The Touch Of Ghosts: Writer's Cut (Alex Rourke) by John Rickards Page A

though.”
    “Ice cream is always good,” she said, grinning. “You should know that by now.”
    It was nearly five o’clock by the time a guy matching Altmann’s description came out of the doors and hurried across the parking lot. He was wearing a long coat over a suit and was carrying a briefcase. He climbed into a silver Audi and I followed him out on to the street, keeping to a sensible distance as he headed for the interstate and the fifteen-mile drive south to his home. No deviations or stops en route. He kept to the speed limit and showed no sign that he’d noticed me. When we reached Barton I tailed him to a road of large houses with even larger, mostly empty, yards not far from the shore of Crystal Lake. I drove past, just a regular traveler, as he turned into his driveway. Then I found a place to park out of sight.
    “Yes?” he said when he opened the front door to find me on his porch. He’d ditched the jacket and tie, but hadn't finished getting changed for the evening. His voice was soft and quiet.
    “Dr Frank Altmann? My name's Alex Rourke. I'm a private detective. I just need a few minutes of your time.”
    “I know the name from somewhere...”  
    “I was Gemma Larson's boyfriend.”
    He looked me over, then nodded a little nervously. Said, “Come in.”
    Altmann’s home was spacious and looked like he’d always lived alone. The only family photos in here were of him and an older couple, presumably his parents. There were also a couple of framed pictures of groups of his hospital colleagues, including one that featured Gemma. He offered me a seat and I didn’t take it.  
    “Dr Altmann, you were friends with Gemma, right?” I said.
    Mixed emotions crossed his face. “Yes. We met at a staff party not long after she joined the hospital. I don't usually have much to do with the morgue, obviously, but I've known Ellen, one of the lab technicians, for some time. If we had our breaks at the same time, I'd sometimes have lunch with Gemma or Ellen. We got on well together.”
    “You saw each other fairly regularly. Did she act strangely at all before she died? Worried about anything or anyone?”  
    “Not that I noticed.”
    “When was the last time you saw Gemma?”  
    “The week before she died,” he said.
    “Have you ever been to her house?”  
    “What the hell has that got to do with anything?”
    I held up my hands. “I’m just trying to find out as much as I can about the time leading up to my girlfriend's death, Dr Altmann. Someone was seen calling at her house a week before her murder. He drove a silver car and seemed to be a friend of hers. He left something with her. I need to know whether that was you or if there was someone else who'd visited her recently.”
    “Yes, that was me,” he said, still looking less than happy. “Management were planning some procedural changes and I'd said I'd drop a copy of the proposals with her as I had to go to Burlington that day.”
    “And you noticed nothing strange?”  
    “Again, no.”  
    “Are you married, Dr Altmann? Regular girlfriend, anything like that?”
    His face flushed red. “What the hell does that have to do with you?”
    “You said you were friends with Gemma. Did you ever want to take things further than that? You ever wish you were in a relationship with her?”
    For a moment he paused, unmoving. His eyes narrowed slightly and he said, very coldly, “I want you to leave, Mr Rourke.”
    “I’m just trying to figure out what happened, that's all.”  
    “It strikes me that's the job of the police. I’ll happily answer any questions they have because I cared for Gemma. She was a friend. You are neither a cop nor a friend. So get the hell off my property.”
    I couldn’t help pushing further. A kick of bile at the back of my throat; anger, grief and jealousy fighting each other by turns. I wanted it to be Altmann who’d killed Gemma. And I wanted him to give himself away. “You cared for her. Did you fancy