‘I’ve got a bit more to do. How about grabbing a bite to eat when we’re both finished?’ Ellison hesitated. ‘Not a date you realise, just I suspect we’re both hungry and I don’t have anything at home. I was thinking of going down to that Mexican restaurant a few blocks over. Want to join me?’
‘You have such a way of making a girl feel wanted. How can I resist?’ Annie laughed and sat down to start her work.
As Annie put the key in her lock three hours later, she smiled at how she’d managed to resist Dave’s charms. She’d made her excuses after the meal and one drink in the bar and then caught a taxi back, refusing the offer of a ride home. At least she didn’t have to prepare any food. That was a bonus, but she still went straight to the refrigerator and got out the half empty bottle of white wine. Pouring herself a drink, she noticed that the answer machine was flashing.
‘Hello sweetheart, only me. We’ll probably be in bed by the time you get this. Why don’t you email me so I know you’re all right? We love you.’ Annie smiled at her mum’s voice and the use of the ‘we’. She knew her mother wasn’t getting any younger and one day she would be put in a position of having to decide Andrew’s future. Margaret Macpherson would keep her son at home until her dying day. The level of care her brother required had already seen her dad dying before his time.
Switching on her computer, with wine glass still in hand, Annie checked her inbox. She had an email from Rob, one of her detective colleagues back in Stockport. He was relaying the latest office gossip. The two of them had clicked immediately, both being foreigners in Stockport. Rob was from London and had a really strong cockney accent; the strength of accent only matched by hers. When the two of them talked in the squad room, no one else could fathom out what they were saying. As usual in the email, he ended with his favourite line about still being available and saving his well toned body just for her.
Annie smiled, feeling quite nostalgic for home. Although this exchange was a great opportunity Annie still wondered if she’d done the right thing accepting it. When the chance came up all those months ago, she’d been at her lowest ebb with the wedding called off and the backlash from everyone. You’d have thought she’d committed a crime, rather than owning up to her true feelings before it was too late. But now, she worried whether what had happened to Angela Goodman was down to her. What if she hadn’t been on the exchange? Would someone else have treated the interview differently? Annie knew the animosity that divorce can bring. She’d been through it with enough of her friends, but none had ended up in physical violence. If it turned out to be Mr Goodman, her worst fears would be confirmed.
The ring of her cellphone brought her out of her reverie. ‘Macpherson.’
‘Hi partner, guess who just called?’
‘Mr Goodman?’ Annie felt her heart beating faster.
‘The very one. It seems he’s cutting short his vacation after I mentioned what the urgent matter was that we needed to discuss with him.’
‘And I wonder how he knew to give you a call.’ Annie smiled.
‘Funny that he didn’t elaborate: just said he’d heard from a friend. Anyway, he’s travelling tonight and says that he’ll come in to see us in the morning, about 10. I think he’s anxious to be eliminated from our inquiries.’
‘I am sure he is, and have had time to build up his alibi.’ Annie was pacing the living room. ‘Do we need to warn the hospital he might visit, let our officer know.’
‘I’ll do that as a precaution, but I don’t think he’s planning on doing that. He explicitly said he isn’t going to visit her. He made it clear that he’s moved on with his life and she isn’t a part of it anymore, but I’ll brief people in any case.’
‘Just in case he’s the one trying to make sure she isn’t part of it anymore. So we’re seeing him in the morning?’
‘Yeah, I’ve let Franconi know. We’ve got interview room one booked at 10:00 and we’ll see Franconi after we finish. Anyway, see you in the morning.’
When Annie finished the call, she went back to her computer and started a new document with a list of questions she had for George Goodman.
15
‘We don’t get many cyclists in here. You training for something? Not one of these famous Olympic athletes, are you?’
He wasn’t in the mood for shooting the breeze with the motel desk clerk. What he wanted most was to get up to his room and shower. The cycle ride had taken a couple of hours and he was starving. But her observation made him realise that his plan wasn’t as faultless as he thought. A cyclist was more memorable than a car driver. Stupid mistake.
‘Just keeping fit, that’s all.’ His tone remained calm as it had to, and he never gave her any eye contact, simply filling out the registration form as he had practised. Three identities but he managed to keep them all straight.
The receptionist wasn’t as oblivious as she seemed, as she took the hint, hurried up the registration process and handed him the keys.
Walking the bike to the back of the building, he carried it up the stairs. No way was he leaving an expensive bike in the parking lot, even though it was sheltered from the road and this looked like a decent neighbourhood. Besides, he was sure he hadn’t been spotted, but you could never be absolutely certain. The miles between him and the scene of the accident should be enough. Tomorrow he would be back in his apartment, but now there were things to do.
First of all, he closed all the curtains in the room. Then he laid out his backpack on the second twin bed. The one he was going to sleep on had already been decided and he left that perfect. The laptop was placed on the desk, although that was a generous description of a table with a less than comfortable looking chair, but it would do. Then he laid out the fresh clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, a light jacket, all casual and unremarkable. The cycling shorts had started to chafe his skin and he felt relief as he peeled them off. Rivulets of sweat poured down his chest. Walking into the bathroom, he filled the sink with water, adding the concentrated washing liquid. Peeling off the cycling top, both items went into the sink to soak.
Looking at himself in the mirror, he smiled a self-satisfied grin. This one had gone well, very well in fact, except maybe for the bike. That might have drawn some attention. On the other hand, many people would come and go today and one cyclist would leave hardly any impression at all. Even if it did, it didn’t matter. There was nothing to link him to a crime scene over thirty miles away.
Running the shower, he waited until the steam filled the room and the heat was at its most intense. Every pore of his body needed cleansing. The water was soothing against his skin and he couldn’t decide which sensation he felt more, hunger or tiredness. But it was afternoon now, no wonder he was so hungry.
16
Annie was the first one in. The sun was out and shining into the squad room, giving it a more cheerful appearance than it actually deserved. Annie looked around, not believing the chaos on everyone’s desk, and wondered how anyone managed to get anything done. Looking over at Dave Ellison’s empty desk, she was pleased that nothing had happened between them the night before. She knew he’d wanted it to, and she’d been tempted herself. But today would have been awkward and she didn’t need complications. Best to keep it friendly. Besides, what if she’d missed that call from Bronski. That could have been embarrassing.
Just as she placed her jacket on the back of her chair, the phone rang.
‘Detective Macpherson.’
‘Hi Detective, it’s Courtney, one of the technicians from the lab. The fingerprints from Mrs Goodman’s house have been processed and the results are ready to be picked up. I’ll leave the envelope at reception.’
Annie headed down the corridor to the stairs and ran up the two flights, arriving a bit breathless at the lab window. There was a bell to ring for attention. Same the world over, thought Annie. The frizzy haired lab
receptionist who slid the window open looked about twelve, and turned out to be a stickler for procedure. Annie had to show her ID and sign a form before the young upstart reluctantly deigned to release the report. Not as friendly as the technician who telephoned, thought Annie. I wonder if the technicians realise what their receptionist is like? But there was no point antagonising anyone.
As tempted as she was to read the report right then and there, Annie knew that it was only fair to let Bronski have first sight. After all, he was leading on the case. Besides, the envelope was sealed, so any attempt to look at the results would have been obvious. The lab receptionist had also put her off. She took her time walking back down the two flights of steps.
Bronski was by his desk when she arrived back, just putting his jacket on the back of his chair. He stood there, rolling his sleeves up. Annie had a quick flashback to Sunday mornings when she was growing up. Her father performed an identical procedure when he was just about to sit down at the breakfast table. Annie remembered the strong forearms, and his commanding presence.
‘Morning. I have the lab report on the fingerprints. It’s the only report done so far.’ Annie proffered the file to her supervisor.
‘So, anything interesting?’
‘I guess you’d better tell me. I haven’t looked yet. Thought you deserved first honours.’ Annie smiled, while Bronski sat down.
‘Very considerate, Detective, I’ll note that in your report.’
Annie felt a slight twinge of guilt, remembering how tempted she’d been, only stopping short because the envelope was sealed.
Bronski had the packet open in seconds, concentrating on the printout. He rubbed his chin, looking quizzically at the report. Then he looked over at Annie who was now at her desk. ‘The prints on the glass match Jim Moorcroft. I thought he said he just dropped her off, never went in the house.’
Annie opened her notebook, taking a few seconds to find the right part. ‘That’s what he said.’
‘Maybe he had a drink when he went to pick her up, not when he dropped her off.’
‘That’s possible, no note of it in here though.’ They both looked at each other, neither one wanting to acknowledge they might have made an error. ‘Perhaps we need to check him out some more.’
‘Get Ellison to run him though the computer: he’s a whiz at it. If he’s not the upstanding citizen he comes across as, Ellison will find out.’
Annie was relieved that Bronski was focused on the report, even as he gave the instruction. She felt like she was blushing at the mention of Ellison’s name and she certainly didn’t want Bronski to get wind of their meal last night. But her relief was short lived, as just as she was making a note, Dave Ellison opened the squad room door.
‘Just the man.’ Bronski was watching the younger and fitter man approach his desk. ‘Detective Macpherson wants a word with you.’
Annie felt herself tense up. Ellison was going to take this the wrong way.
‘She can have a word with me any time.’ Ellison was smiling at Bronski, no sign of being ill at ease.
Only Annie felt embarrassed, but she kept her cool. ‘Detective Bronski says you’re the best with the databases. We need to see if Jim Moorcroft has any previous as his fingerprints were found at Angela Goodman’s house.’
‘I’m on it.’ Ellison winked at Annie, but luckily Bronski missed it. He was still concentrating on the rest of the report.
‘There’s other fingerprints but no match to anyone on our database. So that’s not much help at the moment.’
The silence lasted only a matter of moments. Dave Ellison was typing away and staring intently at the screen. Then he leaned back, folding his arms behind his head, looking as if he were just about to put his feet up on the desk. When he eventually had both Bronski and Annie staring at him questioningly, he said, ‘Very interesting; your boy has got previous.’
Ellison proceeded to scroll down the screen, periodically clicking the mouse. Annie pulled a chair up beside him, careful not to get too close, afraid that touching him might trigger off a sensation she didn’t know if she was ready to handle again. Bronski leaned over the back of her chair. Ellison read aloud from the screen: ‘So, he was arrested and charged with aggravated assault ten years ago, domestic violence, beat up his wife. Let’s see ...’ Ellison clicked on another link. ‘No, never went to court, the wife dropped charges.’ Ellison clicked the mouse again: ‘Traffic offence 4 years ago, paid a fine.’ Ellison continued to scroll, with all three staring at the screen, but there was nothing further for him to read out.
‘We need the wife’s details, must be his ex now, as he’s living with Jackie Winters. Let’s talk to her, but we’ll get him in first.’ Bronski glanced up at the squad room clock. ‘But it will have to wait. Mr Goodman is due in less than an hour and we need to plan the interview. Thanks Detective, good work.’
Annie and Bronski spent the next half hour discussing their approach to George Goodman, but the news about Jim Moorcroft was still reverberating in her head, making it hard to concentrate. What if another mistake had been made? Annie hadn’t lacked confidence during an investigation before. Maybe it was the cultural differences or disparity in procedures. Whatever it was, she didn’t like the feelings this investigation was beginning to engender in her. Perhaps she was simply homesick. She knew she needed ten minutes on her own before George Goodman arrived and at a suitable point told Bronski that she was going to the restroom.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Annie was surprised at how tired and washed out she appeared. Perhaps it was the time of the year. All the locals in the office were tanned while her pale Scottish skin and fair hair made her stand out. But was it only that? Splashing water on her face and a touch of lipstick brought some much needed colour. Get a grip, she told herself, as she pushed the door open and headed back into the squad room.
‘He’s here. Are you ready Detective?’
George Goodman wasn’t someone Annie would have described as handsome. She remembered an expression her mother used to say, ‘He has a lived-in face.’ That seemed to fit the man before them. His face had almost the consistency of leather: too much sun, and too little sun protection. The lines on his face were worn, almost carved out and in a few more years, he would look chiselled. But he had a full head of dark brown hair, greying a bit at the temples. Annie could see how Angela Goodman would have been attracted to him a few years ago, but not necessarily how he was still managing to attract other women. What else did he have to offer, she wondered. He wasn’t much taller than Bronski, maybe 5 foot 9 or 10, and he could use some fashion advice.
When they entered the interview room, Bronski put a tape in the machine with George Goodman’s agreement, since it had already been made clear to him that he wasn’t under arrest. George Goodman sat back in his chair, keeping a distance from the table and straightened the cuffs under his sports coat. He seemed to be going through some sort of ritualistic behaviour to prepare himself. Annie noticed he repeated the cuff straightening and also flicked a bit of fluff from his trousers. His body was turned very slightly so that he was at an angle to the two detectives and his head had to turn in their direction as he was asked to state his name.
Annie had seen this preening behaviour before with a paedophile she’d interviewed a year or so ago. In that case, the man’s demeanour never changed, even when the evidence from his computer was being placed in front of him. Annie remembered how sick she’d felt having to look through the photographs on his PC. Then there was the look of horror on his wife’s face when she realised what he had been doing. She could still picture the woman drawing her children close, perhaps wondering if they too, had been victims without her knowledge.
Bronski started the interview. ‘So, Mr Goodman, when was the last time you saw your wife?’
Again, the imperceptible shift in body posture and the
pursing of the lips indicated that George Goodman considered that all of this was beneath him, an inconvenience to be gotten over with as soon as possible. Goodman took a smartphone out of his chest pocket and keyed into his appointments calendar, scrolling down the pages as if he had all the time in the world.
‘Thought so. It was the 29th of May at 7:30. We met at the house. We had some things to discuss and I wanted to pick up the last of my belongings. I think, from memory, I was there about an hour.’
‘And how was your wife on that occasion?’
‘Her usual vindictive self. She spent most of the conversation blaming everything on me, failing to see herself for what she was.’ The words were uttered with no emotion, as he carefully put the phone back in his pocket.
‘And what was she?’ Bronski was leaning forward attempting to engage with the man on the other side of the table. Annie kept her distance, feeling as if her distaste for Goodman would leak out if she were any closer. Annie also noted his use of the past tense.
‘A selfish, loveless woman, who wants the world to be perfect, yet won’t make any attempt to create that world. One of life’s natural takers, rather than givers, if you know what I mean.’
Aye, thought Annie, it sounds like you are describing yourself, not your wife. You take what you want, when you want, with no thought of the consequences. Annie felt herself to be a good judge of character and Angela Goodman hadn’t struck her as being anything like that.
‘And you haven’t seen her since that night?’
‘No, and that is by choice. Everything’s to go through my lawyer. I expect I may have to see her one last time in court, to finalise the divorce, if it comes to that.’ Playing the victim thought Annie. But she ruminated on the last few words ‘if it comes to that.’ Did he mean, if it came to the divorce going through, or if she died and that was the end of it? Annie wanted to explore his meaning, but Bronski didn’t pick up on it.
Det Annie Macpherson 01 - Primed By The Past Page 7
