Det Annie Macpherson 01 - Primed By The Past Read online

  ‘Too bad we need to,’ he remarked.

  ‘Anyway, Bronski sticks pretty close to me, knowing I’m unarmed.’

  ‘I’m surprised they let an exchange go ahead with such a fundamental difference in the way our forces operate.’ Ellison started on his muffin as well.

  ‘I think it’s a good thing that it’s never been a stumbling block in the programme. Besides, you guys could learn a thing or to about how we talk ourselves out of situations, using our wits as a weapon.’

  Ellison sat back, thinking about whether she would talk herself out of a drink after work, if he asked.

  Detective Bronski was sitting at his desk when they got back, and thankfully, she’d had the foresight to bring him a latte. As she bent over to clear a small space to set the coffee down, she thought she’d better speak first. ‘Franconi wants to see us to discuss my first two weeks.’

  The detective nodded, closing the file on his desk. ‘I’ll leave this to cool down, can’t drink it too hot, let’s go.’

  3

  He received the call at the prearranged time.

  ‘How, did it go?’

  ‘Fine, mission accomplished.’

  ‘No loose ends?’

  ‘Not that I can think of.’

  ‘Good, it’s been a long time coming.’

  ‘Sure has.’

  ‘Talk soon.’

  He deleted the last number received in the call register as they had agreed. He wasn’t expecting any more calls today. Now, he just had to sit and wait. Waiting was what he was good at – waiting, planning and thinking. The bitch got what she deserved. She paid all right. What was due. In fact, what was long overdue.

  He realised how ravenous he was. It had been a long night. Later he would start the reconnaissance for the next task.

  His only regret was that he couldn’t do it all over again, but he had the next best thing. He could replay her pleading as many times as he wanted.

  He turned on the tape recorder.

  4

  Franconi was engrossed in a telephone conversation and Bronski hesitated momentarily before he rapped on the glass door. Without looking up, the senior detective waved them in. Only when Bronski and Annie had positioned themselves in the well-worn chairs did Franconi glance at them. He was busy scribbling notes on his pad.

  From what Franconi was summarising, they began to glean part of what was going on. ‘So the vic is in Westford Hospital now? Yeah. Right, only just arriving, but she’s still alive as far as you’re aware. The place is a mess. Yeah, I’ll send a couple of my team down. Crime scene people been alerted? OK, OK, we’re on to it.’

  With the mannerisms Annie had already started to notice, Franconi put the phone down and simultaneously pushed his shoulders back and leaned hard against the back of his chair, as if he were trying to loosen some kink in his back. Then he began tapping the notepad with his pen. Both detectives waited for him to speak, although Annie could sense that Bronski was already on alert.

  ‘The appraisal can wait, Scotty. I want the two of you on this case. So far it looks like attempted murder, but that could change. The victim is in a bad way. They’re working on her now at Westford Hospital.’ Franconi pulled his scribbled notes in front of him, using the pen to track through them. ‘I’ll start at the top, that way you’ll know all I know. We’ve got a 39 year old female named Angela Goodman, 388 Quaker Lane Southwest, appears to have been brutally attacked in her own home.’

  Annie felt her head spin, as she glanced over at Bronski. Had her supervisor recognised the name? When there was no sign from Bronski, Annie knew she would have to say something.

  ‘Sir.’

  Franconi shot her a look. ‘Let me finish, Macpherson. Didn’t they teach you anything over in little old England?’

  ‘But sir, I recognise the name.’

  ‘What’re you talking about? You’ve only been here 10 minutes.’ Franconi threw the pen on the desk and leaned forward. He wasn’t smiling.

  ‘Oh, damn, so do I.’ Bronski turned to face Annie. ‘That’s the woman who thought she was being stalked. She came in last week. Your first interview, wasn’t it?’

  Annie looked from Bronski back to Franconi trying to gauge his reaction. ‘I took all the details and reported back to Detective Bronski. We’ve been trying to locate the husband.’

  Franconi stared at the two of them in disbelief. ‘Tell me fast, because we’ve got to move on this one.’

  Annie heard urgency, rather than annoyance in Franconi’s voice and surmised that he’d be wondering if his team had screwed up. Bronski was more senior in this context, so Annie deferred to him, although she would have been quite happy to fill in the details. She’d a lot fewer cases cramming up her memory than Bronski, but she knew she had to bide her time.

  ‘Angela Goodman came in early last week, reported that things had been moved in the house, just little things, an ornament, some papers, that sort of thing. She’s going through a difficult divorce, nearly endgame and everything is being done through lawyers at the moment. No kids, just the house, but she wants it in revenge for the husband’s philandering, as she put it.’ Bronski had almost total recall of what Annie had reported back.

  ‘Get to the point, Detective.’

  Bronski’s face reddened.

  Annie realised that although Bronski was used to Franconi’s abruptness, it obviously still affected him. It was time to butt in. ‘She hadn’t seen the husband in months. He’s renting an apartment in New Britain, but she was convinced he was doing it – coming into the house when she wasn’t there, trying to unnerve her.’

  ‘So, she changes the locks. Tell me you at least told her to do that.’

  ‘Already been advised to by the lawyer, even though the house is still in joint names until the settlement. When I interviewed her, she hadn’t got around to it yet. Neither had she managed to get the keys off him.’ Annie hesitated for a moment.

  Bronski came back in. ‘We went to his apartment to talk to him, but he wasn’t there. The building superintendent said he was away for a couple of weeks. We told the guy to call us as soon as he’s back. So far, no word, till maybe now?’

  Franconi threw his pen down. ‘Some calling card that’s been left, isn’t it? Get over to the house. See what you make of the scene. Then get over to the hospital, and speak to the couple who found her. With any luck, they’ll still be there waiting for news. If not, pay them a visit. Oh, and assess the situation at the hospital. She could still be in danger from the perpetrator if she makes it through.’

  ‘Names, sir?’

  Annie already had her notebook out. If they’d made a mistake, she didn’t want to compound it now. Most of all, she didn’t want Franconi to start thinking she was incompetent, not when she’d graduated top of her cadet class and was considered a high flier back home. Here she was a nobody, an exchange of staff to enhance relationships, a nuisance, whatever the top brass wanted to think.

  This rankled. Angela Goodman had presented as a highly-strung, nervous woman, frightened of her own shadow. It certainly seemed that she was imagining things, almost attention seeking. For once, the advice of Annie’s father to always go with her instinct hadn’t worked. A small part of her was relieved that he was dead. At least she wouldn’t have to admit her mistake to him, if it came to that. Living up to his reputation as a detective while at home had been hard enough.

  Franconi glanced at his scribbles again. ‘Yeah, the couple who phoned it in – Jim Moorcroft and Jackie Winters. They live together, 88 The Gable, Westford. Moorcroft may have been the last one to see her, except her attacker of course.’

  5

  Bronski was unusually quiet as he retrieved his keys from his desk drawer. After quickly scanning for anything new amongst the debris on the top, he nodded to
Annie, who already had her jacket on. Following his lead, she said nothing until they got to the parking lot, and he unlocked the door to the car.

  ‘So, what do you make of all this?’ Annie watched the road, even though her supervisor was driving. She was still trying to get used to the rules of driving on the wrong side of the road. It was the rotary islands that confused her – roundabouts were a lot simpler. Annie knew that she’d have to rent a car soon, although she didn’t need one for work. The unmarked police car was functional and Bronski was always happy to drive, like most men in her experience. Back home, she was an experienced police driver and served some time with the traffic cops before she joined the CID. But here, she was getting used to travelling on the bus to the station from her apartment in Westford.

  ‘Not what I was expecting when we went in for your first appraisal. It annoys me that we hadn’t had a chance to fill him in on the interview with Mrs Goodman before this happened. You were going to mention the case, weren’t you?’ Bronski glanced over at her while still concentrating on the road. ‘This is all I need, us screwing up. Won’t look good for the exchange.’

  Annie decided not to comment on the exchange part, but was reassured that Bronski thought that they were in this together. He could have chosen to deflect the blame on to her, which wouldn’t have boded well for the next five and a half months. ‘I would have mentioned it, but I’m not sure that I was giving it much credence. It seemed more routine to me. I really thought it was all in her head.’

  ‘Yeah, my first impression too, from reading your notes. Still, it looks like we blew it.’

  ‘I’ve got that superintendent’s number in my book. Maybe Mr Goodman did come back and he didn’t bother to ring us.’

  ‘You mean, ‘Call us’? Americans don’t say, ‘Ring us’. Isn’t there a saying about two nations being separated by a common language? Wasn’t that Churchill?’

  Annie realised that Bronski was tense. This was the first time he had corrected her language, unlike Franconi, who used every opportunity. She was tempted to say that the quote was usually attributed to George Bernard Shaw, but decided not to pursue it.

  ‘Whatever. Anyway, back to the point – the superintendent?’

  ‘OK, we’ll swing by there as soon as we’ve checked the house out. If Goodman has beaten up his wife, then he’ll be long gone now.’

  Bronski was fiddling with the air conditioning setting, another sign to Annie that he was getting himself bothered about their encounter with Franconi. Bronski hated being in the wrong. She’d learned that much already. At the risk of annoying him even more, Annie had to disagree.

  ‘But what if he’s not?’

  ‘OK, radio dispatch and tell them to send a patrol car to check it out and make sure they get back to my cellphone.’ The air conditioner was now blasting away.

  The dispatch made, Annie concentrated again on the route. Westford had some really old, very beautiful properties with wrap around porches, which she’d only ever seen in the movies or on TV. Never having travelled to the States before, everything was a new experience. She was more used to spending her off duty time in her hometown of Huntly in Scotland or exploring parts of France or Italy. Truthfully, the only part of the States that had even remotely interested her before was Montana and the chance to fly-fish on the Yellowstone River. She’d nearly made it the year before when her local fly fishing shop offered her a place on an organised trip to Livingston, but her leave didn’t coincide with the proposed date. To her great annoyance, she wasn’t able to persuade any of her colleagues to swap leave with her. She doubted whether this exchange would afford her any time to arrange it before she went back. It was already early July and September was the best time to go: too soon for her.

  Conscious that the silence was building up between them, and not wanting Bronski to entertain second thoughts about her abilities, Annie decided to bring the discussion back to Angela Goodman. ‘I thought she was just a bit on edge and probably attention seeking. I did tell her to get back to us if there was anything else suspicious and we tried to check out the husband. There wasn’t a lot else to do. It was unlikely to be a stranger since there was no report of any forced entry. I’ll have that bloody superintendent if Goodman came back and he covered up for him.’

  Bronski was really concentrating now, trying to locate the street so he didn’t respond to what she was saying. ‘It’s one of these on the right. Here we go.’

  The police car was still parked out front and cars belonging to the forensics team were not far behind. Bronski manoeuvred into a spot just across the road. Neighbours were already milling around, trying to work out what was going on. Most of them had heard the ambulance an hour before and then watched as Angela Goodman was wheeled out on a stretcher. No one approached Bronski or Annie but instead talked among themselves. Annie heard one woman say: ‘Such a shame.’

  Although Bronski recognised the young rookie on the door, he still followed procedure and flashed his badge at Frank Petersen. Annie followed suit. Petersen nodded them through. To Bronski’s knowledge, this was the second severe assault the kid had been ‘first on scene’ for in the last month. Probably having nightmares, thought Bronski. The other victim had died within 24 hours. Would Angela Goodman fare any better?

  Annie had already observed that there was no sign of forced entry at the front door, her mind running through the list of possible explanations: Angela Goodman let her attacker in, the attacker had a key or another point of entry was used. But she kept her own counsel for now. Whoever assaulted Angela Goodman trashed her place while they were at it.

  In the hallway, the two detectives were greeted with dried paint that had been thrown at the walls, but the scene in the living room showed the full effect of the rampage that had taken place in the house. Not only were the walls splattered with paint but the wooden floors were also littered with ornaments and framed photographs, which must, only hours earlier, have had pride of place on the mantelpiece. Angela Goodman’s voice, describing how she checked those various pieces to see if they’d been moved, echoed in Annie’s head.

  The forensic team members were spread throughout the house and most just continued with their work as the two detectives passed by. One pointed the way to the Senior Scenes of Crime Officer. Glen Heaviley was still in the bedroom taking blood samples and he nodded to Bronski and Annie as they entered the room.

  ‘Morning Detective Bronski, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your colleague.’

  As Bronski was absorbing the detail of the bedroom, Annie answered herself: ‘Detective Macpherson, I’m on a six month exchange from England.’

  ‘Yes, but not English. I believe that’s a Scottish accent, much nicer than the English one.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Annie wanting to shift focus on to the job at hand without being impolite. ‘So what can you tell us so far?’

  ‘Well Detective Macpherson, as you can see, my team is gathering paint samples, fibres, and prints from all parts of the house. I’ve been concentrating on this room, as it would appear to be where the main attack took place. From the state of the blood on these sheets, I would say she took quite a beating. I also found a tooth fragment.’

  ‘Any evidence of a sexual assault?’ Bronski was processing what he’d heard so far and Annie was taking notes.

  ‘Too early to speculate yet. There is some staining on the sheets that isn’t blood. Could, of course, have already been there. Depends what took place in this bed before the night of the attack and how often she changed her sheets. But that’s your concern, not mine. I won’t know what the other staining is for sure until everything is examined. You might want to ask them the same question at the hospital. I am sure they will have examined the victim for sexual assault, although the paramedic I spoke to was hoping she’d make it as far as the hospital. Apparently she was in a very bad way.’


  Heaviley hadn’t stopped what he was doing while he carried on the conversation and Annie watched as he labelled an evidence bag and passed it to the junior officer who had just come in. He then turned to Annie again. ‘You’ve seen the state of the hallway, although unfortunately for us, by the time we exclude footprints from the two people who found her and the ambulance crew, we’ll be lucky to find anything useful.’

  ‘But you’re convinced that the main assault was in this room?’ Annie’s eyes were taking in the whole scene again, after her first cursory scan. One wall in the room had been splashed with bright pink paint, almost making the room look like a brothel. The tasteful light blue walls had been transformed, although the wooden floor was relatively unscathed, except for the drips from the walls. Was the colour some sort of statement? The bedside lamp lay on the floor waiting to be dusted for prints, and the same procedure would be applied to the top of the dressing table and the bedside cabinet. The young female crime officer was just getting to them, moving purposely, but unobtrusively around the room, careful not to get in between the detectives and her boss.

  ‘Have you been into the other rooms yet?’ Heaviley was now carefully collecting up the bottom fitted sheet from the bed, having labelled another large evidence bag.

  Annie answered as she continued to scan the room. ‘Only the hallway and the living room, so far. We’ll do a walk through the whole house now. We wanted to speak to you first.’