The K Handshape

by Maureen Jennings

  It was my turn to throw in a question. “Mr. Forgach, given this was your first face-to-face meeting with your half-sister, why did you choose such a busy public place as the casino?”

  “It was her idea. She said she went there regularly on Tuesday nights.”

  “And she informed you of this by email.”

  “That’s right. I had an evening off with no plans so I thought I’d drop over there and surprise her.”

  What a lie that was.

  “Can you describe to us the nature of your meeting with Deidre?” I continued.

  He feigned puzzlement. “The nature? I’m not sure what you mean. Our meeting was quite brief. As I said, she was very involved in her game. I said I thought this wasn’t a good time, she agreed, and I told her I would be in touch.”

  “Would you describe your meeting as a friendly one?”

  “Yes, of course it was. Most cordial.”

  “You must have been shocked when Dr. Forgach informed you Deidre had been found murdered.”

  Sig shifted in the chair and shoved at his glasses again. Beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead. “Of course I was shocked. Terribly, terribly shocked. I hardly knew her, of course, but I couldn’t pretend she was entirely a stranger, could I?”

  Katherine had her head down and Ed took a drink of coffee from his cup. I could feel what was going through their minds but I didn’t know if Sigmund could. Probably, because he jumped in again.

  “I hope I don’t sound callous but that’s the truth of it. We share the same father and that’s it. I knew nothing about her life nor she mine.”

  I smiled at him. “I quite understand that, Mr. Forgach. There was one thing I was wondering about, however. I understand that when your father informed you of your sister’s death, you didn’t tell him you had in fact met with her the previous night. Why was that?”

  This time, he took out a white handkerchief from his pocket, made a show of blowing his nose, and wiped away the sweat at the same time.

  “Sorry, I’m just getting over a cold. They’re bad at this time of year, aren’t they?”

  None of us answered. We waited him out. He stowed the handkerchief.

  “Please go on. You were saying?”

  “I asked you why you hadn’t thought to inform your father, Dr. Forgach, that you had met with your sister the same evening that she was killed.”

  He pursed his lips, his mind was racing so fast it was leaving smoke on the tracks.

  “You know, looking back on it, I wonder that myself. I suppose I was so shocked, everything else left my mind. I apologize for that.”

  “One last question,” said Katherine. “While you were at the casino, did you see Deidre with anybody else? Communicating with anybody?”

  He shook his head earnestly. “No. Not at all.” He chuckled. “ As I said, she was so, so focused on her game. I think Elvis Presley himself might have appeared at her side and she wouldn’t have noticed.”

  Ah, that explained the dyed black hair and the sideburns. He was a devotee of the King.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  That was about it. We had no reason to charge Sigmund with anything at this stage and I know all three of us were hoping we wouldn’t have to. We let him go and with several deferential smiles and soft handshakes, he left.

  Ed pushed back his chair. “I’ve got to get back to the station,” he said. “I’m going to leave this in your capable hands. Good luck.”

  He left and I got up and helped myself to coffee. It was fresh and hot but starting to churn acid in my empty stomach. My neck felt like it was made of wood.

  Katherine leaned her elbows on the table. “I’m not looking forward to passing this on to Leo. He’s…”

  She didn’t have to finish her sentence because the man himself came into the room.

  “He’s what? Don’t worry, I’m not going to have hysterics. Tell me what happened.”

  Katherine hesitated but Leo mowed right on. “Sigmund is one of the last people we know was talking to her before she died. What did he have to say? Just forget he’s my son.”

  Katherine sighed. “Leo, don’t be ridiculous. None of us here is a robot and that includes you. How can we ignore the reality that these are your children?”

  “Try,” he snapped. “I agreed not to sit in on the interview but you owe me the courtesy of telling me what Sig had to say.”

  Katherine studied her nails for a moment. “Very well. Chris, you take good notes. Why don’t you read them back?”

  He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t! A summary will be fine.”

  “He said he hadn’t really had any encounters with Deidre since she was a child but in the past few months, they had reconnected by way of emails, initiated by her. She mentioned she always went to the casino on Tuesday night so he thought he’d surprise her and drop in and say hello…”

  “Hold on. He said this was their first meeting?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s bullshit,” Leo spat out. “You saw the tapes. Were they acting like two people who were meeting face to face for the first time in twenty years?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Why is he lying then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re sure that’s what he said? He hadn’t seen her face to face before yesterday?”

  Katherine interjected. “That’s what he claims, Leo.”

  “I suggest we bring in Jessica Manolo, Deidre’s friend,” I said. “She reads lips. We could ask her to look at the tape.”

  “Good idea,” said Katherine. “Let’s do that as soon as possible.”

  There was no window to stare out of so Leo had to make do with an empty notice board with fire drill instructions on it.

  Katherine continued. “Sigmund seemed upset about the prospect of our questioning his mother, which we may have to do if we’re going to verify his statement. Anything you can tell us about that?”

  “Do you have a couple of days?” Leo said, his voice full of bitterness. There was a corridor of space between the table and the wall and he started to pace. Katherine stopped him.

  “Please sit down, Leo. Walking up and down like a caged tiger might help you but frankly I find it unsettling.”

  He gave her a curt nod and took a chair across from us. “Trudy and I met when we were young and stupid. Frankly I was thinking with my dick and not my head. She was a bosomy blonde.” He made the universal gesture for well-endowed. “I was a nineteen-year-old horny virgin, she was … well, I fitted some fantasy Trudy was carrying from her hundreds of hours watching TV shows. Up-and-coming medical student, who would eventually be laying healing hands on the attractively sick, accolades, not to mention money, raining down on said doctor and his lovely wife.” He stopped but didn’t look at either of us. “No bets on what happened,” he continued, his voice maintaining a rather flat dispassionate tone. The shrink being objective. “We had an affair, she got pregnant, we got married. One, two, three. Frankly I wanted to leave her a few months after we’d done the deed but I thought for the boy’s sake I should stick it out. In hindsight, I’m sure that didn’t help him at all. Trudy resented the long hours I put into my studies. She was, is, not what we’d call an intellectual or interested in a thought that hasn’t first been vetted by Oprah or whatever guru it was back then. We argued constantly regardless whether Sig heard us or not. She turned all her attention and need onto the boy. I … I just buried myself more and more in my courses. Early on I knew I wanted to be a psychiatrist but she hated that. It wasn’t sexy enough … I suppose I am allowed to get some coffee?”

  The trip to the coffee urn gave him an excuse to move around and Katherine didn’t stop him this time.

  “I hung on until I finished my internship then I left her. Sigmund was eight.” He turned around and looked at both Katherine and me. “You’ve heard stories like this before; I’ve heard them dozens of times. She started, or more accurately continued, drinking, a habit I’d ig
nored when I was in the throes of lust. When I left we loathed each other. She couldn’t bear to see Sig liking anybody else, especially me. Any visits I tried to make were blocked. I didn’t try that hard. I found him an unattractive, whiny kid, a mother’s boy if ever I saw one. We had nothing in common. Over the years I have met him only sporadically. The last time was about six months ago. I met him for dinner and neither or us could wait until it was time to leave… You’ve met him. He’s a phoney. He wants to come across as cool and with it but he just looks rather pathetic.”

  I’d had a similar opinion of Sigmund, but coming from his own father, this judgement sounded harsh indeed. I didn’t envy any child of Leo’s. The standards seemed impossibly high.

  He picked up on my thoughts as surely as if I’d said them out loud. “I am not proud of my accomplishments in the parental department. I was the classic absent father and I’m sure Sig has taken on the responsibility for that as most children do. It is no doubt part of the reason why he tries so hard to be liked.”

  There was another awkward silence.

  “Shall I go on?” Leo asked.

  “Please do,” said Katherine, but her eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Leo saw her do it and I saw him shrink back. He was misreading her: she wasn’t indifferent to what he was saying; she just wished she didn’t have to hear it. If there was a club for people who were at the far end of the touchy-feely spectrum as far as their private lives were concerned, Leo would be the president and Katherine vice-president.

  “I remarried a few years after I wrested, and paid heavily for, a divorce from Trudy. It’s true what he said. I brought him and Deidre together once only when she was, hmm, about four, I think. He was very nasty and jealous with her and actually tripped her up when she was running across the yard so that she had a bad fall. I was actually afraid she might have broken her knee.” Leo made quotes in the air. “A ‘joke,’ according to Sig but it wasn’t. He wanted to hurt her.” He put down his coffee cup. “Whether Dee and he made any attempt to connect with each other over the years I have no idea.” His lips were tight. “In spite of what I have said, I do love my son. It grieves me that he has become such a prissy tight-ass and for that his mother and I must take equal blame. She keeps him on an extremely short leash and I didn’t try to stop her when I could have… I also loved Deidre and I will carry to my grave the regret that she died without knowing it.”

  He struggled for control and we waited. Now it was my turn to fiddle with my coffee cup. Katherine took to studying her fingers. Quickly, Leo rubbed away traitorous tears from his cheeks with his finger.

  “Leo, I will not insult you by denying that your son is what we in our inimitable police jargon call ‘a person of interest.’” Katherine’s voice was matching Leo’s for flatness. “We will of course pursue the matter of his seeming deception. Is there anything I can do to help you at the moment?”

  He managed a wry smile. “You can snap your fingers and say, ‘Wake up now, Leo. It’s all been a bad dream.’ Can you do that for me, Katherine?”

  She leaned across the table and briefly covered his hands with hers. “I only wish I could, Leo.”

  I doubt I had taken in much oxygen for the last several minutes. Katherine picked up her notebook, brisk again, professional.

  “Christine, I’ll leave it to you to contact the Manolo girl and arrange for her to view the tapes. There isn’t a lot we can do now until we start getting back reports from the beat officers. I suggest you and Leo go to your respective homes and get some rest. You look exhausted. We’ll meet tomorrow at say one o’clock?”

  That was fine and we trekked out. Leo said he’d get a taxi, refused a lift, and we parted.

  I was already driving out of the lot when I realized that once again I’d forgotten the report that Gill had faxed me. I promised myself I’d come in early and have a look at it tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Rather than going home first, I drove straight to Paula’s house. I wanted to get the latest news, see my godchild, and pay a visit to Mrs. Jackson, who in my mind was my spiritual mother and had been since I was fourteen. I’d talked to her several times on the phone, but I’d only seen her once since Al died last year and I was keen to know how she was doing. She and Al would have been celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary this year and I knew she was still feeling his loss keenly. She’d been a stay-at-home mother at a time when there wasn’t a lot of choice for women to do much else but I don’t think she’d felt unfulfilled or second-class. They’d had four kids, three boys and then Paula. Al became a superintendent of police, respected and liked. He was a great dad, and he and Marion, defying all odds about marrying young, had one of the happiest marriages I knew of.

  Even with the two of them as early role models, I can’t say my own love life would be considered successful. The longest relationship I’d had lasted seven years. He was an intense, moody guy, a lawyer for personal injury claims. He was keen to make our relationship official and establish a normal family life — house, kids, dog, lawnmower. I was dragging my feet. I loved my work, and the idea of being a parent, given my own childhood, made me nervous. I might have capitulated because I did care for him, but then he got an offer of a partnership with his brother who lived in Los Angeles. I didn’t want to uproot, and after much wrangling, he chose the partnership. We’d tried to keep things going but I guess our roots weren’t quite as deep as I’d thought because one day he phoned and said he’d met somebody else and was getting married. To be honest, my heartache was short-lived, my pride hurt more than anything else. After that I dated a couple of nice guys, both in the police, but nothing clicked until a couple of years ago when I met Gill on the island of Lewis. Ironically I was once again faced with the problem of a long-distance relationship. God knows how we were going to work it out but for now he was my guy.

  I pulled into the driveway and the door opened. Chelsea and Marion were standing in the doorway. Chelsea did a literal dance of delight, on tiptoe, twirling around in excitement. Marion held out her arms. We hugged, bone crushers on both sides. Chelsea was wrapped around my legs. Marion released me and Chelsea grabbed my hand and dragged me into the house.

  “I’ve got a new fish named Fan. He’s awesome. Come and see.”

  She was allergic to cats and Craig wouldn’t agree to a dog so she had poured out all her frustrated nurturing instincts or whatever it is that drove some kids to clamour for creatures onto fish. She was the proud owner and caretaker of a large aquarium, which had pride of place in the living room. Duly awestruck, I admired Fan, who was indeed a pretty, colourful fantail, hence the name.

  “I made lots of spaghetti,” said Marion. “Do you want some?”

  “Is the pope Catholic?” I grinned at her. She was proud of her Irish-Catholic ancestry and I liked to tease her about it.

  “Sit down. You look tired,” she said and went out to the kitchen. Chelsea drew her chair up closer to mine.

  “Mommy’s in the hospital and Daddy’s at his club so Grandma is looking after me. I helped her make the spaghetti.”

  Marion put a heaping plate of pasta in front of me. I took a taste. “How’d you do it? You’re sure you’re a mick and not a wop?” I said. Another old joke. Marion made the best pastas I’d ever eaten.

  “’Course I’m a mick. Didn’t you know we cook in holy water,” she said straight-faced. “For a small price the priest lets us drain it off from the baptismal fonts. I think all those tears add a touch of salt.”

  I burst out laughing. Both she and Al had been practising Roman Catholics but she’d always had a sudden irreverent humour.

  “Why do the babies cry, Grandma?” Chelsea asked. She was right in the middle of the why, where, and what stage of growth — mostly delightful, occasional irksome.

  “They’re not used to some strange man trickling cold water on their heads. You didn’t utter a peep when you were baptized though. Just tried to catch hold of Father Crowley’s fingers and su
ck on them.”

  “I did not,” said Chelsea, shocked at this image of herself. As well as the curious stage, she was going through a period of correctness. We were hoping she’d grow out of it eventually.

  I polished off the spaghetti with record speed, refused a second helping, accepted the offer of a piece of fresh apple pie for later, and sat back in the chair.

  “Grandma said you’d put me to bed,” said Chelsea. “We can go on with the story you started last time you babysat me.”

  “Haven’t you finished it yet?”

  “Of course I have but you want to know how it ends, don’t you?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  The meal had increased my tiredness and I couldn’t hold back a yawn.

  “I don’t know how long I’m going to hold out, Chelse. We’d better get the train moving out of the station or you’ll be driving it yourself.”

  She giggled. “No, I can’t do that. I’m only a child, I wouldn’t be allowed.”

  “You will be if you pass the exam.”

  “What exam?’

  “Can you run upstairs in fifteen seconds, brush your teeth in thirty seconds, get into your jammies and under the bed covers in another ten?”

  “Starting when?”

  I checked my watch. “Five seconds. Ready? Five, four, three, two, one. Blast off.”

  She dashed for the stairs. We heard the bathroom door slam open.

  “Is Craig at the hospital?” I asked Marion.

  “He said he had a meeting at his club. He’s on the board of directors or something.” She paused. We both knew what the other was thinking.

  “How is Paula doing?”

  “A bit better. They seem to be stabilizing her heartbeat. They might let her out sooner than we thought.” She bit her lip. “Then we’ll have to hold our breath until she gets the results of the biopsy back.”

  I grabbed both her hands in mine and shook them. “Try not to worry, Ma. She’s a tough one is our Paula.”