Foul Justice
Page 1
CONTENTS
Title Page
Other Books by M A Comley
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Note to the Reader
Other Works
Copyright Page
FOUL JUSTICE
M A Comley
OTHER BOOKS BY
M A COMLEY
Cruel Justice
Impeding Justice
Final Justice
It’s A Dog’s Life
A Time For Change
A Time To Heal
High Spirits
A Twist in The Tale
If you fancy something a little saucy why not pick up one of the short erotic stories I have written under the name of Tiffany Towers http://tiffanytowers1.blogspot.fr/
Keep in touch with the author at:
Facebook
http://melcomley.blogspot.com
http://melcomleyromances.blogspot.com
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This book is dedicated to my rock, Jean.
Thanks to Karri Klawiter for the wonderful cover, you’re a talented lady.
Special thanks to Rosemary Oberlander for helping me choose the title of this novel.
And to the wonderful group of readers on Goodreads who keep me entertained.
But my biggest thanks go to my writing soul sisters, Val, Linda, Donna and Barbara, who help keep me sane during the writing process.
PROLOGUE
Trisha Dobbs cowered in the corner. She wrapped her trembling arms around her two small children and kept her gaze on the three men ransacking her immaculate home. “Don’t hurt us any more, please!”
The man snarled and ordered, “Get the rope and tie them up.”
Trisha gasped, and he turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. She quickly averted her eyes, not wishing to annoy the man further. She’d already lashed out at him while trying to protect her son and daughter when the three brutes had forced their way into the house. He had a gash above his right eye where her flailing fist had connected, and she had a gash across her cheek where he’d retaliated without hesitation. She’d sensed, then, that she and her children were in for a rough ride and that the man was used to getting his way with women, one way or another.
“Mummy, I want to go toilet,” little Rebecca said as tears welled in her bright blue eyes. Trisha comforted the child and kissed her forehead reassuringly.
“Sssh, hon, try and hold on. Go through your alphabet to take your mind off it, like I told you. A is for apple, B is for—”
“Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the man snapped, his voice filled with venom.
“I…I’m sorry—” Trisha stopped when the man rushed at her and ripped her daughter from her grasp.
“Mummy!”
“No! I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt my baby.” Trisha sobbed and clung tightly to her two-year-old son, Jacob.
The man picked up Rebecca and roughly dropped her on the large white leather sofa opposite her mother. Trisha soon saw the trickle of yellow liquid drip down the sofa onto the rug below. Sensing danger, she placed a finger to her lips to warn her daughter to keep quiet. Rebecca covered her mouth as her shoulders trembled, and tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. Too far from her mother’s reach, the four-year-old was petrified.
The man in charge towered over Trisha, his body blocking the light from the crystal chandelier overhead. “What time will he be home?”
With the man intimidating her, Trisha found it impossible to think properly. She glanced up at the lion head-shaped gold wall clock hanging above the fireplace. “Dave should be home at any minute,” she told him in a quivering voice.
The men had come at eight o’clock, and it was now half past ten. Trisha’s husband always arrived home around eleven on match days when he played at home. He generally declined going for a drink with the rest of the team after work. He was the type who preferred to keep out of the limelight, and he hated the notoriety connected with his job. Given the option, he would choose to be home with his family, unlike most of his teammates, who appeared to revel in fighting off the paparazzi at London’s elite nightclubs.
One of the men tied her arms behind her back before moving on to little Jacob. Her heart went out to her baby, and wanting to protect him, she pleaded, “Stop! He’s only a child. What harm can he do? Please don’t tie him up.”
Appearing uncertain, the man looked over his shoulder at his boss, who glared and nodded for him to continue.
Jacob cried out in pain as the man roughly wrapped the rope around his fragile wrists.
“It’s okay, sweetie. Show Mummy how brave you can be.” Trisha tried to reassure him, hoping to prolong the charade that they were all playing a bizarre game.
Soon both children were sobbing uncontrollably, and Trisha, numb with helplessness, felt as though she’d been stabbed numerous times in the chest. My God, what can I do to get out of this?
“Go upstairs and start on the bedroom. Tear it to pieces if you have to,” the man in charge ordered.
Trisha tried hard not to give anything away with her facial expressions under the man’s intensive stare. She felt confident the gang wouldn’t find the safe tucked under the floorboards in the master bedroom, but considering the mess they’d made of her beautiful home since their arrival, anything was possible.
The man in charge took a step toward her. “If you don’t tell me where the jewellery is, I’m gonna start hurting the kids.”
Knowing she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer, she sighed. “In the back bedroom.”
“Where?”
“In the wardrobe. On the shelf, there’s a box.”
He leaned close and ran his thumb from one side of his throat to the other. “If you’re tricking me…” Jacob was sitting beside her, and the man yanked the boy’s head back. “He gets it, you hear me?”
“Yes, I understand. My jewellery is in that room. I don’t have much. You think we’re rich, but we’re not. This house is mortgaged to the hilt. All our furniture is on hire purchase. Dave doesn’t make the kind of wages reported in the papers, I swear,” she told him between sobs. Stay strong for the kids’ sakes.
“You think I’ve got ‘fucking idiot’ tattooed on my forehead, bitch? What do you take me for?”
“I’m sorry. It’s the truth. You have to believe me.”
“Oh, do I now? You blondes are all the same—thick as shit! You think you can wrap us men around your fingers, don’t ya?”
Trisha remained silent.
The man went into the hallway and shouted up the stairs, “The spare room at the back, in the wardrobe, on the shelf. Let me know when you find something.”
Trisha squeezed her eyes shut and tried to visualise what jewellery she had put in the specific box. Her heart sank when she remembered she’d placed no
thing spectacular there. All her best jewellery, Christmas and birthday presents that Dave had bought her, were safely tucked away under the floorboards. She hoped and prayed the children wouldn’t give her away, for all their sakes.
“Something wrong?” The man was in her face again, his eyes glinting with pure evil.
She wanted to be her usual sarcastic self, but the present time wasn’t appropriate. “No. Just hoping Dave returns home soon.”
“So am I,” he said, before releasing a full belly laugh.
A few minutes later, the other two men returned to the living room and handed the box to the man in charge. He slammed down the glass of brandy he’d poured himself on the nearby side-table and marched towards her. “Is this it?”
She gulped. “Yes, I told you, we’re not wealthy. I—”
“That’s bullshit, lady, and we both fuckin’ know it. Where is it? This is your final chance or the kid gets it.”
Words stuck in her throat as the three intruders eyed her with contempt. Suddenly, the man in charge reached out and yanked Jacob to his feet. The man pulled out a knife and placed it against her terrified son’s neck. Trisha watched in horror as the blade sank into her child’s skin, and droplets of blood trailed down onto his white T-shirt, followed by his terrified tears.
“Please! I’ll tell you. Don’t hurt my baby.”
“I’m waiting.”
“In the main bedroom—you have to move the bed—there’s a small safe in the floorboards under the rug.”
He nodded for his men to go back upstairs and check. Seconds later, he received a shout that they’d located it, and seconds after that, little Jacob lay in a heap on the shag carpet, his throat slit from ear to ear.
CHAPTER ONE
“Come on, lazy bones. Time to get up.” Tony tapped Lorne on her bare behind as he walked past and disappeared into the bathroom.
“Why? Why did I agree to start today? And why did you get me drunk last night? I’ve got the mother of all hangovers, now.”
Tony laughed and started singing his latest annoying song in the shower.
Lorne, happy at last, smiled and sat up in bed. In a few weeks, she and Tony were going to get married. Just a few more things to organise. Her life was on the up for a change, after all she had encountered over the last few years.
Tony came back into the bedroom and caught her smiling. “You should do that more often, it suits you.”
“You cheeky sod, I’m always happy.” She picked up his pillow and threw it at him.
He caught it, aimed it, and hit her full in the face. Tony cocked an eyebrow at her. “You are?”
“When I’m with you, yes.” Lorne smiled and fluttered her eyelashes.
“You’re such a creep, Detective Inspector.”
She puffed out her chest, proud and pleased that she had decided to return to the Metropolitan Police, despite losing her wonderful partner Pete almost two years ago. However, the job came with a proviso, one that she wasn’t relishing. She was expected to break in a new partner, to train him to think on his feet and ensure he carried out the job in the manner to which she was accustomed. All under the watchful eye of Sean Roberts, her detective chief inspector. Butterflies took flight in the pit of her stomach as she reminded herself what lay ahead of her that day.
“Hey, what’s up?” Tony asked, his frown matching hers.
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
He approached the bed and sat beside her. Picking up her hand, he placed it to his lips and tenderly kissed it. “About Pete?”
That was what she loved about Tony, his intuitiveness. He knew exactly what she was thinking—most of the time, anyway. He was one of the most sensitive men she’d ever met, and she regarded him, after several failed relationships, as her soul mate.
She cleared her throat and stroked his cheek with her free hand. “You’re so perceptive.”
Tony shrugged. “I should be. It goes with the job. Now get a wiggle on; you don’t want to be late your first day back.”
Lorne took a leisurely shower, her mind full of anxious thoughts, the most prominent of which was her father’s warning that, ‘Going back doesn’t always work.’ Only time would tell on that one, but in the meantime, she’d do everything in her power to prove him wrong.
After leaving the Met, she hadn’t stepped foot back in the station where she’d worked the previous eight years. She had settled into a new life of renovating houses. After she finished refitting the kitchens and bathrooms and doing a general tidy-up, she would be looking for good tenants who wouldn’t trash the properties, but she was prepared to sell to recoup costs if she couldn’t find suitable tenants.
Approximately two weeks before, Lorne had been having a lazy Monday morning, going through the necessary paperwork that accompanied her new career, when the persistent ringing of the doorbell had interrupted her.
“All right, all right. Keep your knickers on.”
Her mouth had dropped open when she saw Detective Chief Inspector Sean Roberts standing on the doorstep, looking kind of sheepish.
“Sir—I mean, Sean. What the hell are you doing here?” He hadn’t contacted her since she’d resigned and left the force, so her surprise was genuine.
He gave her an embarrassed smile and looked over his shoulder at the road behind him. “Umm…Getting wet at the moment. Any chance I can come in for a chat?”
“Of course. Sorry.”
Her former boss followed her through to the kitchen where Henry, her eight-year-old border collie, rushed up to greet him.
“In your bed, boy,” Lorne told her four-legged companion. Wagging his tail, he trotted back to his squidgy bed, sulked and moaned when he threw himself down. “Typical man. He likes to have the last word.”
“He remembered me.” Sean smiled nervously.
Something didn’t fit right. Sean appeared uncomfortable, awkward to be there. Lorne had never seen him like that, not even during their relationship years before.
“A coffee would be nice?” he asked hopefully as she sized him up.
“Gosh, where are my manners? I’m so shocked to see you.” She filled the kettle and motioned for Sean to sit at the kitchen table. “Milk and sugar?”
“You mean you can’t remember?”
She blushed at his teasing. “Why are you here, Sean?” She picked up the milk carton and poured a few drops in both mugs.
He responded as she eased into the chair opposite him. “I want you to reconsider and come back to the Met.”
“You’re kidding me?” She almost dropped her mug on the table.
“Nope. It took a lot for me to come here and ask you, Lorne, especially after the way you handed in your resignation.”
Dumbfounded, she said, “My views haven’t altered.”
“I can understand that. Just like I understood where you were coming from when you handed your letter to me. It was tough, losing Pete like that.”
She dropped her gaze to the table, determined not to show him how affected she still was by her partner’s death. You can’t work with someone for almost eight years and watch them die in your arms and dismiss the residual pain and guilt with a mere click of your fingers.
Clearing her throat, she looked him in the eye. “I don’t understand why you’re asking me to return, then.”
“To be honest, I’m a man down…Yes, I know, you’re a woman, but you know what I mean.”
With her interest piqued, she leaned across the table and asked, “So what happened to DI Paul Marsden then?”
“Umm…He wasn’t up to the job, and that’s all I’m prepared to say about him. So?”
“What about Superintendent Greenfall?”
“Let’s just say he realised what a good copper you were when it was too late.”
She laughed at the irony behind his words. He studied her while she got her laughter under control. “I’m not sure, Sean. I have a whole new career now. And…er, Tony and I are due to get married in a few weeks.”
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He seemed stunned by the news, if only for a second. He recovered quickly. “Wow, congrats. You don’t waste much time, do you?”
It was her turn to be shocked. “What do you mean by that?”
Looking shamefaced, Sean chewed his bottom lip for a second or two. “Nothing.” He quickly turned the conversation back to the reason for his visit. “So how about it? The thing is, I need a quick answer; otherwise, I’ll have to advertise internally.”
Silence filled the kitchen for a while, and Lorne thoughtfully sipped at her mug of coffee. She took in the worry lines she’d never noticed before around her ex-boss’ grey eyes.
“Lorne?”
“Good God, Sean, you can’t turn up here after having no contact with me for almost two years and expect me to answer a life-changing question within a few minutes. I have Tony to consider, nowadays. All our decisions are made jointly.”
Reluctantly, Sean stood up and looked down at her. “Fair enough. Can you give me an answer by the end of my shift tomorrow?”
“Still working nine-to-five, are you?” She laughed, trying to break through the chill that had materialised between them. He’d never been the type to do less than a sixty-hour week.
“Hah! That’d be nice. Maybe if you came back to work for me, it would ease my workload a little.” He held up his hands. “Not that I’m putting any pressure on you, of course.”
They walked up the Minton-tiled hallway to the front door. “Of course not. I promise to get back to you tomorrow, Sean, either way. Thanks for asking. Oh, and it was good to see you again after all this time,” she added, hoping to make him feel guilty for avoiding her over the past few years.
She and Tony had spoken at length, weighing up the pros and cons of going back to work with Sean and her old team. Her fiancé’s final words on the matter were, “Give it a go. If things don’t work out, you can always leave and pick up where you left off with the renovations.”
So, there she was, her first day back in paid employment with the Met. After quickly bolting down a piece of buttered toast, Lorne left the house and set off to her new-old job.
CHAPTER TWO
Lorne parked her Nova in the station car park at five minutes to nine and stood, glancing up at the station for a few minutes, trepidation tingling along the hairs on her neck.