The Shoulders of Giants (18 page)

“No, thank you, I won’t keep you long. Did you know Grant well?”

“As well as anyone here, I would imagine. He’s lived next door to me for the last five years.

“What can you tell me about him?”

“Surprisingly little actually. He is usually friendly. Sorry,
was
. We didn’t exactly chat, but we used to nod hello in the hall. My wife used to talk to Emma a little.”

“Emma McKinley, his girlfriend?”

“Fiancée, actually.”

“Fiancée?” I said, surprised. “I didn’t realize.”

“Oh yes, Grant didn’t have girlfriends, only fiancées. He seemed very quick to commit.”

“So there were others?”

“I can think of four since he’s lived here.”

“The super didn’t mention any other girls, just Emma.”

“Mr Hudson? Oh, he’s new. He’s only been here a year. Less, probably.”

“I don’t suppose you remember any of their names, do you?

“Let’s see,” he stroked his chin as he thought. I wondered if he used to have a beard. “There was a Camille, a Julia, and I think I remember a Diane.”

“No surnames?”

“Oh no, I doubt I ever knew them.”

“Would you happen to know who broke off the engagements? Was it Grant or them?”

“I believe it was Emma, in the most recent instance. They were always fighting about money.” He looked a little apologetic. “The walls are thin,” he offered by way of an explanation. “Are you sure you won’t have some tea?”

“I’m sure, thanks. Did Grant have many visitors?”

“I couldn’t say. I never noticed much coming and going, but I probably wouldn’t hear unless they made a lot of noise like his friend from the gym.”

“What friend is this?”

“He was here about a week and a half ago. Large, muscled man. He was banging away for some time on the door, but Grant wasn’t in, so eventually he went away. He made such a commotion that I popped my head out as he was leaving.”

“Did he look like this?” I asked, producing the composite of Tommy Byrne from my pocket.

“Oh no, larger than that. Muscular, you know, and tanned. He had a sort of goatee beard, and he had a kerchief on his head. I believe in street argot it’s known as a ‘do-rag’.”

“And he told you he was a friend from the gym?”

“Oh, I didn’t speak to him, but I assume, because of the muscles… Grant was big too, you know.”

“Yes, Mr Hudson said Grant worked out a lot. Do you know if he ever got aggressive? Violent?”

“Not that I saw, I don’t know how I would know if he was ever aggressive to Emma, if that’s what you mean.”

It was exactly what I meant. I wasn’t sure where I was going with it, but I was trying to build up a picture of Grant Foster, and in my experience, people who work out to the extent that they are well built sometimes feel the need to show their masculinity in other ways.

“Well,” I explained, treading carefully, “you said the walls were very thin. When you heard them fight, was it just raised voices, or were things crashing about, breaking. Did you hear her scream?”

He thought for a long moment. “No,” he finally said, “I don’t believe I ever heard her scream, nor do I remember any sounds of breakages. Not that I was paying much attention, you understand.”

I nodded, absolving him of his guilt from listening to his neighbors’ lives being played out through the thin walls.

“What about Wednesday morning? The day of the murder? Did you hear anything then?”

“No, I’m afraid I did not. The police asked me the same thing. I wish I could help more.”

“You’ve already been a great help, thank you.” I said, handing him my card. “If you think of anything else, I’d appreciate a call.”

“Absolutely,” he said, and politely stood up as I left.

I drove across town to Calvin Walsh’s apartment, to repeat the exercise, but I struck out. None of the people on Walsh’s floor had even heard of him before their building became a crime scene.

Chapter 28

I was awake at seven on Sunday morning. I lay in bed, trying to ward off the morning until a more sociable hour. I managed several brief periods of unconsciousness, which took me all the way to ten o’clock. In truth, I was waiting for the phone to ring.

The last body was found on Thursday, and it seemed time for another. Eight in one week was a lot by anyone’s standards, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long until number nine showed up. The phone still hadn’t rung by the time I got out of the shower.

I called Gregory Patterson to give him an update on the case. He answered the phone, and immediately I heard his voice, an image entered my head of him sitting in his living room, unshaven, clutching a bottle of whisky. I wondered how much of what I had to tell him would be remembered, when and if he sobered up. Nevertheless, I told him about the profile, and the thumbprint, and about the most recent victims, and about Abby. I told him I’d spoken to Susan’s ex-girlfriend. I didn’t mention her possible connection to Grant Foster. I didn’t mention that I’d been thinking about her day and night, when I should have been concerating on the case. I didn’t mention that I’d been trying to pluck up the courage to call her and ask her out. I didn’t mention her eyes, her hair, or her smile. I didn’t think he’d be interested.

When I had told him everything I had to say about the case, the conversation wrapped itself up fairly quickly. I went and sat in my car, and started it up, ready to drive to the address I had for Emma McKinley, but I changed my mind and tried calling Scott on my cell phone. Something was bugging me. I got no answer on Scott’s direct line at the 18th, so I headed over there.

Scott wasn’t in, so I told the PAA I would wait, and took a chair by the entrance. Scott and Sgt Freedman came up the stairs about ten minutes later with a handcuffed man in tow. I stood up and Freedman took the man into the interview room while Scott hung back to talk to me.

“You got something for me?” he asked.

“Just questions.”

“Can it wait? I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”

“No problem.”

“You want to watch?” he asked.

“Can I?”

“Absolutely not. It’s against regulations.”

“Oh. Okay.” I said, slightly puzzled.

“So when Al and I are done, I do not want to see you coming out of that door over there,” he said, indicating with his head.

“Which door?”

“Over there, the one opposite the vending machine.”

“Got it.”

I opened the door gingerly and found myself in a room that was not much bigger than a closet. Most of one wall was glass, through which I could see into the interview room. I was trying to think whether it was called a two-way mirror or a one-way mirror when Scott entered the room next door. The kid in cuffs was white with red hair, looked about eighteen and wore clothes that made him look bigger than he was. He looked like he had tried to put his hair in dreadlocks but it hadn’t gone well. He was desperately trying to act like a ghetto kid but he was basing his character on some bad urban movies.

“Yo dogg, this is harassment. I’m gonna sue yo ass.”

“Shut the fuck up” said Scott, looking as mean as I’ve ever seen him. “Account for your time, Wednesday evening.”

“I was hanging with my homies.”

“Out at Greene Valley?”

“Nah man, we was on the beach.”

“You know anyone called Stacey?”

“Nope.”

Scott slammed his fist down on the table, and the kid jumped. So did I. “Let’s try the truth now.”

“Man you trippin’. Hey,” he said, turning to Freedman, “don’t I get a lawyer?”

“Why do you need a lawyer, Ethan? Did you do something illegal?” asked Freedman, smiling.

“Yo, I know how this works, I seen
NYPD Blue
. You ain’t gonna get shit from me.”

“That’s real smart Ethan,” said Scott. “You just leave us to draw our own conclusions. We got a witness puts your blue Honda speeding away from a dead girl named Stacey Lloyd. We got her family saying you’re her boyfriend. We got another witness puts you running away from the body seconds after shots were fired, and we got your fingerprints placing you at the scene and your footprints in the mud by the body. Yeah, the last thing you want to do is give us your side of the story. You should just take your chances in court on what we have, you’ll probably be out in fifteen to twenty.” He lifted Ethan out of his seat by the scruff of his oversized jacket and headed towards the holding cage. Ethan suddenly capitulated.

“Yo, yo. Hold it. I ain’t going down for this.”

“Are you going to tell us what happened?” asked Freedman, quietly. Good cop.

“Yeah bro. You jus’ had to ask nice.”

“Alright, can we just drop the jive-talk? We know you’re from the Gold Coast,” said Scott, “It’s really starting to piss me off.”

“Yo, this is how I talk, brother.”

Scott took one step towards him and he put his hands up to shield his face. “Okay, okay. You got it.”

“Let’s start again. What happened on Wednesday.”

“Okay. Stacey and me went out to Greene Valley for some privacy, you know?” Now he sounded like a Young Republican trying to fit in at a youth club, but it was an improvement. “We found a quiet spot and lay down.”

“What time was this?”

“I don’t know, maybe seven, seven-thirty. Anyway, we were kind of getting down to it when I hear this really loud bang and all this dirt flies up right near Stacey’s head. She’s screaming and we jump up and then there’s another bang and she’s on the ground. There’s blood everywhere.” He was breathing deeply, the memory causing adrenaline to surge.

“Then what?” asked Freedman.

“I freaked. I just got the hell out of there.”

“You ran to your car?”

“Man, I didn’t know where I was going, I just ran. I heard another shot, but nothing hit me, so I kept running. Took me another five, ten minutes to find the car.”

“You just left her there to die?” asked Scott angrily.

“There was nothing I could do. Her brains were all over the place. I swear, if she was still alive I would have helped her. I loved her.” He wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand.

“Did you see who shot her?”

“No way, man. I didn’t look back.“

“And you didn’t think this was worth calling the police?”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. I figured it looked bad, you know? I take her out to the woods, she gets shot, I leave her there…”

“So why are you telling us this now?”

“I didn’t know you had all that evidence I was there. Am I in trouble?”

“Write it down,” said Scott, tossing a legal pad onto the table in front of Ethan.

I opened the door to the hallway and made sure nobody was watching, then I left the tiny room and retook my seat by the stairs. Scott and his partner came out in a few minutes and Scott took me into the coffee room.

“You think he’s telling the truth?” I asked.

“Most likely. Did you want something?”

“Yeah, I’ve been talking to people about Grant Foster. By all accounts, he was built. He worked out, apparently.”

“So?”

“Well, you said there wasn’t a mark on his body except the fatal wound and the Z on his foot. No defense wounds. Why didn’t he try and fight back?”

“Could have something to do with the fact that he had a blood alcohol of point two eight. Probably slowed his reactions some.”

“He was killed in the morning. He must have been drinking all night.”

“Guess so,” Scott conceded. “Found a couple of empty bottles of Jack Daniels in his trash.”

“Did any of the other victims have alcohol in their systems?”

“Not all, but some.” He took out his notebook and flipped through it. “Apart from Foster,” he said, “it’s just Calvin Walsh and Richard West. Susan Patterson had traces, but nothing really significant.”

“Interesting.” I said.

Chapter 29

Emma McKinley came to the door in tight jeans and a ribbed white T-shirt. I could smell something baking in the kitchen, and I suddenly wished I’d stopped for a snack on the way over.

I showed her my I.D. and told her why I was there. She asked me in, and I followed her through to the back of the house.

“You read about Grant in the papers, I assume.” I said.

“Who hasn’t? It’s weird, you know? It’s one of those things you think always happens to someone else, you know? And then suddenly, it happens to me. Well, not me, but....”

“I know what you mean. I understand you were engaged.”

“That’s right. Seven months. It didn’t work out.”

“Any particular reason?”

She hesitated. I arched my eyebrows and tried to look receptive and non-judgmental. It seemed to work.

“I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, you know?”

“If you want to help me, you have to tell me everything.” I said.

“Well, he was a total shithead.”

It wasn’t what I’d been expecting to hear, but I think I masked my surprise.

“How so?” I asked.

“Grant was a gambler, and not a very good one. He went to three auditions a months and called himself an actor. Every now and again he got some work, although I don’t know how, he was shit at that as well, you know? Anyway, he rarely worked, so he never had any money. He spent half his time sitting in front of the TV, and the other half at the track. Then he pawned the TV,
my
TV, and spent all his time there. I paid all the bills, and his rent, and in the end, I came home one day to find him stealing money out of my purse. That’s when I walked out.”

I didn’t know what to say. ‘Good for you’ sprang to mind, but didn’t seem professional, so instead I went on with the questions.

“Were there any other problems? Did he fool around?”

“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing like that. Grant was a one woman man. Well, one woman at a time, anyway. He was what they call a serial monogamist, you know? Is your eye okay? It looks really painful.”

“No, it’s fine.” I’d actually been thinking it was nearly back to normal.

The timer on the oven pinged. Emma picked up a dish towel, opened the oven door, and removed a tray of oatmeal raisin cookies. One by one, she started to arrange them on a wire cooling rack. They smelled great, and my stomach rumbled audibly.