Final Justice (Lorne Simpkins thriller (Book Three))

by Mel Comley

  ‘My suggestion is … we go it alone.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lorne sprang to her feet and turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry, Tony, would you mind repeating that. For a minute there, it sounded like you said something ridiculous like we should contemplate going it alone!’

  Enouncing every syllable, he repeated, ‘I did. We go it alone.’

  ‘That’s what I thought you said. Are you bloody crazy? No, don’t answer that, I already know the answer. Shite!’ She paced around the room, first tracing the full width of it, before changing direction, and sweeping across the length of it, coming to a halt in front of him. ‘You’ve finally gone and lost the plot, man.’

  Tony laughed long and hard. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right, guilty as charged. But it makes sense, Lorne, you and me as a team. Let’s face it, we can’t do any worse than the frogs, can we?’

  ‘Stop calling him, them, that. What makes you think we could do any better?’

  ‘All right, look at it this way. You and I both recognise the operation today was downright farcical. If that had been an English operation there’s no way we would’ve considered turning up at the chateau like that. I know, I know, we don’t have chateaus in England,’ he said, as she opened her mouth to correct him. ‘His reputation alone would make us ultra-cautious. He’s a murdering bastard through and through for fuck’s sake. These guys approached that chateau as if they were on a coppers’ day out, a picnic in the country or something equally as banal. Come on, admit it, you were as frustrated as I was.’ He tilted his head and waited for her to respond.

  She waved her hands in the air. ‘All right, Tony, yes, I admit I was as frustrated as you, but I still don’t see what options we have, what can we possibly do about it? Bottom line is we’d be foolish to even consider it. Baldwin’s armed, probably to the hilt, and Michel has already informed us that he has at least twenty men with him patrolling the chateau.’ She plonked herself down on the bed beside him.

  ‘And that’s another thing. Where was Baldwin today? More to the point, where were all his men? The useless frog didn’t even search the place for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘He went inside the building.’

  ‘Yeah, for ten whole minutes. What the blazes could he check in that amount of time? And, how come he and the Lieutenant were the only ones to step foot inside the joint?’

  ‘What are you getting at now?’

  With a note of sarcasm Tony retorted, ‘Now let’s see, we trundle up to the chateau, in broad daylight I hasten to add, only to find Baldwin long gone. Mere coincidence? I doubt it. All we have to figure out is who the possible mole is, the Capitaine, your secret lover, or the Lieutenant.’

  ‘I’m going to let that one pass, Tony, and I’m warning you if I hear another wisecrack about Michel and myself then I’m on the first plane out of here. Do you hear me?’ She prodded him in the chest.

  ‘Ouch! Whatever, Lorne, but even you can’t deny there’s something dodgy going on here. Look at what happened back in England, that Lorna girl on your team. Tell me I’m wrong.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re wrong, it was Laura not Lorna.’

  ‘Whatever her bloody name was, she still did the business, didn’t she? Disrupted your investigation, and told Baldwin precisely what was going on.’

  ‘And got herself killed into the bargain,’ Lorne interrupted him.

  ‘Comeuppance, that’s what that’s called, Lorne. Just desserts. She played with fire far longer than she should have, and got burned in the end.’

  ‘All right, there’s no need for you to keep going over old ground. What plan have you come up with, what’s up your sleeve, agent boy?’

  ‘How do I know I can trust you? What assurances can you give me that you won’t divulge anything during your secret assignations with the Capitaine?’

  She had spotted a smile in his eyes, and she had an inkling he was just winding her up, so she thumped him hard, so hard she gave him a dead leg.

  ‘Just so you know, Tony, that was a one off. It’s not something I intend repeating. Now give, my curiosity is piqued at the moment.’

  Instead of telling her his plans, as she expected, he rose from the bed and headed for the door.

  ‘Hey, wait up, agent boy!’

  He tapped his nose, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway, turning to wink at her, he said, ‘Leave everything to me, all you have to do is keep the Capitaine entertained for the next few hours, and I’m sure you don’t need me to draw you any diagrams on how you can manage that, now do you, Lorne?’

  Chapter Seventeen

  The cheeky little shit, what the hell did he take me for, some kind of prostitute? Lorne tried to come up with a suitable plan to keep Michel occupied for the next couple of hours, but apart from jumping on his bones like a sex starved virgin, she couldn’t think what to say, or do without giving the game away.

  A knock at the door disturbed her thoughts, which were dwelling on a plan that included sex.

  Christ, this place is busier than Oxford Street during the January sales!

  She ran into the bathroom to check her appearance in the mirror then returned to open the door. ‘Oh, Capitaine! I wasn’t expecting you.’ Her words came out in a husky breath, which annoyed her.

  Michel was leaning his head against the doorframe, his face expressionless making it difficult for her to read, though she did spot a certain glint in his eye that both excited, and unnerved her at the same time.

  Is he waiting for me to invite him in? Is it possible he’d want to pick up where we left off last night?

  Appearing to read her mind, he asked, ‘Do you intend to ask me in, or do you want to have a conversation out here. Actually, on second thoughts, let’s go out, there is little we can do here anyway, except twiddle our thumbs. Forgive me, is that the right expression?’

  ‘As usual, Michel, you’re spot on with your meaning, but where will we go?’ Lorne asked, relieved that she wouldn’t need to fall back on her womanly charms to distract him, like Tony had so vulgarly suggested.

  ‘Do I need to change?’ She queried, looking down at the jeans and t-shirt she was wearing, she also had a jumper round her shoulders.

  ‘No. The clothes you wear will be suitable.’

  They left the hotel at close to midday the September sun bathing them in warmth. The surprise trip took them approximately half an hour by car, with the journey being quiet, more out of genuine contentment than awkwardness this time.

  Michel dropped down a gear as the winding road grew busier, and it wasn’t long before they came to a halt, a long queue of cars in front of them, stretching as far as the eye could see.

  ‘Can I ask where we’re going?’ she asked.

  ‘You can ask, yes. Whether I reply or not is another matter.’ Michel laughed.

  Suddenly the inside of the car felt hot and stuffy, Lorne pushed the button on the armrest next to her elbow to open the car window a fraction. She glanced sideways at him and thought she’d spotted a calmness seeping into his features that she’d not seen before, sensing their journey would soon come to an end she pushed back into the headrest, forcing herself to relax.

  Minutes later, they pulled into a half-full car park. To the right stood at least a dozen coaches, the drivers were standing in a group outside their vehicles, while waiting for their passengers to return, they seemed to be enjoying their sandwiches and cans of soda, and taking the opportunity to bathe in the sun’s rays.

  Lorne’s mouth dropped open at the sight of half a dozen American Jeeps, all shiny, and beautifully presented parked beneath a large sign by the entrance that read, Colleville-sur-mer American war cemetery. What a funny place to bring a date, why here?

  ‘You seem confused by my choice. I assure you, you will not be disappointed. I used to come here often as a child. Once you have visited this place your outlook on life will be changed forever, whether that change will be for the better, only you can decide. Come on.’

  He was rig
ht, she did feel confused, and also perplexed by his words, what did he mean your outlook on life will change forever?

  After he locked the car, Michel surprised her when he took her hand in his as he led her through the beautifully tended gardens, and past the visitor centre. Situated on the cliff-face high above the sea, the cemetery was a magnificent sight.

  They entered through a large metal gate and before them stood a semi-circular wall constructed of white marble, measuring, she guessed, around three hundred feet in length. The sweet smell of roses in full bloom welcomed them like a long lost relative with open arms. Although sixty or so people filled the area, only the rustling of the trees above could be heard. People young and old moved slowly around the wall reading the text etched into the stone.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered, as it dawned on her what the writing said.

  ‘This is the ‘garden of the missing’ some 1557 servicemen are listed here, their remains havenever been found.’ Michel bent to whisper in her ear.

  She lifted her head to look at him and unexpected tears welled up in her eyes. He comforted her by putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. She sensed he had a good idea what she was going through, and the people she was thinking about. She rested her head on his chest and together, side by side, they silently continued on their bewildering journey, both deep in thought.

  They climbed the stone steps that divided the wall, and Michel’s grip tightened, as if he was preparing for her to be shocked. She didn’t let him down, before them, laid out in symmetrical rows stood thousands of white crosses. Every now and then a Star of David broke up the immaculate lines. ‘Good lord!’ Lorne said, coming to a halt at the top of the steps.

  ‘Truly remarkable, non?’

  ‘And some,’ Lorne replied. They were now standing in the centre of the colonnaded memorial. On either side of them lay maps, engraved in stone, accompanied by text which documented the progress of the allied forces on the D-day beaches of Normandy. As the crowds gathered around them Michel took Lorne by the elbow and led her past the huge reflecting pool towards the tiny circular chapel located a couple of hundred feet beyond. Inside, Lorne let out a loud gasp when she gazed up at the colourful fresco ceiling, detailing every aspect of the war.

  Once they stepped back outside of the chapel, Michel acted like a tour guide, and informed Lorne of the relevant facts and figures he knew about the cemetery. As they moved through the gravestones and headed towards the cliff, he said, ‘To the left, is Omaha beach. Today beautiful, sandy, and serene, but back in 1944 the golden sands were soaked in blood. A chaotic area filled with death and casualties.’

  His hand swept over the area behind them. ‘It is where the majority of these men died. The Germans were lying in wait for them to come ashore. These men died saving our country, and making sure the rest of Europe did not fall into Hitler’s despicable hands. There are 9387 graves situated here, this is the first American cemetery on European soil. It stands in 172 acres. You see the statue over there?’ He pointed to a bronze statue at least thirty-foot tall, standing on a pedestal.

  She nodded, awestruck by the amount of detail he knew about the cemetery.

  ‘It is called the “Spirit of American Youth’’.’ He paused to swallow before telling her more. ‘The average age of those who died and who are buried here is just 22.’

  ‘My God, how awful.’

  ‘Have you seen the film Saving Private Ryan?’ She nodded again. ‘Two of the Ryan brothers are buried here, different names of course, that was fiction. In 2004, the 60th anniversary of D-day, Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg personally attended the commemoration ceremony held here.’

  ‘I remember. At the back of my mind I seem to recall seeing a clip that was shown on news at ten. That sounds awful, doesn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Michel raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Something so historical, that I should pass it off with a statement such as "somewhere in the back of my mind". Look around you, Michel, without the goodwill of these unselfish men, sacrificing their precious lives, you have to ask the question what, where, or how, would we be living today?’ Lorne felt humbled by her surroundings.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Michel said, as he placed a gentle arm under her elbow and guided her towards the exit and his car.

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘For bringing you here. It can be overwhelming for some people, even gloomy in some respects.’

  She stopped halfway across the car park and looked up at him. ‘That’s nonsense, Michel. I’m pleased you thought to share this place with me. How can you think otherwise?’

  ‘Your own situation. I did not think. Forgive me, Lorne, for unintentionally opening up recent painful wounds.’

  She shook her head slowly before telling him. ‘Michel, believe it or not, coming here has helped put my own pitiful life into perspective. I’ve wallowed in my own self-pity far too long. I will always treasure the time I spent with Pete and Jacques, but after visiting here today it has made me realise how short life really is. No matter how much we hurt when loved ones pass, our lives must go on. No matter what He, or anybody else, cares to throw at us.’ She raised her eyes to the hazy blue sky that was now dotted with the odd, white fluffy cloud.

  Michel kissed her gently on the cheek, but said nothing as he opened the car door for her.

  ‘Where to now?’ She felt free all of a sudden, free from the weight that had been weighing her down for the past year, free to continue her life, to live each day fully, without pain or regret, as though somehow she’d set Pete’s and Jacques’ spirits free back in the cemetery.

  ‘It’s a ten minute journey to Omaha beach if you would like to see it?’

  ‘I’d love to.’ She settled her head back in the seat and closed her eyes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  For the next couple of hours Lorne and Michel strolled hand in hand along the wide expanse of fine, sandy beach. Omaha beach had proved to be just as thought provoking as the cemetery and they walked in silence, the gentle sound of the waves breaking on the edge of the beach the only sound they encountered.

  They arrived back at the hotel sometime after six, and following a quick shower and change of clothes in their respective rooms they joined the others in the dining room at seven-thirty.

  Dinner consisted of salmon fillet, served in a white wine sauce, with green beans and dauphinois potatoes, followed by a chocolate and pear tart, which was accompanied by a scoop of vanilla ice cream. All of which she managed to select for herself, working out that saumon was salmon didn’t tax her too much, and she was sure that anything chocolate was bound to taste good even to her unadventurous palate.

  Lorne spotted the look of suspicion on the faces of both Tony and the Lieutenant as she joined them at the table, though they said nothing. The conversation was light-hearted, touching on exactly why the French called the English ‘Les Rosbifs’, or ‘roast beef’ and turning to the differences in English and French police procedures. Tony, however, ended the evening with bruised shins as Lorne sought to avoid him launching into areas that might embarrass their French hosts. He was easy to read; Lorne had noticed he shifted in his seat whenever he was about to stray into difficult territory and a swift kick to the shins brought him back into line.

  When the dinner ended at ten o’clock Lorne bade goodnight to the others, feeling worn out both emotionally and physically, and headed for her room, alone. She doubted very much if her emotions could have withstood another night in the arms of Michel Amore.

  By the time she had removed her make-up, cleaned her teeth, and dressed for bed it was already 10:45. She drifted off to sleep almost immediately, but her dreams were filled with men dying, their blood seeping into the sand of Omaha beach. The sound of distant machine gunfire proved too much for her and she woke with a jolt, turning on the bedside light she mopped her sweating brow with a tissue from the box beside her bed. The dream had felt so real, the gunfire … there it was again,
despite her being awake, then she realised foolishly, someone was knocking on her door.

  She looked at her alarm clock, what the heck … nearly two in the morning. She grabbed her robe and pulled open the door, her face screwed up in anger when she saw who was standing on the other side.

  Tony barged straight past her. ‘Glad to see you’re alone.’

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ Lorne asked, matching his offhand tone.

  ‘Get dressed,’ her uninvited guest ordered.

  ‘What? Are you crazy, it’s the bloody middle of the night, Tony!’

  ‘Einstein strikes another home run. Get dressed, Lorne. Now.’

  ‘Not until you tell me what in God’s name is going on here.’ She folded her arms and tapped her foot.

  ‘And they say men are the more stubborn of the two genders. I’ve got a hired car waiting outside. Now get your pretty arse into gear, will you?’

  ‘Where are we going at such a late hour?’

  His hand swept through his hair as his patience rocked and rolled. ‘The bloody chateau, we’re going on a reconnaissance trip of our own. Now will you get dressed, please?’

  Without further argument Lorne gathered clean underwear and the final clean outfit she’d brought with her, which just happened to be black jeans and a black sweater, ideal getup for a night time prowler, and disappeared into the bathroom. She reappeared five minutes later dressed and feeling apprehensive about the adventure she knew lay ahead of them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘You’re going the wrong way.’ Lorne turned in the passenger seat and pointed behind her. ‘It was that road back there, I’m sure of it.’

  He patted her thigh and laughed. ‘That’s why men don’t ask women to navigate that often, they tend to have a lousy sense of direction.’ As the road they were searching for materialized in front of them, he added, ‘I rest my case, oh, and apology accepted.’