Read Online (2012) Cross-Border Murder by David Waters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Waters
Tags: thriller
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solo meeting with the former Mrs. Monaghan. I know I would have been. “Because I need time to prepare myself properly. And because we have a ball game to go to on Friday.”
“And it takes precedence! A lousy ball game?” She seemed genuinely puzzled as well as annoyed. “You do really want me to meet with this cop who believed my father was guilty?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind. He still believes your father was guilty. I’ve asked him to get out the old file. He finally agreed to try. I want to see how much ground they covered back then. I want to find out whom the police questioned and who said what. Compare it with what they’re telling us now. Any discrepancies may give us a lead.
CHAPTER SIX
On Friday, I went to pick up Gina to go to the ball game with Phil Ryan. I was worried about Gina. We had talked on the phone a number of times. She had not offered to pitch in with any of the petty aspects of this kind of work that thoroughness required. And she was spending more time with her new found friend, Linda Kahane. Her friend moved in a sleazy crowd. De riguer, given her profession. I hoped Gina had enough sense to stay away from them. But I am not my sister’s keeper, I tried to remind myself.
On the drive to Olympic Stadium, she asked me about Ryan.
“He was a pretty good detective,” I said for openers.
“Ha!”
“And he’s not happy at having been put out to pasture prematurely. I didn’t say he was perfect. But he’s not your enemy.” We listened to the hiss of the tires as we sped along the Ville Marie Expressway.
“If he still thinks my father was guilty, he will be.”
I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this encounter. She was clearly not looking forward to meeting him, and I knew he was anything but enthusiastic about meeting her. But maybe they were just putting up a defensive screen in case the meeting turned sour.
We met at the entrance to the Section D seats near third base. When I introduced them to each other, he extended his hand. She shook it. Not exactly a peace offering, but some of the tension went out of the air. The Expos pitching fell apart in the second inning, and their hitters would probably have missed the kind of puff balls I could have thrown. By the fifth inning the seats around us had emptied and conversation about other matters had become possible.
“So you believed my father was guilty,” Gina muttered.
Ryan sighed. “The evidence was strong enough to put him on trial.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“He was at the scene of the crime the night the murder was committed. His fresh fingerprints were in the office. His relationship with Mrs. Monaghan provided a motive, at least for the kind of confrontation with Professor Monaghan which could have resulted in Monaghan’s death. When we questioned him, he was obviously in a state of deep depression. He did not protest any of the evidence.”
“But he didn’t confess.”
“No. But no one expected him to.”
“In fact he told you he did not murder Professor Monaghan.”
“True. But he said that kind of pro forma.”
I was sitting between them, shifting my head left and right as they spoke as if I were at a tennis match rather than a baseball game. “Could you explain that?” I asked puzzled.
“It was the way he said it.” Ryan explained. “His tone was indifferent. He sounded like a man who had given up hope. It was not unusual. Experienced detectives almost expect it from people who are guilty of unpremeditated manslaughter, particularly if they have had no previous experience with that kind of violence. It’s as if the act caught them by surprise. They’re in a state of trauma. They’re not yet ready to explain the how and the why. Or their degree of guilt, which may be minimal.”
Gina had been watching his face carefully. “But you charged him with first degree murder.”
Ryan nodded. He too had lost interest in
“And it takes precedence! A lousy ball game?” She seemed genuinely puzzled as well as annoyed. “You do really want me to meet with this cop who believed my father was guilty?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you to sow the seeds of doubt in his mind. He still believes your father was guilty. I’ve asked him to get out the old file. He finally agreed to try. I want to see how much ground they covered back then. I want to find out whom the police questioned and who said what. Compare it with what they’re telling us now. Any discrepancies may give us a lead.
CHAPTER SIX
On Friday, I went to pick up Gina to go to the ball game with Phil Ryan. I was worried about Gina. We had talked on the phone a number of times. She had not offered to pitch in with any of the petty aspects of this kind of work that thoroughness required. And she was spending more time with her new found friend, Linda Kahane. Her friend moved in a sleazy crowd. De riguer, given her profession. I hoped Gina had enough sense to stay away from them. But I am not my sister’s keeper, I tried to remind myself.
On the drive to Olympic Stadium, she asked me about Ryan.
“He was a pretty good detective,” I said for openers.
“Ha!”
“And he’s not happy at having been put out to pasture prematurely. I didn’t say he was perfect. But he’s not your enemy.” We listened to the hiss of the tires as we sped along the Ville Marie Expressway.
“If he still thinks my father was guilty, he will be.”
I was beginning to doubt the wisdom of this encounter. She was clearly not looking forward to meeting him, and I knew he was anything but enthusiastic about meeting her. But maybe they were just putting up a defensive screen in case the meeting turned sour.
We met at the entrance to the Section D seats near third base. When I introduced them to each other, he extended his hand. She shook it. Not exactly a peace offering, but some of the tension went out of the air. The Expos pitching fell apart in the second inning, and their hitters would probably have missed the kind of puff balls I could have thrown. By the fifth inning the seats around us had emptied and conversation about other matters had become possible.
“So you believed my father was guilty,” Gina muttered.
Ryan sighed. “The evidence was strong enough to put him on trial.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“He was at the scene of the crime the night the murder was committed. His fresh fingerprints were in the office. His relationship with Mrs. Monaghan provided a motive, at least for the kind of confrontation with Professor Monaghan which could have resulted in Monaghan’s death. When we questioned him, he was obviously in a state of deep depression. He did not protest any of the evidence.”
“But he didn’t confess.”
“No. But no one expected him to.”
“In fact he told you he did not murder Professor Monaghan.”
“True. But he said that kind of pro forma.”
I was sitting between them, shifting my head left and right as they spoke as if I were at a tennis match rather than a baseball game. “Could you explain that?” I asked puzzled.
“It was the way he said it.” Ryan explained. “His tone was indifferent. He sounded like a man who had given up hope. It was not unusual. Experienced detectives almost expect it from people who are guilty of unpremeditated manslaughter, particularly if they have had no previous experience with that kind of violence. It’s as if the act caught them by surprise. They’re in a state of trauma. They’re not yet ready to explain the how and the why. Or their degree of guilt, which may be minimal.”
Gina had been watching his face carefully. “But you charged him with first degree murder.”
Ryan nodded. He too had lost interest in
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