by MA Comley
“Mr. Denman, either we can do this the easy way, or we can talk about this down at the station.” She stood up. “In fact, why don’t we do that?”
Denman reclined back in his chair and started swivelling it from left to right. “Now, don’t be hasty, Inspector. You can’t blame a man for trying.”
He gave her a smile that turned her stomach. She detested men who thought all they had to do was smile at a woman to have her twisted around their little finger. Arsehole!
“We haven’t got all day, Mr. Denman.” Lorne tapped her foot.
He raised his hands then dropped them again. “Let’s call it unfinished business.”
“What ‘unfinished business’?” Her tone was bored, and he raised an eyebrow at her. “The fact that your gang and the Murray gang got in each other’s way on a job once?”
“Someone been telling tales, have they?”
“I couldn’t possibly say, Mr. Denman. Why don’t you tell me your side of the story?”
His right shoulder lifted up to his ear. “There’s really not that much to tell. I had a little…” He cleared his throat. “Let’s say business transaction, but Murray and his numbskull pals balled it up for me.”
“So, in the pub last week, you threatened him?”
Acting like an innocent schoolboy, he flattened his hand against his chest. “Moi! I’m not in the habit of threatening people for a living, Inspector.”
“Really? And what exactly do you do for a living that warrants a grand house like this?”
“This and that.” One side of his mouth curled up into a snide grin.
“Does ‘this and that’ extend to burglary?”
Feigning puzzlement, his gaze drifted out the French doors to the garden for a moment, then returned to her. “Not sure who told you that, but they were wrong.”
“I don’t think so. I have it on good authority that you and your gang were very active last week.”
His confidence looked as though it had temporarily been knocked off its axis. His tongue slipped out and moistened his dry lips as he contemplated his reply. Lorne gave an imaginary thump in the air. Get out of that one, you smarmy shit!
“Have any proof of that, Inspector?”
“We’re working on it.” She decided to have some fun, to try to corner him the way she had Murray. “With three crime scenes to go through for evidence, I expect the results on my desk within the next few days.” She saw the lump slide down his throat, and he slipped a finger around his starched collar, loosening it as if it was constricting the life out of him. “Something wrong, Mr. Denman?”
Although he cleared his throat, his voice still came out croaky. “No. I know nothing about any burglaries, let alone three of them.”
Not satisfied, Lorne ventured further. “Here’s the thing: Whoever carried out these crimes will be looking at long stretches.”
He frowned. “Has the law changed or something? Since when did burglaries carry a long stretch?”
Lorne stood up, went over to the French doors and looked out at the landscaped garden, beyond the terrace to the rear of the property. She let him stew for a second or two before she turned around and came to a standstill alongside his chair. He glanced up at her.
“Burglaries don’t. But murders do.”
Denman flew out of the chair to confront her. AJ jumped up from his seat, but one warning glance from Lorne made him hold back.
“What murders? Burglary in the singular, maybe, but not three of them, and definitely not murders. I would never allow my boys to do that.”
She smiled but said nothing as he paced back and forth in front of her. It was as she had suspected; two separate gangs had carried out the crimes. Now all she had to do was find the elusive Murray.
“And Trevor Murray would?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”
“Any idea where we can find him?”
Regaining some of his composure, he said, “What am I, his keeper?”
“Sarcasm isn’t really going to help, is it? All I’m asking is have you seen him or have you heard anything on the grapevine about his whereabouts of late?”
“No. After the accident, I hadn’t heard a dicky bird until last week.”
“And what provoked that verbal assault on Zac Murray, may I ask?”
“All right, I’ll give. But you’ve gotta promise me you’ll put in a good word for me.” Lorne nodded, so he continued, “One of my guys happened to be in the pub at the same time Underhill and Murray was having a little chinwag. They looked pretty cosy, and when I heard, it rattled me.”
“Why? What has Underhill got to do with any of this?” She had a rough idea but needed to be sure she was moving along the right lines.
“He was at the pub one night, drunk, mouthing off about who his clients were and that he was going places.”
“I see…And?”
“I had a quiet word with him, offered him a backhander if he turned the system off for a while. At first, he wanted nothing to do with the plan, but I could see his little brain cells working overtime. It wasn’t until I offered him a cut of the haul that he agreed. I don’t like being double-crossed, so when I heard of Murray and Underhill meeting up, I sussed what was going on.”
“What, that Underhill knew he was onto a good thing and thought he’d offer the service around to other criminals?”
“Yep. He’s a tosser. I should’ve known not to trust the bloody weasel. ‘Trust Us,’ my fucking arse. I should never have got into bed with him, so to speak.”
“Do you think Underhill knows where Trevor Murray is?” Lorne was infuriated that the ‘weasel’ had managed to dupe her and even made her feel sorry for him. The time she’d wasted at the hospital to ensure that his injuries were properly taken care of stuck in her throat.
Denman shook his head. “I doubt it. I keep my ear to the ground, and I’ve not heard anything about Murray.”
“We’re going to have to ask you to accompany us to the station. I appreciate your help, but you’ve admitted that you carried out the robbery on the Kendrickson’s home. Are you going to come willingly, or do I need to get my partner to cuff you?”
“There’s no need for that.”
“I’ll need the names of the rest of your gang, too.” Lorne had her mobile in her hand poised ready to call the information in.
“I’m no snitch. I’ll take the rap.”
Lorne laughed, finding his statement ironic, and walked towards the front door with Denman and AJ behind her. At least one part of the case had been solved.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
After leaving Denman with the desk sergeant to be charged, Lorne and AJ returned to the incident room. By the looks of things, Katy and Tracy, who were still wearing their coats, had not long returned themselves.
Slipping out of her coat, Lorne asked, “Everything all right?”
Katy made her way over to the board and started drawing lines to connect the suspects’ names. “Here’s something you’ll find interesting, boss.”
Intrigued, Lorne joined her and watched as she drew a line from Kim Smalling to Carl Ward. “What’s the connection?”
“Boyfriend and girlfriend,” Katy replied, looking pleased with herself.
Lorne nodded. “Really? Now that is interesting.”
Katy shook her head. “They were. Not any longer.”
“Oh, why? Tell you what: Let’s grab a coffee, and we can exchange information. AJ and I have just pulled Denman in.”
Lorne and Katy stepped into the office, grabbing coffees en route. Once settled in their seats, Lorne was eager to hear what the others had found out and told Katy to go first in the reveal.
“Well, bearing in mind that it was just after lunch when we got there, Smalling was in a terrible state, heavily intoxicated. She told me she hadn’t slept for almost a week.”
“How come?” Lorne asked, sipping her coffee.
“Guilt.”
“She’s fri
ends with Sandra Kelly, isn’t she?”
“That’s right. She’s supposed to be her best mate. Christ, with mates like her, I’d hate to meet her enemies.”
“Sounds ominous. What did she do?”
Katy let out a deep breath before she began. “All she had to do was open her mouth to her boyfriend, and without realising it, she set this whole thing rolling. Yes, she was best friends with Sandra Kelly. They grew up together, in the same class throughout school, and even lived on the same road as kids.”
“I think I know where this is leading,” Lorne said sadly.
“Right. Sandra Kelly got married about four years ago. All of a sudden, her lifestyle changed. She moved into the big house where she now lives, and Smalling felt as though she’d been pushed aside. Smalling told us that every time she visited the new house, Sandra would show her around and point out everything that she had spent a fortune on since her last visit.”
“Ah, envy. It’s a pitiful sin. So she told Ward, and he and the Murray brothers robbed the place.”
“That’s about it.”
“Hang on a minute. I seem to remember Mr. Kelly saying that Kim also suggested using the designer.”
Katy nodded. “That’s right. I think she’s also played a key role in all of this.”
“So how did you leave it with Smalling, and why did she dump Ward?”
“She’s riddled with guilt—at least, that’s what she says. But she had no idea they were going to kill anyone. She can’t come to terms with the fact that she caused the little boy’s death.”
“She should feel bloody guilty. What is wrong with these people? Sick shits! So we need to lay a charge of accessory on her, don’t we?”
“I’ll get a uniform to pick her up, shall I? Tracy and I debated whether to bring her in or not, but we concluded that she was so drunk it wouldn’t hurt to leave her a day or two.”
Lorne nodded. “Agreed. Let a uniform pick her up tomorrow.”
“How come Denman has been brought in?”
Over the next fifteen minutes, Lorne filled her partner in on what had happened at Denman’s place and how Underhill was connected to the crimes.
“The sneaky shit. I had a strange feeling about Underhill from the word go,” Katy said.
“Looks like your instincts were good. Let’s call it a day here. I’ll drop you back at your house. We’ll start afresh tomorrow.”
Katy nodded and suddenly looked apprehensive.
Lorne smiled reassuringly. “You don’t have to go home if you don’t want to.”
“I know. If I don’t do it now, though, I’ll never have the courage to do it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When they got to Katy’s place, the two detectives got out of the car and dashed across the road trying to escape the downpour as quickly as they could.
“What the hell?” Katy asked when they approached the front door of her flat. The door had been pushed back and wedged open with a large book. Katy picked up her book, turning to face Lorne with tears in her eyes. “My mum bought me this for my eighteenth. It’s a book of poetry. Darren knows how precious this is to me.”
Lorne tugged Katy back. Armed with her pepper spray, she walked into the flat. The place was an absolute mess. In the lounge, all the chairs had been slashed with a knife. The rest of the furniture had been defaced by what looked to be spray paint, the type used for spraying cars. The graffiti artist’s handiwork was evident on all the walls, too.
“Oh shit! Bang goes my bloody five hundred quid deposit. Why would he do such a thing?”
“I’m sorry, love. There’s no call for this. I’ll take a look in the kitchen and bedroom.” Lorne eyed her partner with concern as Katy lowered herself onto the wooden arm of the easy chair.
The kitchen was in an even worse state than the lounge. Every conceivable drawer and cupboard had been emptied, and their contents lay strewn across the ripped lino floor. All the pots were misshapen. Most of the handles had been torn off and discarded in a pile by the bin in the corner.
Jeez, and they say to watch out when a woman is scorned.
Although the table appeared to be intact, the four chairs surrounding it each had a leg or two missing.
As Lorne made her way up the hallway to the bedroom, she heard Katy on the phone. Easing the door open, Lorne found every piece of furniture destroyed, just like in the other rooms.
“You sadistic piece of shit…You know what you fucking did…Don’t give me that bullshit…I’m going to press charges…I’m not going to let this rest…”
Katy joined Lorne in the bedroom and gasped. “Oh shit! He didn’t do my clothes as well?” She kicked out at the chest of drawers before sinking to her knees to gather up her underwear.
“I take it he’s denying he did it?” Lorne asked, her heart heavy with the implications of Katy’s whole wardrobe being ripped to shreds.
“Yeah, he did. How could he hate me so much? What am I going to do? How am I ever going to trust another man after this? Do you think that was his intention?”
Lorne shrugged. “I don’t know what goes on in someone’s mind if they have to resort to this. It’s as though he still wants to have control over your life, even if he isn’t going to be a part of it in the future.”
“How could anyone be so vindictive towards another human being like that?”
Katy was young. She had a lot to learn about life and human nature, the good points and the sometimes very bad points. In her time as a copper, Lorne had seen several instances where people had split up and the family pet had been killed because neither party was willing to let the other have it. The human race could be very cold and extremely calculating at times. Often all sense of rationality went out the window without much provocation.
“You need to call this in, Katy.”
She looked up at Lorne, crestfallen, and shook her head. “What would be the point? What evidence have I got it was him? He just told me that he removed his stuff and locked the door behind him.”
“You can’t let him get away with it. He needs to learn right from wrong. What’ll happen next time? If he moves in with someone else, and she ends up dumping him? These things have a habit of escalating if they’re not stamped out in time. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”
Running one hand through her hair, Katy threw the shredded silky G-string she held across the room and stood up. “You’re right. I’m not going to let him think he’s won. That he has something over me.”
Katy dialled 999 to report the incident. They spent the next couple of hours trying to gather anything that was perceived to be salvageable, which turned out to be very little.
It was after nine when they finally parked outside Lorne’s house. They got out of the car and went to her door. As Lorne placed the key in the lock, they heard footsteps behind them. She and Katy simultaneously reached for their attack sprays.
The man in the expensively tailored suit held his hands up. “Ms. Simpkins? I need a word in private.”
“Sorry, and you are?”
“I apologise. Jonathan Edwards. Perhaps Tony has mentioned me.”
It had been a really long day, and Lorne had trouble searching her memory bank for his name. “I’m sorry. Not that I can remember. Who are you?”
“I understand your reluctance to let me in, but I must speak with you immediately.” He looked over his shoulder up and down the street, then leaned in and whispered, “I’m Tony’s boss.”
Her shaking hand left the pepper spray in her pocket and flew up to cover her mouth. Katy held her upright as her knees buckled, and she fell against the front door. Reaching behind Lorne’s head, Katy continued to unlock the door and helped her boss inside. Henry ran to greet them, but he halted halfway up the hallway to growl at the man who had walked in, closing the door behind him.
“It’s all right, boy. I’ll put him in the garden and fix a drink,” Katy said.
The man stepped forward, hooked h
is hand under Lorne’s elbow, and settled her on the sofa in the lounge.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me. It’s been an exhausting day. Please tell me why you’re here. It must be bad news.”
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the end of the sofa.
“Of course.” Lorne watched the slim, tall, blond man perch on the edge of the sofa.
His hands clenched together tightly so that his knuckles turned white instantly. “Please hear me out. I have good news and bad.”
Her heart thundered in her chest as she prepared herself for the bad news. “Go on.”
“Okay, here it is. I’m only here because Tony asked me to come and tell you in person—”
“Oh my God, you’ve rescued him?”
She heard him swallow, and his eyes met hers. “Yes, we rescued him, and he’s due home in a couple of days.”
“But that’s wonderful news, isn’t it?”
“Ordinarily, yes.”
Katy disrupted the conversation to hand them each a cup of coffee before she left the room again.
With her cold, trembling hands wrapped around the warming mug, Lorne asked him to continue.
“Well, we extracted Agent Warner successfully…”
Agent Warner! What happened to calling him Tony? she thought foolishly. “And?”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you that he’s in critical condition.”
In slow motion, the mug slipped from her hand. It landed with a thump as the carpet swallowed its contents in the wake of its fall.
“But…I don’t understand. You told me you spoke to him.”
He nodded. “I must clarify. I didn’t actually speak to him myself, but one of the SAS guys passed on the message. His only concern was for you, Ms. Simpkins. He wanted to be reassured that you heard the news personally.”
She had trouble forcing the next words past the lump that had developed in her throat. “Please…Tell me what’s wrong with him.”
“I believe you’re aware that he was tortured.”
“Yes.”
The man shifted in his seat as he searched for the words. His gaze slipped down to the floor when he told her, “The bastards cut one of his legs off.”
