The K Handshape (33 page)

“Way to go! Where was he?”

“At home. He said he had a headache and wasn’t answering his phone. I’ve asked him to come in for an interview. He asked if he could come to the Centre. Hey, I don’t care if we see him in the public washroom. Will you do it? I got in touch with Ray Motomochi and he’ll assist.”

“Fantastic. Does Katherine know?”

“She does and she’s informing Dr. Forgach. And by the way, we have some interesting intelligence from the security guard in young Mr. Forgach’s building. We thought we’d do a bit of casual checking and according to him, the Mazda was parked early on. He said he saw it just after nine-thirty
but
the Chevy Nova was not in its regular parking space until at least three o’clock in the morning.”

“Gotcha.”

“The kid’s going to be there at one. Call me as soon as you’re done with him.”

I can’t say I was exactly looking forward to this but I was tremendously relieved that at least Sigmund hadn’t done a bunk.

Interviews tended to be conducted differently depending on the situation — who was the subject, what we knew about them, and so on. Sometimes the best approach was casual and friendly:
“Would you like a coffee” or “Miserable weather we’re having,” sort of thing, if we thought it important for the subject to let down their guard. Other times, the most powerful tool was silence or a non-communicative interviewer who let the subject stew.

Neither Ray nor Sigmund was talking when I entered. Ray had got his “inscrutable oriental” face on, as he called it, and Sigmund was looking cowed and miserable. He glanced up anxiously but when he saw it was only me he relaxed. I guessed he’d feared it was his father entering.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Morris,” he said and held out his hand. His palm was so moist I had to resist the impulse to wipe my hand on my jacket. Innocent people are often nervous when they are sitting in a police station being questioned about a serious crime, but I’d yet to see a person pure as the driven snow who was this uneasy. Sigmund was suffering from a bad attack of nerves and 90 percent of the time that meant the interviewee had a guilty conscience about something or other. I was about to open up that pocket of emotional pus.

I sat down across from him. “Mr. Forgach, I guess Sergeant Motomochi filled you in on why we wanted to talk to you?”

I was deliberately adopting a formal stance. Frankly I felt I needed the security of the usual protocol.

“No, not really.” Sigmund glanced over at Ray, who was looking down at an open notebook he’d placed on the table. “I assume you are creating an in-depth character analysis or something like that.” He gave a small giggle, perhaps realizing what he said sounded like a bank credit check. Even though it was Saturday, he’d chosen to wear his banking clothes, white shirt and dark tie, a smart navy suit with a pinstripe, cut skilfully to hide his slight paunch.

“We were trying to reach you all day yesterday.”

I let that sit there for a moment.

He pursed his lips, the thoughts flashing through his mind almost palpable. We must know that he hadn’t been at the bank.

“Yes, well as I told Sergeant Chaffey, I didn’t check my voice mail until this morning. As soon as I realized you wanted to talk to me, I came straight away.”

“I understand that your mother was under the impression you were at a seminar and your bank thought you were home sick. Do you mind telling me where you were?”

Again I could virtually see the rapid sorting out of his words. He was dancing like a drop of oil on a hot griddle, as Al Jackson would say. He gave me a grin that was intended to be disarming but looked furtive.

“I needed a mental health day. Mother is a, er, worrier. If I’d said that she would have made me go to the emergency ward or back to bed so I, er, I thought it was simpler for everybody if I said I was at a seminar.”

“What did you do instead?”

“Nothing much. Drove around. Had lunch. Sat in the park.”

“Which park was that?”

He rubbed his hands together in what I thought was a Lady Macbeth sort of way. Guilt.

“I didn’t really notice. It was just some small park by the lake … I didn’t stay in Barrie. As you can imagine I didn’t want to run into anybody I knew, so I, er, I drove over here. That is, in this direction, and stopped at a park off the highway.”

“How far would you say you had driven before you went into the park?”

“Oh, er. I wasn’t paying much attention. Perhaps half an hour or so.”

I knew there was nothing that could be called a park off the highway but I let that pass for now.

“So you said you stayed in the park for a while, enjoying nature.” I smiled falsely. “You must certainly be a nature lover as it was a miserable day yesterday. It rained most of the day, didn’t it?”

He shrugged. “When you work indoors all day like I do, rain can be refreshing. I had an umbrella and a warm coat. I was all right.”

“How long would you say you spent in this park?”

“An hour maybe. It’s hard to say.”

“But you walked around?”

“Yes, that’s right. There was a trail that I followed.”

I looked at my notebook. Ray was staring straight ahead. I noticed Sigmund glancing at him uneasily. I could understand why. His silence was unnerving.

“All right, Mr. Forgach. Let me just get my times right. What time do you usually leave for work?”

“Eight o’clock. I am expected to be at my desk at eight-thirty.”

“Was that the time you left the house yesterday?”

“No. A bit later than that. Nine o’clock perhaps.”

“And you drove for approximately half an hour to the park, where you walked around for about an hour. That takes us up to 10:30 … then you went for lunch?”

He gave me a sickly grin. “Sounds more like breakfast, doesn’t it?”

Sounds like a lie to me, I thought.

“And where did you have this meal?”

“Some diner on the edge of town … I don’t remember the name of it. It was one of those anonymous ma-and-pa places.”

“Could you find it again?”

He pretended to think. “You know, strange as this sounds, I don’t think I could. I just stopped the car at the first place I saw.”

Ray intervened. “If you were coming in from Barrie, you must have been on Highway 11. There’s a strip mall just on the edge of town. Was that were you stopped?”

“Er, yes, possibly it was. As I said, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“What did you have to eat?”

“Bacon and eggs. There, it was a breakfast, wasn’t it?”

My turn. Ray and I in a dance we’d practised before. “What car were you driving?”

“My own car.”

“A red Mazda Miata, I understand.”

“That’s right.” He was slumping further down in his chair.

“I understand you have a second car, a Chevy Nova?”

He coughed. “It’s my mother’s car really.”

“Do you drive it?”

“Sometimes.”

I hung that one up for now.

Ray now. “How long did you stay in the restaurant, Mr. Forgach?”

“About an hour, more or less.”

“Did you talk to anybody?”

“Just the waitress. The place was quite empty.” Again the sickly smile. “I’m not surprised, the food was terrible.”

“Did you pay cash or by credit card?”

“Cash.”

“Do you remember how much the meal cost?”

“Er, no. It was quite cheap really. Five dollars and change.”

Me, now. “Did you keep the bill?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“And what did you do after you left the restaurant?”

“I drove around and then came home.”

“But you didn’t pick up your messages until this morning?”

“That’s right. I felt I wanted a quiet night all to myself, so I didn’t check.”

Ray actually smiled at him. “That takes discipline. Me, I can’t resist for one minute seeing who’s called if that red light is flashing.”

Sigmund eyed him warily.

I took up the lead again. “Did your mother know you were home?”

“No, she didn’t. She goes to bed early and I didn’t want to disturb her.”

“What time would you say you were back in the house?”

Sigmund Forgach was getting a harried, trapped look. He was trying to be one step ahead of us and he was starting to chase his own tail.

“I’m not sure. It was after ten because my mother was already in bed… Close to midnight, I suppose.”

I consulted my notes. “We have you leaving a diner, unnamed, at about eleven-thirty or noon. You arrive home about midnight. That leaves eleven hours unaccounted for. What were you doing in those eleven hours?”

For the first time, he became a tad belligerent.

“Look, I’ve been pretty accommodating to date, because I know you’ve got a job to do, let’s not forget I’m the son of a crime specialist.”

Got that one, Sig.

“However, I don’t see the relevance of these questions. What I choose to do with a day off surely has no bearing on what happened to Deidre?”

I waited a moment. “Perhaps you can allow me to be the judge of that. I wonder, Mr. Forgach…”

“Please call me Sig. You’re making me feel like a criminal. You know my father. Surely for his sake you can let go of the formality?”

I couldn’t do that, of course, not with what was already on the table, but I thought that Sig would relax more if he thought we were applying collegiate rules.

“Sig, as you say, your own father has been with the criminal division for many years. I know you haven’t lived together since you were a child but like most people these days, I’m sure you have some knowledge of police procedure. We have found a couple of discrepancies in your statement.”

I took out a Jessica’s interpretation from my file folder and placed it on the table.

“Previously, you told us that you had not encountered Deidre since you were both children, is that right?”

“We were corresponding by email.”

“But you had not met in person?”

He lowered his eyes quickly. “Correct.”

“We had a lip reader interpret the conversation between you and Deidre at the casino. It seems quite obvious that you had a previous encounter. She knew who you were, you knew who she was. How would you explain that?”

“Ah… well, we’d exchanged photos. I knew she’d be where she was because she’d told me so. We had a bit of a chat. Quite friendly and above board. I invited her to go for a drink but she was on a winning streak and she wanted to stay at the table. I decided not to wait and left.”

“And you drove back to Barrie?”

“Yes.”

“How long did that take you?”

“About forty minutes, give or take.”

Ray’s turn. “You came a long way for a five-minute chat, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’m used to it, gives me a chance to run the car on the highway.”

I did the notes consultation thing. “Ah yes. Speaking of cars. Sergeant, do you have that file we received from the casino security?” Ray handed it to me. “We have a record here that a Chevy Nova
registered in the name of Trudy Forgach was clocked in as entering the casino at 10:41. Was that your mother?”

He guffawed involuntarily. “My mother at the casino? No way.”

“But you said it was her car. Who was driving?”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I was.”

“I am correct in saying then that you first arrived at the casino driving your own car, a bright red Mazda Miata, then you drove all the way back to Barrie, got your mother’s car, a beige Chevy, turned around and re-entered the casino about an hour and a half later?”

His expression had turned sullen. He was actually pouting. “You have that information in front of you, why are you asking me?”

“I’m just trying to verify it.”

“Consider it verified.”

Ray stepped in. “Why did you do that, Sig?”

“That’s easy. I went home like I said but I felt badly that I’d left Deidre in the lurch, as it were. My own car was feeling a bit sluggish so I decided to take the old reliable.”

“Did you see Deidre this second time?”

“No. She had already left.”

“How did you know that? We don’t show you entering the building at all.”

Suddenly, his eyes welled with tears and he said in a little boy voice, “I’d like to speak to my father.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Legally there was no reason why Sigmund couldn’t have his father present. We hadn’t charged him with anything. I left him where he was and went to phone Leo. I didn’t tell him what had transpired so far and he didn’t ask. Better it be fresh, a lot can be caught when a subject is asked to repeat their story. He said he’d be right over and I returned to the interview room. Sig had his head in his hands and a more miserable-looking man I’d hardly ever seen.

“He’ll be here in about twenty minutes. Can I get you a coffee?”

He looked up at me. “I’d prefer tea if you have it.”

“I’ll get it,” said Ray, and he pushed his chair back quickly. I guess he’d had enough of being inscrutable for now. As soon as the door closed, Sig straightened up, and with a quick unconscious gesture, he smoothed his hair down and patted at his tie. He was preparing for Leo.

“I didn’t kill Deidre, no matter what you think.”

I didn’t answer but said as sympathetically as I could muster, “This must be very difficult for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” His tone was petulant. The overly polite nervous nice guy had vanished and I wondered how often and to how many people he showed this other side of himself.

“I’m all ears,” I smiled at him. He regarded me warily.

“No, I’m not going to say anything until my father is here.” Even saying the word
father
seemed to throw him into yet another mood and I thought for a minute he was going to break into tears.

“Do you get along well with your father, Miss Morris?”

Hmm… That took me off guard. If he only knew.

“My father doesn’t live here.”

How’s that for a non-committal answer.

He didn’t seem to notice and said, “Are your parents divorced?”

“No.”

Not even married yet.

“My parents divorced when I was a kid, and to be frank with you, it has been like living in a war zone ever since. I can’t say I have a relationship with my father… He was too busy helping other people’s kids to do much with his own…” Wow, the bile would have curdled milk. He tried to pull back the shreds of his nicey-nicey mask. “I know he’s a good man, a very good man who does really important work, but my mother … er, well, you might say, she has tended to view me as a hostage. She gets very upset, really, really upset, if I have anything to do with him or that other side of the family.”