Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one))

by Comley, Mel; Tirraoro, Tania

  He settled her down beside him and the sound of their irregular breathing filled the room, words seemingly inadequate at such a euphoric moment. Their erratic breathing finally slowed and they both drifted blissfully off to sleep, the special lasagne dinner long forgotten.

  They awoke in the same position the next morning.

  "Are you ready for an encore now?" Tom snuggled closer, then got on top of her.

  "Sounds tempting," Lorne purred.

  He began kissing her but stopped abruptly. "I hear the patter of tiny feet, quick, pretend you're asleep."

  They both managed to shut their eyes before Charlie pushed open the door.

  "Get up you two. It's half-past seven," she shouted, before exiting their room and banging the door behind her.

  Tom chuckled as he saw the pile of discarded clothes littering the floor on his side of the bed. He bent over and kissed her hard on the lips. She responded enthusiastically but he pushed her gently away from him.

  "We'll have to continue this at a more convenient time, sweetheart. I have a starving daughter to feed and you've got a job to go to."

  "Life just isn't fair, is it?" She threw back the duvet revealing her naked body, letting him know clearly what he was turning down. She seductively opened and closed her legs and immediately noticed the bulge developing beneath his robe.

  He threw her bathrobe at her in mock disgust and ran around the bed to pull on his boxer shorts, no doubt hoping that their bagginess would disguise his growing manhood before he went downstairs.

  "You can be positively evil at times, Mrs Simpkins."

  "Don't you know it, baby." She quickly reached over, tugged one leg of his boxers down, then ran from the bedroom, along the hall, and into the bathroom.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lorne arrived at work sporting a wide grin.

  Pete noticed the change in her demeanour immediately. "You look like the cat that got the canary."

  "Anything new to report?" Blushing, she ignored his wisecrack.

  "Nope."

  The phone in her office rang. Perfect timing. Lorne answered it on the fifth ring.

  "Finally, I was just about to hang up," admonished a grumpy voice she recognised.

  "Dr Arnaud. I take it you have the results of the DNA?"

  "Indeed. The body in the mortuary is a perfect match to the DNA we took from Mrs Nicholls. Will you inform the relatives?"

  "I'll do it straight away, thanks for the call, Doc." Her heart sank with the news they'd been expecting. So much for starting the day off in a good mood.

  She took a couple of deep breaths before making the calls she needed to make. The first was to Doreen, although it was Colleen who took the call as her mother was still in bed after having a sleepless night. She relayed the information they'd all been dreading. Understandably Colleen broke down. Lorne informed her that a press conference had been called for later that morning.

  The second call she made was to Colleen's cousin. She introduced herself to Belinda's son, gave him her condolences and told him of their findings. She also let him know that a conference was taking place that morning.

  "Thank you for calling, Inspector. I'd like to attend the conference, if that's okay?"

  "I think that'd make a lot of sense, Mr Greenaway. The conference has been arranged for eleven o'clock. Can you make it up here by then?" Lorne remembered that Pete had told her he lived almost 200 miles away.

  "No problem, I'll fly up in the company helicopter. Perhaps I can see Mum before the conference?"

  The question floored Lorne. "Do you think that's a good idea? I've just explained the extent of her injuries."

  "It would help me put into perspective what the bastard did to her."

  The more Lorne tried to deter him of this idea the more insistent he became. She decided to leave it to Arnaud and his staff to talk Oliver out of it.

  Pete popped his head round the door after she'd finished her final call. "Coffee?"

  "I'd love one, thanks."

  When he returned with a cup of steaming liquid that only he could describe as coffee, he said, "What's up?"

  "The DNA's back, it confirms that the body is that of Belinda Greenaway. Her son's on his way. He wants to be involved in the press conference and he's requested to see his mother's body."

  "You're kidding! You told him the injuries she sustained?" Pete shook his head in disbelief.

  "Does this face look as if I'm joking? I'm hoping the doc can put him off the idea."

  "Beats me why anyone would want to put themselves through that. Leave it to the doc, he'll get him to change his mind. Did you have a good evening?"

  Her face flushed deeper than a ripe cherry. "Lovely, thanks. What about you?"

  "Same old thing, nothing to write home to granny about," he said, staring into his murky- coloured coffee.

  "Sorry I didn't invite you back for dinner. Umm … Tom and I had a lot of sorting out to do."

  She busied herself with some paperwork, letting Pete know that if he valued their friendship the questions should stop there.

  "I understand, boss." Pete tapped his nose with his forefinger. "By the size of the grin you were wearing when you came in this morning, I'd say you were pretty successful in your mission."

  She groaned inwardly, was she really that easy to read? Or had Tom secretly placed a sticker on her head that read 'Had the shag of my life last night'. Drastic evasive action was called for.

  "What time is the conference today?"

  "Eleven o'clock on the dot," Pete replied with a smirk.

  "Thanks for the coffee, Pete. I'll be another thirty minutes here then we'll bounce some ideas around with the rest of the team, see what we can come up with."

  "I'll take that as my cue to leave, then."

  She ignored him and set about reducing the pile of paperwork on her desk.

  The team was ready and waiting for her thirty minutes, and the beginning of a headache later.

  "Right, now we know who the victim is, we can finally get down to solving this crime."

  "So it was Belinda Greenaway?" Mitch asked.

  "That's right. Mitch, start delving into Belinda and her husband Jack's background, will you?"

  "Am I looking for anything in particular, boss?"

  "Anything that can be perceived as dodgy in Jack's business. The oil business must be full of people bearing grudges because of lost contracts, things like that."

  "Didn't her husband die in a helicopter crash?" Pete chimed in.

  "You're right. See if there was anything suspicious about the accident, Mitch. Molly, I want you to poke around in the son's background. See if he's involved in anything untoward."

  "He lives 200 miles away," Molly groaned.

  "Your point being what, exactly?" Lorne bit back.

  "Any likely associates he has down there would hardly come all this way to bump off his old mum, would they?"

  "I don't know, Molly, why don't you do what I suggested and try to find out?" she told the sour-faced DS, who was stretching her patience to the limit. She was sick to the back teeth of Molly continually challenging her authority. Lorne wondered briefly if now would be a good time to get the woman transferred out of her team, while the chief was still around to support her.

  The rest of the team watched but remained silent as the two women glowered at each other. Molly was the first to break eye contact.

  "Tracy, I want you to question the neighbours, see if the Greenaways ever had any public arguments, that sort of thing. Find out what kind of things Belinda got up to while Jack was away on the rigs?"

  "Sure, boss, by the way, the incident van will be on site by ten this morning as instructed." The new recruit looked pleased with herself.

  Lorne smiled and wondered why the other woman on the team couldn't respond to her in the same respectful manner. Tracy had been like a breath of fresh air since she'd joined the team three months ago. Volunteering to do any job, however menial, just to show everyone how mu
ch she was eager to learn and progress.

  She was twenty, blonde with the looks and figure all the men in the team appreciated. She was refreshingly different from the sullen thirty-year-old Molly, who dug her heels in when she was asked to carry out the simplest of tasks.

  "John, see what you can find out about their finances. Try and access both personal and business accounts anything inappropriate I want to know about it."

  "Okay, boss, what about the son?" John said.

  John was another exceptional member of her team who was a renowned workaholic and one of Pete's best mates.

  "Go for it. Pete, I want you to get access to the Greenaway's house. We'll go over there this afternoon, once the conference is out of the way." Lorne said.

  "Okay, what time is the son due?"

  "He's flying up from Cornwall — should be here about ten. I'll take him to the mortuary, if the traffic's bad and he knows we're on a tight schedule he might think twice about wanting to see his Mum. He's aware of what time the conference is, fingers crossed, anyway."

  The phone rang on Pete's desk. While he answered it, Lorne brought the meeting to a close.

  "Hold on a minute," Pete said.

  Lorne raised an eyebrow.

  Pete put the caller on hold as Lorne crossed the short distance to his desk. "The river police have just picked up a black bag in the Coll River. It contained a right arm."

  "Shit, tell them to get the bag over to Arnaud's office right away."

  "There's something else." He looked perturbed.

  "What?"

  "The desk sergeant says a girl was reported missing last night in the vicinity of Chelling Forest."

  "It could be a coincidence, Pete. Get the details and we'll follow it up later."

  As Pete continued his conversation with the desk sergeant, Lorne headed for her office. Like Pete, she feared the day had suddenly spun off in an ominous direction. Is it a coincidence? Or could they have yet another murder on their hands? Could they be dealing with a serial killer?

  She hunted in her drawer for the packet of Nurofen she hoped would ease the throbbing pain in her head. If she did something about it now she'd be able to handle the strain of the conference far better.

  Oliver Greenaway arrived bang on ten. Considering he'd just lost his mother he appeared to be holding it together remarkably well. They left for the mortuary immediately.

  Thankfully, Arnaud insisted he couldn't let Oliver view his mother's body, it just wasn't the 'done' thing. That's when his resolve crumbled. Collapsing into a chair, he cradled his head in his cupped hands and cried, repeating the same words over and over.

  "Why Mum? Tell me why someone would do this to her? She was the kindest, most caring person who ever lived. I'll get the bastard if it's the last thing I do, I'll get him. I'll make sure he suffers the way he made her suffer."

  Lorne stepped forward to comfort Oliver but Arnaud caught her arm. He was accustomed to such reactions and knew this was an important part of the grieving process some distraught family members had to go through.

  It made her realise how much she cherished her own parents and made a mental note to give them a ring as soon as she could. She felt even guiltier when she realised that because of her recent heavy work schedule, it had been a month since she had last contacted them.

  Lorne took Oliver to the canteen for a much-needed cup of coffee. Pete caught up with them ten minutes later.

  "Boss, the conference is due to start."

  "Are you sure you're up to this, Oliver?" Lorne asked.

  "Would you be, if that was your mother lying in the mortuary?" He'd barely uttered a word since breaking down.

  "I think it would be good if you came along, but it isn't obligatory. The choice is yours."

  "I'll be fine, I want that bastard to see how he's destroyed me and what's left of my family," Oliver said, his fighting spirit quickly returning.

  The Chief Inspector opened the conference then handed over to Lorne. She went over the suspected times, dates and places of the crime and called for any witnesses to come forward to help with their enquiries. She purposely neglected to inform the media of any injuries Belinda had incurred.

  Then it was Oliver's turn. For a moment he hesitated, searching for the right words. But as he became more comfortable in front of the camera his tone grew more aggressive. "Help the police find the bastard who did this. Who knows, your mother, sister or wife could be this maniac's next victim!"

  It was a cry from the heart, which Lorne knew was sure to strike a chord with the viewers.

  After the conference, Oliver accompanied the two detectives to his mother's home. The house was more like a mansion, situated on an exclusive estate on the outskirts of the village of Bournley. The tree-lined drive was an indication of the grandeur they were about to encounter. Landscaped gardens surrounded the immaculate White House.

  "My dad was fascinated by the American Presidential home," Oliver enlightened the two detectives.

  "You don't say!" Pete said, picking his chin up off the path.

  "Why on earth did your mother continue living here after your father died?" Lorne was awestruck by the sheer size and elegance of the property.

  "She insisted that Dad was still around her and refused to leave the security she felt in the home. That seems a bit ironic now after what's happened to her…"

  "Did your mother employ staff?"

  "They've been with my Mother and Father for years. Surely you don't suspect them?"

  "Give Pete their names and addresses, they'll have to be checked out."

  They searched every room, drawer and cupboard in the house. Lorne felt like an intruder as she rifled through the dead woman's belongings. The more they hunted the more their frustrations grew. They found nothing. No signs of a break-in or of Belinda being killed there. Again their investigation had hit a brick wall.

  Was this a random killing after all?

  Two frustrating hours later, they left the grieving Oliver to his memories and returned to the station.

  En route, Pete asked, "What do you make of the son?"

  "In what respect?" Lorne shot him a puzzled glance.

  "Can we regard him as a suspect?"

  "Jesus, Pete, I think you've been watching too many cop shows on that damn telly of yours." She laughed, but then realisation came crashing down on her. "Oh I get it, you think he killed her for the inheritance money, is that it?"

  "Stranger things have happened." He shrugged his broad shoulders.

  "You haven't quite grasped it yet, have you, Pete?"

  "What's that?" It was his turn to look puzzled.

  "You haven't quite mastered the knack of gauging people's reactions."

  "You mean we're back to women's bloody intuition again? Well I'm sorry to have to inform you, boss, but I ain't no woman with no magic powers. I have to go about things my way, which happens to be the force's way. So, if I've got suspicions about someone I have to follow up on those suspicions."

  "That's why we're such good partners — because I can share my God given ability with you. Read my lips, there is no way Oliver Greenaway killed his mother. I'm adamant about that, it is definitely not an avenue I'm willing to pursue, got it?"

  "Don't blame me if you're wrong. There's always that saying, 'look at the in-laws before looking for the outlaws'."

  "Another wonderful analogy from one of those American cop shows you love so much. What else have we got?"

  "Hey don't knock it, honey," he said in the lousiest American accent he could muster. In his normal cockney voice, he said, "Absolutely sweet FA which is why we should check him out. Unless the doc comes up with a match to the mud found on the body, we might as well wrap this case up now."

  "What about the staff?"

  "I'll get someone to do some digging when we get back."

  "Chase up any leads we have regarding the girl who was reported missing last night, as well. The evening news will be airing the conference soon we should get a flur
ry of calls from that."

  The rest of the team had also had a very disappointing day. The helicopter accident had proven to be just that, an accident. The bank accounts showed nothing dubious, except that Belinda Greenaway had been a very wealthy woman. It didn't take a genius to work that one out. The neighbours said that the Greenaways were a wonderful couple and never any bother. Finally, much to Pete's annoyance, Oliver came up smelling of roses, Mr Squeaky, Squeaky clean, in fact.