Past Deception: Featuring Detective Annie Macpherson Read online

  About the author

  Barbara Speake was born in Connecticut, moving to England in 1972 following her marriage. She 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.

  Past Deception is her fourth crime novel and the third in the series featuring Detective Annie Macpherson. Her earlier two Annie Macpherson novels, Primed by the Past and Programmed to Kill jointly won first place in a 2013 Self Published Book Award. In 2011, her debut novel, Secrets Only Sleep came third in the same award. Primed by the Past was also one of four novels shortlisted for a national award by Writing Magazine in 2012. In addition to her novels, Barbara also writes short stories and facilitates a crime-writing group at her local library. The group has produced a collection of short stories, entitled, Booked for Crime in which three of her stories appear.

  By the same author

  Secrets Only Sleep (2005)

  Annie Macpherson series

  Primed by the Past (2011)

  Programmed to Kill (2012)

  PAST DECEPTION

  Barbara Fagan Speake

  Published by

  Country Books

  Courtyard Cottage

  Little Longstone

  Bakewell

  Derbyshire

  DE45 1NN

  www.countrybooks.biz

  ISBN 978-1-906789-94-7 (Paperback)

  © 2014 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 co-incidental. Although some towns or cities named do exist, these place names are for reference purposes only. The events and place references are purely fictional.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank the various people who read and commented on drafts of my book. I am particularly indebted to my editor, Trevor Williams, who as always, pointed out the errors of my ways. Fellow writers, Suzanne Downes, LJ Hutton and JJ Franklin offered writers’ perspectives on the book. My American advisor, Tom Covill pointed out British expressions coming out of American mouths and used his legal background to offer further insights. Sandra Smith and Roy Dudley-Southern acted as proofreaders but, of course, any errors remaining are mine.

  I am 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 wrote parts of this book while staying with them and, as always, they offered me comfortable surroundings to work. A simple story about birthday cards, related by fellow guest, David Elliott, was the spark for this book. None of the events depicted, though, bear any resemblance to the original story.

  Thanks to Dick Richardson for his publishing support; Terry Speake for the cover design and book layout; and Sam Speake for website support. I also had continual encouragement from my daughter Alicia and daughter-in-law, Helen, the newest member of the family.

  My earlier books benefitted from the oversight of my brother, Professor Joseph F Fagan. When I saw Joe shortly before his death in the summer of 2013, he apologised for not being able to read the draft of the next ‘Annie’ book, then went on to engage the entire room of family and friends in a lively discourse about Annie. She was as real to him as she is to me. My oldest sibling was a constant source of inspiration to me, all my life.

  To my late brother, Joe Fagan

  Much loved, much missed

  Chapter 1

  It was the smell – damp, musty, an all-pervading odour that filled the nostrils. That was the first sensation Andy Tremont noticed when he regained consciousness. The next was pain: in his head, his wrists and his ankles. He tried to open his eyes. The effort was too much. Try, you have to try. It took several seconds before that one small task was accomplished. Focussing took longer. There were only a few narrow shafts of light, penetrating the semidarkness.

  What could he see? The reality was worse than he could have imagined: iron bars to all four sides of him. A cage – he was in a cage, like an animal. His wrists were shackled, as were his ankles. Pain was radiating from the raised patches of skin. At some stage a struggle must have resulted in the welts. His ankles were the same: red raw.

  Where was he? It looked like a cellar or some kind of outbuilding. Trying to stand was futile: his body too tall for the cage and his legs too weak. Easing back down, Andy inspected himself. Nothing seemed to be broken. His trousers were covered in mud. He picked off a bit and crumbled it in his fingers. It smelled of dirt, mixed with animal excrement. Was this cellar on a farm?

  Andy Tremont could feel his body trembling from shock and then heard a low moaning sound, only realising seconds later that it was coming from his own mouth. The experience was surreal. Was he concussed or in some kind of drug-induced state? He needed to remember how he got here.

  Then it started to come back to him. The car, something about the car...

  Chapter 2

  The mid-placement review was overdue. Detective Annie Macpherson, more than half way through her six-month exchange with the Westford Connecticut Police Department, was sitting with her supervisor in their boss’s office. Captain Franconi was taking his time as usual. Annie had become used to the mannerisms of her short Italian-American boss. Right now, he was busy pouring himself a coffee from the pot he’d brewed. The other detectives had already learned to refuse his offer of a cup. His coffee was strong enough to stand a spoon up in.

  For some reason today, Annie felt nervous. She wasn’t sure why, apart from the fact that it had been a while since she’d had her work evaluated, especially after such a short period of time. Yearly reviews were the norm, when progress could be properly assessed. Yet considering how much had happened since she’d started with the Westford Police, it was definitely overdue. At last, Franconi was ready to begin.

  ‘Scotty, time for your appraisal.’

  Annie forced herself not to cringe at the way the captain carried on addressing her. For most of her colleagues, the novelty of her being Scottish had worn off, apart from the captain who was a creature of habit. The exchange programme had been operating between her police force in Greater Manchester and the Westford Police for a number of years and mutual respect had developed between the two departments. A review should have been carried out in month three, making this appraisal slightly overdue.

  ‘Been an eventful fourteen weeks,’ Franconi commented as he looked through the form. ‘In fact, Scotty, I don’t think we’ve been this busy in the last year.’ He paused to take a drink.

  Annie was unsure whether to comment or not.

  Franconi put his cup down. ‘First there was the attempted murder case. You used good detection skills in identifying the perpetrator. Detective Bronski has praised your involvement and no doubt your quick actions also saved the victim’s life. There’s a letter here from the hospital acknowledging your intervention.’

  The letter was news to Annie and she wondered how it had come about. However it had, it would look good on her file.

  ‘When it eventually comes t
o the trial, Scotty, you’ll be called as a witness for the personal injuries you sustained. I’ll talk to your Detective Chief Inspector when the time comes.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be agreed, Sir.’

  ‘Then there’s your involvement in these three recent murders and your role in helping solve those cases. The chief is recommending you for a bravery award for that. Not bad, Detective, not bad. By the way, the committee meets this week, so we should know soon if I’m adding that to your file.’

  ‘Really, Sir, my involvement was no more or no less than my colleagues.’

  Franconi glanced at her supervisor. ‘Tell me Detective Bronski, would you have been prepared to go up against a gunman, unarmed?’

  ‘No Sir, that takes exceptional bravery.’

  Annie felt herself blush, as Bronski gave her a quick smile.

  Franconi skimmed down the form to conduct the next part of the appraisal. It took about twenty minutes and there was a section for her to sign. She was relieved when the review meeting was finally over and she could leave the office. Bronski stayed on with Franconi to complete the rest of the form.

  Alone in the squad room, Annie had to smile to herself. Her work back home had never been this exciting and her colleagues in Stockport would be envious of the investigations on which she had been privileged to work. There remained a lot of loose ends to follow up from those cases, so plenty to keep her busy. Then there was Detective Dave Ellison, her colleague, whom she was now seeing outside work. It was very early days for them. Annie remained ambivalent about the situation, having always promised herself that work relationships would be a non-starter. One ex-fiancé back home was proof of the point. Annie wondered whether this time it would be different.

  As if her mind had been read, he strolled into the squad room. Dave Ellison always appeared relaxed. She took a moment to study him. Even though it was a cliché, he was tall, dark and handsome and fit, really fit. He looked even better naked. Why she had been attracted to Charlie Hegarty, the brother of her first assault victim, bemused her now. Dave had been there, right in front of her, from the beginning. At last, she was seeing him in a new light.

  ‘How was your evening, Detective, miss me?’ he asked, focussing those dark brown eyes on her.

  Annie smiled. She would need a quick repartee, as she could see Detective Bronski standing up in the captain’s office, ready to return to the squad room. They had agreed to keep their growing relationship private and certainly not let it interfere with her placement. She was a guest in this department and always conscious of not doing anything to jeopardise the exchange programme.

  ‘Of course,’ was all she managed to reply, before her supervisor returned.

  ‘Detective Ellison,’ Bronski greeted his colleague, as put his jacket on the back of his chair and rolled up his sleeves. Ellison sat down. He and Annie knew the day wouldn’t start without Bronski sifting through his messages while standing up. When Bronski was finally positioned for business, Annie offered to make them all a drink.

  ‘Ellison, have you put that request in to the captain yet to keep Detective Macpherson on when her placement finishes?’ Bronski quipped, as Annie strolled into the kitchen, catching the reply: ‘Thought you were doing that as her supervisor.’

  Annie turned back to face her colleagues. ‘I think you two can manage the kettle when I’m back home.’ She walked over to the counter, busying herself with the task. For all the joking, Annie felt empty inside at the thought of the placement coming to an end. If only there was a way of her staying in the department. Sometimes it felt as if she had worked with the Westford Police for years, so comfortable was she with all her colleagues. The reality was that her placement had only started in July. Annie thought back to the gruelling temperatures when she’d first arrived and the humidity, which was something new to her. Her hometown of Huntly was never as hot as that and she was more used to rain. Now it was mid-October and, by the third week in December, she would be travelling home to spend Christmas with her family before returning to her own station in Stockport. She feared that the two months would fly by and wondered how she would feel about leaving.

  As she returned to the room, placing the cups on each of her colleagues’ desks, her phone rang.

  ‘Detective Macpherson, how are you this morning?’

  ‘Fine Sir, and yourself?’

  Bronski glanced over and Annie mouthed, Detective Baxter. Bronski nodded and turned his attention back to his computer. Annie had become quite fond of the detective in charge of the regional specialist unit in New Haven, dealing with child abuse and sexual exploitation, during her team’s recent investigations. While she and Baxter had only met briefly the one time, they’d had many phone conversations when she had acted as the main link between the two police forces.

  ‘Taken up running yet, Detective?’ Baxter asked.

  ‘No Sir, we’ve been pretty busy here. In fact, we’ve been run off our feet, if that counts.’

  Baxter laughed. ‘I bet you have and your investigation has raised the ante for us as well.’

  Annie listened attentively, as Baxter explained his comment and the reason for his call. ‘I see, Sir. Does that mean you’ll make the request to Captain Franconi? Thank you, Sir.’ Annie transferred the call and put the phone down, noticing that she had the attention of both her colleagues.

  ‘What request are we talking about, Detective?’ Bronski asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Annie glanced over at the glass partition separating Franconi’s room from the squad room and saw him talking animatedly on the phone. ‘Maybe the captain had better explain,’ she replied. Annie kept her eyes on Franconi until she saw him put the phone down and get up from his chair.

  A second later he joined the three detectives. ‘It seems our work with the regional child sex abuse team isn’t at an end, even though our case is resolved.’

  Bronski leaned back in his chair and Ellison shifted position to face the captain squarely. Neither spoke, waiting for their boss to continue.

  ‘The regional squad has opened up a number of hotlines for victims or their parents to report past abuses. Since the publicity surrounding Father Bannister’s murder, there are a substantial number of victims coming forward, not only of Bannister’s, but other clergy too. Now the regional team have approval to set up a number of liaison detectives across Connecticut to take statements and feed back to them.’ Franconi paused for a moment. ‘Seems Detective Macpherson’s name is being put forward from this station. Anyone object?’

  Bronski came in immediately. ‘Did he give you any idea of the time commitment? I’m thinking of the evidence to process and reports to finish off for our cases.’

  ‘Who knows?’ Franconi shrugged his shoulders. ‘A lot will depend on how many former victims come forward. The state is being divided into parishes and it looks like this station will cover ten. A press conference will announce the initiative and the archbishop has already agreed for details to be read out at all the Masses this weekend. If Father Bannister was the only local rogue priest, we may not get hammered. If he wasn’t, we may get hit hard.’ Franconi paused and looked at Annie. ‘How are you about doing it, Macpherson?’

  ‘It will be good experience for me, Sir.’

  ‘Good, because Baxter wants you to join the other liaison officers and his team for thirty-six hours, starting tomorrow. You’ll get fully acquainted with their work and the interview procedure you’ll be using.’

  Annie didn’t have time to reply before Franconi carried on. ‘It’s only an hour’s journey by train from here. You can get a nine o’clock direct to New Haven and someone from his team will pick you up. The return ticket will be for eleven o’clock the following day. Baxter will organise the travel and accommodation for all of you tomorrow night.’

  ‘Fine, Sir,’ Annie replied, as Franconi headed back to his office.

  Both Bronski and Ellison turned to her. ‘Are you sure you’re good with this, Macpherson?’ Bronski asked. ‘One
of us could volunteer instead.’ Ellison nodded in agreement.

  ‘You two have enough to do compiling the reports from the murder investigations. Besides, nothing much may come of it and it will be good experience to see how a regional specialist team handles things.’

  Ellison glanced at his watch. ‘I need some food. Want to take a ride with me for the sandwich run, Macpherson?’

  ‘Make mine ham with American cheese, mustard and pickle,’ Bronski requested.

  Chapter 3

  Laura Tremont was finishing her breakfast. Her tortoiseshell cat, Milly, rubbed up against her leg. ‘I’ve fed you already,’ she laughed. ‘Go and join Tilly on the bed. Your sister’s better behaved than you and no point sitting in front of the food dispenser all morning. It’s another four hours before it opens.’ The cat made its usual protest. ‘Don’t you go meowing at me, Milly. Some of us have to earn money to keep you and Tilly in cat food. Now, go upstairs. I’m late as it is.’

  Checking the pantry again, Laura confirmed that the birthday cake was ready, apart from the two joint candles to be put in place at the last minute. Today was a big day for her and her twin brother, Andy. They were leaving their twenties behind. The reservation was confirmed for the restaurant and afterwards, she, Andy and mom would come back to her house for cake and coffee. Her cellphone pinged for a text alert: the restaurant confirming the reservation. She ran upstairs to brush her teeth and grab her car keys.

  The morning was slightly cooler than of late and Laura pulled her jacket around her as she walked down the path. There was the definite feel of autumn in the air. She noted the leaf fall at the weekend, heralding the start of the yard work. It was no small feat keeping on top of the raking. She sighed. Yard work was a chore, not a pleasure in her view and sometimes she regretted buying her aunt’s old house instead of a smart new apartment in downtown Westford. Yet the purchase from the estate was too good to refuse, especially since half of the value of the property had been left to her in her aunt’s will. Her mortgage bought out Andy’s share and was quite affordable on her university salary. The only thing that bothered her sometimes was the thought that her aunt had lived alone in the house for all her adult life, never having married. Maybe her fate would be the same. There had been that one chance, not taken, for it all to be different.