by Mel Comley
‘We do?’ Lorne whispered, as images of her darling Jacques filled her mind, and the usual pain tugged at her heart.
‘Revenge.Cher madame, revenge. Believe it or not he was a good friend of mine. We began our careers at the same time and kept in contact. Even when Jacques moved to London, we never lost contact.’ He smiled, and Lorne could tell he was reminiscing.
Her heart pounded and she felt compelled to ask. ‘Oh, my God … did he ever mention me when you spoke to him?’
He shook his head. The hopeful smile slipped from her flushed face, and she could tell the next words he spoke were supposed to raise her dipping spirit. ‘He did not mention you by name, but he told me he had found someone special, and that it was complicated. I presumed that person was married, he insisted that he was prepared to wait for her because she was so special.’
Had fate sent the Capitaine her way? Maybe Jacques had sent him to help her avenge his death.
Lorne nodded. ‘I understand, I was married at the time. We were due to meet … to discuss a future together, I had decided to leave my husband.’ For some strange reason she felt she owed the Capitaine an explanation for the way his good friend had died. She continued, ‘I thought Jacques had changed his mind when he neglected to turn up but then my phone rang, it was Jacques, he sounded scared. I thought he’d had second thoughts about our relationship but the … the phone was snatched away from him and The Unicorn, Baldwin came on the line. He was holding him hostage, that’s a speciality of his. He takes hostages in order to achieve his goals. Anyway, The Unicorn taunted me for a bit and then I heard two shots, the BASTARD told me Jacques was dead.’ Much of her inner strength had died the minute she’d heard those shots that fateful day.
She hadn’t realised it, but as she recounted the devastating events the way they had unfolded tears had started streaming down her face, and her voice had risen in anger.
The dining-room had grown quiet as her voice cut across the other diners’ conversations, and the whole room was now staring at her with pity written on their faces.
Tony nudged her with his elbow. ‘Are you all right, Lorne?’
Ashamed, Lorne bolted from the room.
She studied her reflection in the mirror as the elevator rose to the fifth floor. She was a mess, the recently applied mascara had left a thick gunky black trail through her foundation, and she dabbed at it with a tissue, but that only made it worse. ‘You idiot Lorne, when are you going to learn to deal with this and move on with your sad life?’ she asked out loud. When she didn’t answer herself she smiled in relief, at least her sanity was intact, kind of!
She sucked in her cheeks in frustration their evening plans had been destroyed by her willingness to wallow in self-pity, which needed to stop. She would call Tony later to apologise, and to suggest that it would be best for them all if she returned to England, immediately.
Chapter Eleven
His ‘special phone’ rang interrupting his evening meal of foiegras and beef bourguignon. Baldwin answered it as he continued to pick at his rich food. ‘Yes?’ He nodded, listening with interest to what the caller told him. ‘Very well, the usual amount will be deposited in your private account in the morning. Merci, au revoir.’ He ended the call with the only French words he knew, and the only ones he intended learning.
Baldwin picked up and rang the little hand bell lying on the polished mahogany table beside him. Julio entered the room a few seconds later.
‘Yes, boss?’
‘There’s been a development.’
‘Oh? So we’ll need to adjust our plans.’
‘We leave first thing in the morning.’
‘Heading for where, boss?’
‘That doesn’t concern you. The pilot’s the only one who needs to know my itinerary, got that?’ Baldwin glared at his number two, and Julio nodded in response. ‘Now go. Get things sorted.’ He waved his hand to dismiss the Spaniard and tucked into his food again.
He had no intention of letting anyone know what his plans were, since ordering Benji’s death his men had been jumpy, jumpier than normal anyway, the complete opposite of what he’d intended, or expected. He could tell none of them were happy, he’d seen the loathing in their eyes, and yet none of them had said anything to him. For the first time he sensed this group of men, given the opportunity, wouldn’t think twice about stabbing him in the back. He shrugged, am I bothered? Am I fuck!
Within a month he’d be the richest man in the world, with, or without his band of merry men. Muscles came and went like the seasons in this game, if this mob didn’t work out he’d kill them and find another group, one that was nastier and more respectful. He paid good money, and at the last recruitment day no fewer than two hundred beefcakes had turned up hoping to get a job.
None of them had been put off by his unique interview method either. The "interviewees" were forced to take part in a Gladiatorial type battle with the winner having the honour of joining his well-paid staff, while the loser ended up in a ditch somewhere with his throat cut. Survival of the fittest had definitely proved to be the order of the day.
The last two men to cock-up, apart from Benji, had been the men who’d led Lorne Simpkins to his planned escape route, Portsmouth harbour. The day after they’d started their seven-year stretch for aiding and abetting a criminal in Pentonville Prison, guards had discovered them both hanging from the window bars of their cells, bed sheets wrapped around their throats and their guts leaving a bloody mess on the floor beneath them.
Baldwin had insiders on his payroll in every prison the length of Britain, just in case, you never knew when you might need one to carry out an inside job.
‘Ah, Lorne Simpkins, now there’s a name I know well. I wonder what she’s doing on my tail. Last I heard she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.’ Baldwin laughed raucously before carrying on his conversation with himself, ‘Now, if the chance arises, I have every intention of finding out what the little lady is made of. Sugar and spice, that’s definitely not what her vixen of a daughter had running through her veins after I’d finished with her.’ He laughed again then returned to his dinner, cruel thoughts still running through his deranged mind.
As this would be his last planned venture, he intended going out with a bang and he couldn’t think of a better way to do it than with his nemesis, Lorne Simpkins. He had been working on a plan for the past couple of months, which was why he had resurfaced in France, after allowing the world to think he was dead following the explosion at Portsmouth Harbour.
He knew she’d want revenge for him taking her lover’s life. Well, the time had come to see what the former inspector was made of.
Chapter Twelve
Lorne had just drifted off to sleep when a knock at the door woke her. In a daze, she grabbed the hotel’s white towelling robe out of the bathroom, threw it on, and opened the door.
The words tumbled out in the wrong order before she had a chance to stop them. ‘Capitaine … um. I’m sorry bed I was in … I mean, I was just going to sleep.’
She blushed as the Capitaine’s eyes ran up and down her slim body. ‘I was worried about you, Lorne, concerned even. Can I come in?’
Not knowing what else to do she stepped to one side and welcomed her unexpected visitor at the same time pulling the robe tighter, self-conscious about the t-shirt she was wearing as a nightdress. ‘I’ll just throw on some clothes …’
He shook his head to interrupt her and said, ‘There is no need. You are quite safe, madame, I don’t make a habit of jumping on pretty women, unless invited to, of course.’ He laughed, and she sensed it was to ease the awkwardness of the situation.
Lorne’s blush deepened and when she spoke her words came out mixed up for a second time. ‘Glad, hear to it.’ Jesus, woman get a grip. She shook her head, and tried again, ‘I’m glad to hear it, Capitaine. Please, won’t you sit down?’ She pointed to the small pink dralon covered stool under the console table expecting him to sit there.
He surpri
sed her by sitting on the bed, where he bounced up and down a few times. ‘I suspect this is more comforted than the bed in my room.’
‘Comfortable … You mean comfortable.’
‘Ah, sometimes I believe my English to be better than it actually is. Thank you for correcting me.’
She watched the smile slip from his tanned handsome face and feared she’d upset him, she’d often heard how temperamental French people could be especially when corrected in their attempts to speak other languages. ‘I just wish my French was half as good as your English.’ She remarked, before changing tone. ‘What are you doing here, Capitaine?’
‘Ah, you are a direct woman, I like that. I am here to discuss the case with you. Please, join me.’ He patted the bed next to him, but she chose to sit on the dralon stool instead.
She winced, regretting her decision, as a piece of broken wood concealed by the material, jutted into her coccyx.
The Capitaine laughed. ‘I’m guessing not as comfortable as the bed. Your choice, madame. As I was saying downstairs, before I insensitively upset you, at first I was against your being here, but now I have the full facts I can only welcome your involvement. I was hoping if it doesn’t prove to be too painful for you of course, you could run over the history you have with this Baldwin character.’
‘Surely, all the facts are in the dossier you referred to, Capitaine.’
‘It’s Michel.’
Confused she shook her head, ‘What is?’
‘My name. Instead of Capitaine when we are alone, it would be better for you to call me Michel, Lorne.’
‘Oh, I see. Very well, Michel, again I refer you to the dossier.’
‘You can refer all you like but you and I both know such dossiers only brush the surface of criminals such as this man. Put another way, I want the … how do you say it, the nitty gritty on this guy?’
Lorne nodded, she found it hard to keep a straight face at his terminology, and told him so. ‘Your English is sometimes quite entertaining. Surely it would be better for me to look at the dossier to see what has been left out.’
‘I agree. If you wish I could collect it from my room, but I fear it would be of no use to you, it is written in French, and you have already told me that your French is … very limited.’
‘I didn’t think of that. Okay, let me start from the beginning, please stop me if you don’t understand anything.’ She crossed her legs and the robe fell open. Embarrassed she stood up and readjusted the material.
‘I forgot you English have a reputation for being prudes. There is no need to do that on my account. So different to the women in my country, who are carefree with the amount of flesh they show, in a sophisticated way of course.’
She chose to ignore the cultural jibe and continued, ‘As I was saying, it was my misfortune to get involved with Baldwin approximately nine years ago. I must emphasise he is by far the worst criminal I ever had to deal with during my career in the Met. The lowest of the low. Murdering bastard should be his middle names. Vice squad were the first to come across him, they received a tip-off about a drugs shipment due to arrive at Liverpool docks.
She paused and Michel prompted her to go on, ‘At the time, their information was very limited, they had no idea where or when the shipment would arrive, they only knew it was "imminent". When they got to the scene they found their informant hanging from a beam, his charred remains were still smouldering. The ports and airports were alerted immediately, there was one major problem to consider though, we didn’t have a clue, who this guy was. Actually, Tony Warner was the one who discovered The Unicorn’s true identity, only last year, you know, when … Anyway, like I said, we were completely in the dark back then, after the informant’s body was discovered, two traffic cops pulled over a vehicle for speeding on the M62, that’s a busy motorway in the North of England. The two officers left their vehicle, and as they approached the offending car they were gunned down. They didn’t stand a chance, you see, our regular police are unarmed. Unfortunately, my godson was one of the police officers, he’d just completed his training at Hendon, he’d only been on the streets for a couple of months.’ She stopped, and looked up at Michel, his eyes glistened in the light. He nodded, encouraging her to continue with her story. ‘After that, my partner Pete and I came across him a few times, but we could never get close enough to catch the slippery bugger.’
Michel wrinkled his brow. ‘Slippery bugger?’
‘Sorry, the bastard, that’s a much more accurate name for him. The trouble is, he’s the type of guy who doesn’t mind going under the knife you know plastic surgery, facial surgery. Which is how he managed to avoid being identified all those years, here’s the thing though, to ensure his new identity remained a secret, he always killed the surgeon after they’d operated on him. Like I say, he’s a pretty brutal kind of guy. Anyway, we reckon because of greed his activities escalated last year, he became involved in people trafficking and joined forces with a wealthy Russian billionaire called Abromovski.’
Again, Lorne paused to see if the Frenchman was following her, he nodded and she continued, ‘Together they set up brothels. High class brothels, ones regularly frequented by well-known pillars of the community, MPs, judges, planning councillors. Their main objective was that they showed these guys a good time, at least the girls did, in return for favours. In other words, extortion. The most despicable part of all this was they held regular auctions where girls as young as twelve were sold to the highest bidder.’ She fell silent as she reached the part of the story that personally involved her and her family.
Sensing her discomfort, and with genuine concern touching his voice Michel asked, ‘Are you all right, Lorne? Would you like to stop?’
‘No, I’m fine, just catching my breath.’ She took a deep breath which she hoped would calm her racing heart.
‘Have we reached the part where your partner was killed?’
‘Oh lord, I forgot that part.’ How could I forget about Pete like that? ‘No, that happened a couple of days before he held an auction … oh dear, I’m afraid I’m not doing a very good job at filling in the gaps in your dossier.’
‘Please go on,’ he said.
‘I don’t know if you’re aware but in the Met we have a unit called CO19 they’re an armed response team, the only team in London allowed to carry weapons, which always went against the grain with me.’ She noticed his brow furrow. ‘Let me see, I suppose annoy would be the best way of describing that to you.’ He nodded, raised a finger of recognition and then urged her to continue. ‘Pete and I received a tip-off of The Unicorn’s location, and we were searching an alley when he ambushed us. He was above us firing from a roof while we were unarmed, so we had no way of retaliating.’
‘Unarmed yes, but you were issued with protective vests, non?’
‘That’s a sore point. I had mine done up, but Pete … well his didn’t fit – he’d put on weight and his new one hadn’t arrived. It meant the fool went in unprotected. Anyway, The Unicorn took Pete out with a bullet to the stomach and another close to the heart. I tried to save him, but …’ Her words trailed off.
‘I understand, cherie.’
His voice and what he’d said knocked her sideways for a minute or two, it was as though Jacques were in the room with her. She had to dig deep inside herself to continue her story. ‘No, I don’t think you do understand, you couldn’t. You see, Pete, died in my arms. It’s something that will stay with me for the rest of my life, I get flashbacks every waking hour and I suffer nightmares every night, I can’t see that changing any day soon. That image and hearing the shots that killed Jacques will torment me forever.’
‘Maybe I used the wrong word, forgive me. I have never lost a partner.’
She dismissed his lack of understanding with a shake of her head. ‘Not long after that we discovered Laura Crane, a member of my team, was feeding The Unicorn information.’ Michel gasped, she looked up at him and nodded, ‘Yes, a mole. That’s how he managed to stay
ahead of us for so long.’
‘Why did he involve someone on your team?’ Michel surprised her by asking.
‘You don’t know how many times I’ve asked myself that same question. I have to admit I’ve yet to find a suitable answer. Anyway, The Unicorn became more brazen and made contact with me personally, goading me if you will. He threatened to blow up the Houses of Parliament unless a £20 million ransom was paid. My Superintendent refused to take the threat seriously. I had to though, because the bastard had abducted my daughter.’
Michel’s face creased with concern, Lorne sucked in a breath and went on, ‘I’ll spare you the details of what he put my thirteen-year-old through, needless to say, she’s still seeing a therapist almost a year later. I digress, due to Charlie, my daughter being kidnapped, my DCI took over the case, until she was returned, he wanted to send me home but I begged him to let me remain involved. Even my father, an ex-DCI himself joined us. It’s a good job he did really as he pointed us in a different direction, urged us to think outside the box. It was then we discovered what The Unicorn was really up to.’ Lorne watched, slightly amused, as Michel crossed and uncrossed his legs at the ankles continuously with excitement.
‘Go on.’
‘Okay, well, remember I told you The Unicorn or Baldwin was holding the Houses of Parliament to ransom, he gave us a twenty-four hour deadline to meet. To make sure we took his threat seriously, he set off a small incendiary device next door to the proposed target, and as Big Ben struck twelve my daughter and three other girls were paraded in front of the Houses of Parliament on national TV wearing suicide vests. But that was just the start of our problems. He went on to kidnap the Prime Minister’s son, shot Charlie and another girl and the distraction aided Baldwin’s escape.’
‘What happened next, did he get away again?’
‘I’ve been talking for too long, to sum it up, he slipped the net and tried to escape on a yacht. The yacht exploded …’ Her head dropped as tears misted her vision.
