Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one))

by Comley, Mel; Tirraoro, Tania

  She flashed her lights at Pete and pulled out.

  * * * *

  Back at the station, the desk sergeant informed them that the kids who had discovered the body were in interview rooms one and two.

  "The girl's quite distraught and she's been seen by the police doctor. He's given you the green light to question her for a few minutes," the sergeant said.

  Lorne wondered if the doctor realised they were dealing with a murder enquiry.

  "I'll take the boy, you can have the girl," she told Pete, outside room one.

  "Cheers, boss. That's the thanks I bloody get for giving up my evening off?" he moaned under his breath.

  "Stop whinging and get on with it. Be gentle with her. And listen to what she has to say, don't make any snap judgements."

  "That's like telling my grandma how to suck eggs, I ain't new to this game, ya know."

  "I know that. But you're interviewing techniques lately haven't exactly been by the book have they, Pete?" she replied, raising an eyebrow.

  "Point taken. But I'm not likely to give a distraught female a clout round the ear, now am I?"

  As Lorne stepped into the interview room Todd Altman looked up. She pulled out the chair opposite him.

  "Hi, Todd, I'm DI Lorne Simpkins. Look, I know how difficult this must be and I'd like to thank you for helping us with our enquiries. I've just got a few questions and then you'll be free to go."

  "I've told your mates everything I know. When can Zoe and me go home?" he asked, firmly gripping his cup of coffee. His hand was shaking so much that the coffee splashed out of his cup.

  Lorne felt sorry for the nineteen-year-old, who appeared to be traumatised, but trying hard to disguise it. His red eyes showed how much he had cried in the last hour or so.

  "Soon, I promise," she said. "Now, what were you doing in the forest at that time of night?"

  He glanced over at the male officer standing in the far corner for help.

  Lorne followed his gaze and saw the officer shrug.

  "Todd?"

  The teenager shuffled his feet nervously and Lorne got the impression he was too embarrassed to confide in her. She smiled reassuringly to put him at ease.

  He cleared his throat before replying, "Zoe and me go there ev'ry Thursday, it's the only place we can be alone, if you know what I mean?"

  "I think I get the picture. I can think of more comfortable places to have sex though, especially in the middle of a storm. Do you still live at home, Todd?"

  "Yeah, I do. So? What's that gotta do with anythin'?" he asked defensively.

  "Do your parents know that you go down the woods to play? Furthermore, do you know that it's an offence to have sexual intercourse in a public place?" she stated, slapping the teenager down.

  "I know, I'm sorry. You're not gonna arrest me for that, are ya?"

  Lorne fought hard to suppress a smile. "No, we won't be arresting you this time, Todd. But in future watch where you sow your oats, okay?"

  "Yes, miss, no fear of that, miss. After finding that body, my oat sowing days in open places are well and truly over."

  His relief was evident and for the first time Lorne noticed the sparkle in his baby blue eyes.

  "How was the body when you found it?" The lad smirked and she sensed he was going to give her a wise-arse response, so she promptly rephrased her question. "I mean, was the body buried or exposed?"

  "It was covered with leaves when Zoe stumbled over it. Something spooked her, she took flight and kicked it while she was running. She said the forest had an eerie feel tonight. She doesn't usually complain." He took a sip of his coffee.

  Lorne's notebook lay open in front of her but remained empty. She had a sinking feeling this interview was going to be a complete waste of time.

  "When was the last time you and Zoe visited the woods?"

  "Last week, I think."

  "I need honest answers, Todd. Was it last week or not?"

  "Yeah, it was last Thursday. The weather was better then. I wish we hadn't gone down there tonight, that's for sure."

  "Did you see anyone else in the woods?"

  "I don't think so."

  Think, Todd, it's important, it could be vital to the case." Lorne urged the youngster and watched as his expression showed signs of pain.

  "Nope, don't remember seeing anyone. Can we go now? You won't tell our parents, will you?"

  Lorne let out a dissatisfied sigh. "You can go, but if you think of anything, anything at all, ring me. Okay?" She pushed back her chair and handed him one of her cards.

  There was no point hanging onto the kids. She tapped on the door to the other interview room and asked Pete to join her in the corridor.

  "Did you get anything out of the girl?"

  "Not even a tadpole of a clue. She cried, then bawled, then cried some more. Total waste. How about you?" her frustrated partner asked, as he pulled his trousers up by the waistband.

  "About the same. Let's get shot of them and grab a coffee before doctor Arnaud summons us. You losing weight, Pete?" she asked with a teasing smile.

  "Fat chance," he replied before returning to the room. She watched from the door as he gave the girl one of his cards. Zoe burst into tears again and Lorne sent Todd in to calm her down.

  * * *

  "How you feeling?" Pete asked tentatively, when they reached the canteen.

  "Thanks for asking, Pete, but I'm fine."

  Lorne intentionally avoided his eyes, but Pete refused to let the matter drop. They had a good working relationship. They'd been together for four years and knew each other well. Too well at times.

  "Why did he do it?" he asked, concern showing in his voice.

  She knew what Pete thought of men who lashed out at their wives, and suspected Tom, a close friend of his, had ultimately gone down in his estimation.

  "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind," she said, her head down as she absently played with her cup.

  Pete held up his hands in surrender — he knew when to back off, knew how stubborn she could be. "Okay, boss. But you know where I am if you want to unburden yourself."

  "Thanks, partner." She smiled but it failed to reach her eyes. Lorne reached across the table and patted his hand.

  Their partnership was strong, one built on trust and understanding. Lorne regarded him as a brother. Teasing him one minute, then shouting at him the next, she kept him grounded. He was the kind of cop who jumped in feet first, whereas Lorne was the one who took two steps back and analysed cases logically. Between them they'd had a balanced partnership that over the years had served them, and the Met well.

  A couple of uniformed officers joined them and not long after Lorne's mobile received the message they'd been waiting for.

  "Arnaud awaits, Pete. You ready for this?"

  "Far from it," he mumbled, pushing back his chair.

  "Come on, let's get it over with." She matched his reluctance to get to the post-mortem suite, and shuddered at the thought of spending the next three or four torturous hours with doctor Arnaud.

  Chapter Three

  "Nice of you to come so promptly," Arnaud said, when the two detectives arrived at the spotlessly clean St Patrick's hospital mortuary.

  Knowing how Pete felt about sarcasm, Lorne shot him a warning glance not to retaliate.

  "Well! What are you waiting for? A number seven bus? For God's sake go and get suited and booted. Bones, show them the way."

  His pathologist assistant, Bones, grudgingly showed them to the locker room. He rummaged through the tall plastic container in the corner marked CLEAN and withdrew two sterilised green operating gowns that had been discarded by surgeons.

  The hospital deemed it a waste of funding to supply new greens for use in the pathology department, especially when, at the end of a post-mortem, the blood-soaked uniforms were disposed of in the hospital's incinerator anyway. Booties slipped over their shoes completed their fetching ensemble, they were ready to go.

  On the return j
ourney up the long hallway to the doctor's theatre, Pete gave a small cough and said, "Well then …"

  Lorne cringed and braced herself, she knew her partner was about to ask one of his dumb questions.

  "What's with the nickname?" he asked his unsuspecting victim.

  The small geeky-looking assistant snapped back, "Bone's isn't my nickname, it's my surname."

  Pete smiled.

  "You got a problem with that? And yeah, I've heard all the wisecracks in this universe and the next, so don't waste your time even trying to come up with a new one."

  "Hey, mate, no insult intended, just trying to make conversation," Pete replied.

  Lorne suppressed a chuckle at how Pete seemed taken aback by the young man's abruptness.

  Out of the corner of his mouth he said to her, "Touchy, ain't he? Guess his sense of humour died a long time ago, working in a dead end job like this."

  "Give it a rest, Pete." She elbowed him in the ribs and added, "Shut that over-worked mouth of yours for a change, will you?"

  Lorne knew that his mistimed humour was all bravado, a sign of how uncomfortable he was in his surroundings.

  Inside the post-mortem suite, Lorne approached the stainless-steel table in the centre of the room. Standing approximately eighteen inches from the corpse's feet guaranteed her a bird's eye view of the proceedings. Pete however, positioned himself alongside a chair that'd been handily placed next to the exit, ideal for a quick getaway. His pusillanimity in their environment was laughable.

  Arnaud stood next to the table and snapped on his latex gloves. His tools were laid out on the waist-high trolley beside him. Eyeing the tools, Lorne thought some of them looked like they had been purchased at the local DIY store, rather than a medical supplier. Alongside the pruning clippers and the vibrating bone saw was a knife which resembled a bread knife she used at home. There were also various-sized scalpels, probably painstakingly sharpened by his assistant, Bones, after every examination.

  Bones unzipped the bag and both the men, one on either side of the table, slid the bag from under the body.

  Lorne glanced over at Pete as the corpse, which had been wrapped in a white sheet at the scene, lay like a midget-mummy on the table.

  After Bones and Arnaud carefully removed the sheet, Lorne hoped Pete wouldn't faint, or throw-up, at the sight of the headless, rotting, trunk.

  Bones cautiously placed the sheet to one side, making sure any trace of evidence, no matter how small, would stay in the sheet, to be studied in depth, later.

  The perforated table the body now lay on would allow any excess fluids to run through it and settle in the drip tray below, and the samples would also be analysed later.

  Bones walked over to the recorder and switched it on.

  As Arnaud made his first cut into the torso, Lorne quickly donned her surgical mask. It didn't take long for the smell of decomposing flesh to waft over to where Pete was standing. He gagged, his knees buckled and he dropped into the chair beside him.

  Darn it, just as I thought. The post-mortem suite was the place where the men were sorted from the boys. For some reason, the women seemed to cope far better in the environment than their male counterparts. Lorne always thought that having to go through the ordeal of childbirth worked in a female officer's favour.

  "While I dissect the body, please feel free to ask any questions," Arnaud said brusquely.

  The doctor was one of the few pathologists she knew who performed a post-mortem without wearing a mask. She'd once asked him why, only for him to snap that 'a mask disguises crucial smells', like the smell of almonds when cyanide had been used in a homicide. Lorne had a suspicion that he probably got a kick out of the vile stench of rotting flesh, and was too ashamed to admit he had a fetish.

  "At the scene, you suspected the body had been moved. Can you tell us why, Dr?" Lorne asked, her fascination piquing with every cut he made.

  "Ah, yes. Although the body had been discovered beneath a pile of leaves, it was caked in mud. As far as I know, when a pile of leaves breaks down it does not mysteriously change its natural composition. I suspect that somebody returned to the body, to remove its limbs. You see here," he said, pointing to the gaping hole in the right shoulder. "The arm has been pulled from its socket, not detached with a sharp implement. This can only be carried out with ease once the body has begun to decompose."

  "Oh Jesus," Pete cried as he bolted through the heavy plastic door.

  "I see your colleague appears to have lost his stomach for the job," the Frenchman said, smirking, with a glint in his smouldering dark brown eyes.

  A smile touched her taut lips. So this incredibly complex man did have a sense of humour after all.

  Chapter Four

  The drive home was an arduous one. Lorne's autopilot kicked in without much effort. Before long, she had her front door open and was easing her way along her narrow Minton-tiled hallway. Leaning against the decorative dado rail, she removed the shoes that had imprisoned her aching feet for the past five hours. Standing over a corpse in a sanitised cold environment certainly took its toll.

  The post-mortem had turned out to be disappointingly inconclusive. Doctor Arnaud suspected the cause of death would only be determined once the missing limbs had been recovered. He'd been positive about only one thing — a homicide had been committed.

  Exhausted both mentally and physically, she couldn't summon up enough energy to climb the stairs to take a shower, despite having the putrid smell of rotting flesh lingering uninvitingly on her clothes. Instead she wandered through to the kitchen. The newness of the wood was a welcome relief to her nostrils, Tom had recently refurbished it in a contemporary style of beech and stainless steel.

  Henry approached her sleepily. "Hello, boy, how's it going?" she asked, petting his silky head. She took a crystal tumbler from the cupboard above the granite breakfast bar and filled it with the remains of the whisky.

  The sharp aroma of the amber-coloured liquid transported her to pastures far away. To the sumptuous heather-clad hillsides of Scotland. To a little holiday cottage Tom and she used to visit regularly before Charlie came along. Life had been so different back then, they'd been free spirits without a care in the world. Now they were just an ordinary married couple trapped in the midst of time, waiting for their child to fly the nest.

  With Henry close to her heels she crept back into the lounge, switching on the lamp on the small table beside the sofa. She groaned as she settled her weary body on the cushions her husband had left strewn across the floor. The burning embers of the fire still radiated enough heat for the room to feel comfortable. Henry sidled up to her, she stroked him and he licked her face in return.

  The whisky warmed her insides as it slid gracefully down her throat. She sighed with contentment and removed the band that had kept her shoulder-length hair in place throughout the post-mortem. She ran her fingers through her locks as she reflected on her day. Eventually her coil-sprung mind cleared and she drifted off to sleep, wrapped around her devoted four-legged friend.

  Four hours later, she woke to find Tom standing over her, glaring.

  She stretched and yawned noisily. Henry ran to the back door and whimpered to be let out.

  "What time did you get in?" Tom asked.

  "I don't know exactly, about three. Are you still in a mood?"

  He turned and headed into the kitchen. Lorne shook her head in dismay. After a few minutes, she followed him. He had his back to her. She tiptoed across the room and wrapped her arms around him, her head resting on his back, she asked again, "Are you still in a mood with me?"

  Untying himself from her grasp, he stepped away. "Don't you ever stop interrogating people?"

  His angry words sent a chill running up her spine. He looked handsome in his burgundy silk robe that was draped open, revealing a muscular, thickly thatched chest she usually adored running her fingers through. Her heart skipped a beat as her eyes lingered on the stunning Mediterranean dark looks he'd fortunately inherited f
rom his father. The problem was he'd also inherited other traits that weren't so charming, such as his temper and unwillingness to compromise.

  "Once a policewoman, always a policewoman, I guess," she shrugged an apology.

  "You stink, the least you could have done was had a shower."