will now. I’ll make sure of it.

  Chapter 2

  Damien Bailey ran through the well-tended grounds in the direction of the church. Even at this hour, it was warm and he could feel the sweat under his black jacket. Father Bannister would be in the vestry by now. The young seminarian was expecting to be told off for being late, yet again. Would he ever make it to the priesthood? The theology part was fine, but discipline? That always eluded him.

  Father Bannister, on the other hand, was never late for anything. In fact, he started his preparations a good hour, at least, before the actual Mass. Fortunately for Damien, he wasn’t required until the last half hour, to help with the final tasks. Today there was less than fifteen minutes to go. Father Bannister wouldn’t be happy. Damien started to rehearse some excuses as he reached the vestry.

  Pushing against the oak door, something made the young man pause. The sound of his breathing was loud and panting. It wasn’t that. It was another sound, a low moaning. He reached for the wall switch. As the room lit up, his eyes widened, focussing on Father Bannister, lying in a pool of blood. The red liquid was running down the cracks in the stone floor, rivulets that seemed to have a life of their own, meandering downwards.

  The moaning was coming from the priest: a low, pitiful, pleading sound.

  One of Damien’s hands flew to his mouth to stave off the urge to be sick. He swallowed hard. For a second he couldn’t move his legs, paralysed by the scene in front of him. There was so much blood. This couldn’t be a simple accident. His fear intensified as he glanced around the room, searching, hoping that whoever did this wasn’t hiding in the vestry, waiting for his next victim.

  Finally, he sensed that they were alone. Father Bannister looked to be dying. Damien knew he had to do something. Hesitantly, he approached the prostrate figure and crouched down. Gently, he touched the priest’s shoulder, while his eyes scanned the room.

  The priest mumbled without opening his eyes, ‘Kill me, that’s what you want …’ Then his body shuddered, waiting for the final blow.

  ‘Father, it’s me, Damien.’ His gaze fixed on the priest. The lower half of the man’s cassock was completely soaked with blood. The priest’s eyes flickered, barely focussing as he reached a hand towards the young man, motioning him closer. As he made that simple gesture, blood dripped down his fingers and splashed on to his face. Damien leaned forward to hear the muttering.

  ‘Ambulance, I need …’ the priest uttered, before losing consciousness.

  Damien made the call, blurting out details to the emergency services. The calm voice came back. ‘Try and stem the bleeding and stay with him. An ambulance is being dispatched.’

  Damien ran into the kitchen, grabbing as many towels as he could find, carefully placing them on Father Bannister. Within seconds the towels absorbed the blood, until they too were saturated. He couldn’t bring himself to touch the priest to try and find the source of the bleeding. Sweat was now dripping off him and bile was rising in his throat. Damien could feel his heart pounding, as he scrolled down his cellphone, frantic to alert someone closer.

  The call was answered on the third ring. ‘Brother Jonathan, I need you in the vestry right now. Father Bannister is bleeding heavily. It looks like he’s been attacked. I’ve called an ambulance.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ the elderly administrator responded, as if in shock.

  ‘Please, just come to the vestry.’

  *****

  ‘Macpherson, what’ve you got going on right now?’

  Annie looked up from the report she was writing and glanced at Captain Marco Franconi. The captain had the dark complexion of his Italian ancestors, but he lacked height and every spare pound was obvious on him. He had the habit of standing at awkwar
d angles so you had to turn to face him. Annie was used to this mannerism now. It was the start of her third month with the Westford police. By the end of September, she’d be halfway through her six-month exchange programme from England. Already she and her supervisor, Detective Victor Bronski had apprehended a serial stalker who had left a woman for dead and assaulted Annie when he’d returned to finish off the job. The victim, Angela Goodman, was still alive because of Annie’s quick actions, and making a slow, yet promising recovery. Annie’s own injuries had healed. The perpetrator was in custody, bail denied.

  ‘Compiling more of the evidence against John Hardman, sir. Thought I would catch up on some of the paperwork while Detective Bronski is on leave for the day.’ As Annie finished her sentence, Detective Dave Ellison came into the squad room, greeting them both.

  Franconi looked from one to the other. ‘Glad you’re here early, Ellison. I need to see the two of you now. This can’t wait.’ Franconi led the way to his office. Annie took the seat nearest the door, while her colleague sat to her left. The captain picked up a piece of paper from his desk. ‘There’s been an attack on a Father Brian Bannister in the vestry of Sacred Heart Church. One of the seminarians found him collapsed and bleeding profusely. It appears he was stabbed.’ Franconi glanced down at his notes. ‘The seminarian’s name is Damien Bailey.’

  Annie recorded both names in her notebook, while the captain continued.

  ‘Father Bannister is in surgery at Westford Hospital, so it’ll be a while before he can be interviewed. That’s if he makes it. Get down to the church. The forensics team should be there by now. Check in with Glen Heaviley and talk to this Damien Bailey and anyone else at the seminary. We need to know if this was a random attack or if Father Bannister had mentioned any specific threats.’

  Both detectives nodded, Annie closing her notebook.

  ‘Let me know how you’re doing. Ellison you’re in charge. Keep Bronski informed of how much of Detective Macpherson’s time you need, as he’ll still be her exchange supervisor.’

  ‘Will do, Captain,’ Ellison confirmed.

  ‘Macpherson,’ Franconi continued, ‘you’re having an interesting exchange. This time though, do me a favour, keep yourself out of harm’s way, will you?’

  ‘I’ll try sir,’ Annie replied as they left the room. Franconi’s comment confirmed that he was still bothered by the recent assault on her.

  ‘So I’ve finally got you all to myself, Detective,’ Dave Ellison joked as they took the stairs down to the parking lot.

  ‘I’m sure that driving to a church and interviewing priests isn’t exactly what you had in mind, is it?’ Annie responded, used to her colleague’s flirting.

  ‘Right now I’ll take anything I can get. Somehow I have to get you out of Captain Hegarty’s clutches.’

  Annie felt herself blushing at the mention of Angela Goodman’s brother, whom she’d become close to in the past couple of months, while investigating the crime against his sister. ‘Well don’t engineer it to keep me out late tonight. Charlie’s coming over.’

  ‘I can’t guarantee that,’ Ellison replied as he unlocked the doors to his Chevy Trailblazer. ‘You heard what the captain said.’ He stole a moment to glance at Annie. Her naturally pale skin was a contrast to the tanned American women he was used to and there was the graceful way she moved. He never tired of watching her long blond curls fall on to her shoulders and partly hide her face. Each time it happened he wanted to brush them aside. Too bad those intense blue eyes of hers were wasted on Captain Hegarty.

  Chapter 3

  The morning traffic through downtown Westford had subsided. Annie and Ellison reached the church within ten minutes. Ellison parked on the street, in front of the building. ‘Almost don’t want to get out of the car and leave the air conditioning behind,’ he remarked, opening the door.

  ‘I thought it would be slightly cooler by September,’ Annie commented. ‘The humidity is still a problem, isn’t it?’ She ran her fingers through her hair, knowing that the damp air was turning it into frizz.

  ‘It can go on till mid September,’ Ellison answered. ‘I remember as kids, we hated starting the school year when it was still beach weather.’

  Annie laughed. ‘It’s hardly ever beach weather in Scotland.’

  Ellison walked to the back of the car and Annie watched as he lifted the tailgate open. The Chevy had loads of storage space. She noticed that Ellison’s long body was nearly doubled in half as he leaned in and began rummaging. He had the physique of a basketball player. Annie assumed he worked out. He looked fit. Bodies like that didn’t come without some effort unless you were incredibly lucky in the gene pool. ‘You keep some gear in your boot, don’t you?’ she said, scanning the contents.

  ‘Boot? What’s that? This is known as a trunk, Detective.’ He flashed that engaging smile of his. ‘I like to keep basic crime scene equipment in here. I got into the habit years ago when I was a patrol officer. You need it when you’re the first at a crime scene.’ Ellison moved a few more things round before finding what he was looking for – a digital camera. ‘I always take some of my own shots to remind me what I looked at. Sometimes, something doesn’t strike me till later,’ he commented as he pulled down the lid. ‘I won’t bother with the protective clothing. There should be some there already.’

  The church was positioned on a hill and Annie looked up at its pinnacles, rising higher and higher. The weathered grey stone made the building look gothic. To the right hand side of the church was a statue of the Sacred Heart, the church’s namesake. A colourful flowerbed contrasted sharply with its muted surrounding. Some thirty steps, all in stone, with black metal railings to each side led up to the front entrance.

  ‘This is my old parish,’ Ellison commented as they started walking up. He took the steps two at a time. ‘I grew up a few streets over. When I was a kid this was the Portuguese section of town with some Italians thrown in. Franconi grew up near here too.’

  ‘Didn’t take you for a local,’ Annie remarked, trying to keep up with him. ‘Or Portuguese for that matter with a name like Ellison.’

  ‘There’s lots you don’t know about me, Detective. My mom’s parents were from Portugal. I’m far more interesting than that soldier you keep spending your time with.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ Annie replied as Ellison took a sharp right at the church door and followed the path round to the side.

  As he reached the crime scene barricade tape, Ellison acknowledged Officer Don Cunningham, who was manning the entrance. ‘You the first responder?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, with Officer Tim Jacobs. We got here as the paramedics arrived. I’ve been keeping the log; all the times are noted down.’ Cunningham passed the document over to Ellison for inspection. Ellison scanned the listings: name, agency, time in, time out and reason to be at the scene and then passed it back.

  Cunningham continued, ‘The priest was in a bad way so the first priority was to get him out. We marked out a route for the crew, trying to preserve the scene as much as possible. Here’s their names.’ Cunningham passed Ellison a piece of paper. ‘They radioed ahead to Westford Hospital to expect them. Once they were on their way, we secured the area of the vestry, all the entrances and exits and called it in. Damien Bailey, who found him, was still here. I told him to go back to the seminary. Poor kid was pretty distressed and frankly, was in the way. I mentioned that someone would be over to interview him. He said Brother Jonathan was in the church. Apparently, Brother Jonathan was the only other person who knew about Father Bannister.’

  ‘Did Jacobs check the church?’ Ellison interrupted.

  ‘Yeah. There were six people waiting for Mass. Brother Jonathan told them it was cancelled but got them to stay until we arrived. Jacobs checked that no one else had come in and then left. Apparently, it’s the same handful of people w
ho regularly attend this weekday Mass. Jacobs got their names, addresses, phone numbers and brief statements. We could interview them in more depth if you want.’

  ‘I’ll get back to you on that,’ Ellison replied. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Before people dispersed, I made a list of the licence plates in the parking lot. Heaviley and his team arrived about twenty minutes ago and got right to work.’

  ‘Thanks Cunningham. I’ll need the names of those parishioners and I’ll get back to you later about interviewing them again. Leave a report for me before you finish your shift.’

  The patrol officer acknowledged Ellison’s request and then turned to Annie. ‘I was sorry to hear that Hardman attacked you, Detective. You OK now?’ Cunningham had helped lead the breakthrough on Annie’s previous case.

  She was pleased by his concern. ‘I’m fully recovered now, thanks, Officer Cunningham. We appreciated the part you played in helping us to identify him.’ Cunningham nodded.

  Then Ellison led Annie down a set of stairs, hidden from view at the front of the church. ‘Know your way to the vestry, do you?’ Annie asked as they followed a long corridor.

  ‘Used to be an altar boy and no wisecracks,’ Ellison commented as he approached the thick wooden door. The crime scene investigators had propped it open. The technician nearest the door pointed to the box with protective clothing. They suited up. The photographer was taking pictures of the scene from various angles and another technician was compiling a sketch and taking detailed measurements. Glen Heaviley was finishing marking out an area in the centre of the room where the detectives could see a pool of blood.