Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one))

by Comley, Mel; Tirraoro, Tania

  "And the missing girl?" Lorne asked her partner over a cup of coffee and a jam doughnut in her office.

  "She's sixteen, Kim Charlton. Left her friend's house at about eleven. She called for a taxi, when it failed to show up she got impatient and decided to walk. Her house is about two miles from her friend's."

  Pete reeled off the facts he'd gathered from one of the team, before taking a huge messy bite of his doughnut.

  "Does she make a habit of going missing?"

  "Generally, she's a hundred per cent reliable. But according to her parents she's recently started going out with a boy they don't fully approve of," he spluttered, through a large mouthful of cake.

  "Did the parents call him?"

  "Yeah, he was on the other side of town with his mates, hasn't seen her since the weekend."

  "Get someone round there to question him, he might be telling the parents what they want to hear."

  "Anything else, boss?"

  "Get Mitch to check out the staff, previous employers, reliability. You know the kind of thing."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Every news channel ran the footage of the conference that evening and the local newspaper carried the headline: CORPSE FOUND IN COPSE. Somehow they had tracked down Doreen for an interview and she was pictured holding a photo of her taken with her sister. The woman looked ghastly and Lorne was livid at the paper's intrusion into her grief. She made a mental note to call round to see the old lady the following day.

  * * *

  "I don't believe it," the woman cried in disbelief as she stared at the front page of the local evening paper.

  "What's that?" her male companion asked.

  "That woman."

  "What bloody woman?"

  "The woman you killed … you made a mistake."

  The man snatched the paper from her trembling hand. His eyes darted across the main storyline and his pulse raced as the anger mounted. He shot his companion a venomous look.

  "What do you mean, I made a fucking mistake? You're the one who gave me the information, you dozy cow." He threw the paper across the room and it drifted to the floor, the front cover landing face-up, taunting him further.

  "I…I thought it was her, when I saw her in the paper giving that award, I put two and two together and…"

  "Came up with five. What have I told you about getting your facts right." He jumped up from his seat and towered over her. She reacted quickly, putting her hands up to cover her face. She shook uncontrollably. Taking pity on the woman he knelt beside her, took her in his arms and gently rocked her back and forth. He softly sang the lullaby he used to sing to her as a child, "Hush a bye baby, on the tree top …"

  The woman hummed along to the tune and once again felt secure in his strong arms.

  The man's thoughts returned to his childhood. The beatings he and his sibling endured from their over-dominating parents. The sexual favours he had to perform on his mother and father and the many friends they invited into their shabby home.

  "But, Dad, please, I don't want to do that," he had pleaded from the age of six, but his pleas were shamefully ignored. And when he refused to accommodate one of his father's friends, he was beaten to within an inch of his life and thrown in the cellar for days.

  He became a recluse at school but no one bothered to analyse him. He was just another pupil they had to deal with. Years passed and when his sister was nine and tiny breasts developed, their father turned his attention to her.

  The boy struck his father on more than one occasion, trying to defend his sister, and his mother clobbered him with a bar from behind. He was locked in the cellar while his sister was forced to carry out unspeakable sexual acts on groups of five or more men. The boy heard his sister's screams, he felt ashamed and riddled with guilt that he was unable to help her. To protect her.

  After that terrible ordeal he decided to ask for help at school. But the school stupidly told his parents what he'd confided. The children's lives were a darn sight worse after that. Pain and anger gnawed away at him for months before finally he gained enough courage to end their ordeal…

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a good night's sleep Lorne set off for the station early, the dewy autumn morning caused her to shiver slightly, she switched on the car heater to combat the chill lingering in the car. It pleased her to hear the radio station was still running the conference and the number for the information line. This usually generated a good number of leads so she prepared herself for a long day ahead.

  Call after call flooded in, they had to draft in extra personnel to man the phones. Lorne and Pete personally chased up a few of the calls, but they proved to be hoaxes, stupid ignoramuses in search of their fifteen minutes of fame.

  Lunchtime came and went. They sent out for sandwiches while continuing to man the phones. Lorne delved into her bag and pulled out her mobile phone, ringing her sister as she ate her ham sandwich.

  "Hi, Jade, how's things?"

  "Huh, so much for calling me back the next day." Her sister admonished her in a mock hurt tone.

  "God, did I really say that? Sorry, hon. It's been a tad chaotic around here."

  "Yeah I heard how chaotic it's been from Tom, especially in your bedroom."

  "You're kidding, Tom told you abou …?"

  Is nothing sacred in my private life?

  "Every last detail. Especially the bit about…"

  "That's enough. You wait till I see that bloody husband of mine."

  "Ah, come on, sis. Don't drop me in it. Tom will never trust me again."

  "That's what I'm hoping." The phone on her desk rang. "Hang on a minute, hon, I've got a call coming in."

  Lorne reached for her phone just as her sister protested about being interrupted.

  "Boss, I have Doreen Nicholls on the line for you?" Tracy told her.

  "Shit, I forgot to ring her, give me thirty seconds then put her through, will you?"

  "Will do, ma'am."

  "Hi, Jade, sorry but … I've got to go — there's a really important call waiting for me."

  "It's only important if it's to do with work, isn't it, Lorne? Well, family is just as important, you know."

  Lorne said a quiet goodbye and picked up her office phone.

  "Doreen hello, how are you?"

  "Bearing up, dear. Any news for me?" The older woman sounded weary.

  "The response from the appeal has been phenomenal, but it will take us a few days to plough through all the leads. Is Colleen still with you?"

  "She's just popped out for some groceries, I don't keep much in the larder nowadays you see, can't afford to. Oliver came to see us last night."

  "The conference and trip to the mortuary was a daunting experience for him. How's he holding up?"

  Lorne heard the woman's front doorbell chime in the background.

  "Just a minute, dear, that'll be Colleen. She'll have forgotten her key."

  The phone clattered onto the table and Lorne heard Doreen shuffle away from the phone.

  Muffled voices filled the earpiece and Lorne busied herself with some papers.

  The woman's piercing scream sent a chill rushing through her.

  "Doreen…Doreen are you there?" Lorne shouted down the phone.

  She heard a man yelling, then several thuds as if something or someone was being struck, and Doreen's pitiful cries for help. Followed by three more heart-wrenching screams.

  "Pete, get in here, now," Lorne screeched, cupping her hand over the phone.

  Seconds later Pete rushed into the office.

  "What's up?"

  "Get the nearest Panda car over to Doreen's immediately, she's being attacked. Go, do it, now!" Please God, keep her safe until we get there.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lorne felt sick to her stomach. Then there was silence. No more begging. No more tormented screams. Nothing. Realisation hit home — she'd heard Doreen's last pitiful moments on this earth.

  "They're on their way, ETA five minutes, they
reckon," Pete said, as he returned to her office.

  Lorne dropped the phone and threw herself into her chair, shaking her head slowly she whispered, "It's too late, Pete. I'm sure she's dead."

  "Shit and you heard the whole damn thing?"

  "Every last fucking torturous detail."

  "Are you okay?"

  "I'll be all right. We better get over there."

  It was obvious that, despite Pete's warning, Lorne had broken all the ground rules and become emotionally involved with Doreen Nicholls. It was something she had never experienced before. She would have to dig deep into her resolve, and quickly. They had a killer to catch. Come on girl, pull yourself together, quick smart.

  "We'll go over there all right, but I'll drive and we go in my car."

  "Yeah whatever, I'm in no mood to argue with you. As long as we get there in one piece, I really couldn't give a shit who drives."

  "I'll bring the car round, see you outside."

  She took three deep calming breaths and pronounced herself ready for action. "Let's get this over with," she said, shaking her arms out in front of her. She headed for the entrance and jumped into the 'Sherman tank' a few minutes later.

  "What the fuck happened? What did you hear?" her partner shouted above the noisy engine.

  "Doreen was asking me —"

  "You'll have to speak up, boss, you're mumbling."

  "I am not. It's this pathetic heap of yours. Are you sure you didn't get it out of a war museum. I'm sure I've seen it in an old Pathé News clip."

  "Ha bloody ha. You were saying?"

  "I was saying that Doreen was asking me how the investigation was going, when her doorbell rang."

  "But her place is as secure as the Tower of London. How on earth did the bastard manage to get past three bolts and a security chain?"

  "She thought Colleen might have forgotten her key, she'd just popped out to do some shopping. I suppose Doreen forgot to put the chain back on after she left. I heard the front door burst open, it banged against the wall — the force probably knocked her off balance."

  "I better put my foot down. We don't want Colleen finding her mother like that."

  Pete managed to reach sixty on the speedometer before the car started to violently shudder. Lorne clung to the passenger seat as if her life depended on it. She was far from amused.

  "Jesus, Pete, this piece of shit belongs in a scrapyard. Slow down, will you, unless you're planning to beat Doreen to the mortuary."

  He eased the car back to forty and they continued the rest of the journey in silence.

  "You stay here for a few minutes. I want to see Doreen by myself," she said, as they walked up the path of the dead woman's house.

  Two uniformed police were standing guard outside the front door.

  "I don't think that's a good idea, boss."

  "It wasn't a request, Pete."

  "Make sure you don't disturb anything, boss," he called after her.

  "Pete," she warned.

  The entrance hall was like a scene from a macabre low budget film set, only this was no movie. Doreen was lying in a pool of blood, one hand over her chest, the other above her head. Her neck looked as though it was broken. Her face was unrecognisable; her left cheekbone was protruding through her skin. Blood spattered the walls, the floor, the furniture even the ceiling.

  Lorne walked gingerly past Doreen's battered body, avoiding the bloodstains on the carpet. Pulling on the new pair of latex gloves she'd taken from her handbag, she walked over to the hall table and put the phone back in its cradle, putting an end to the high-pitch tone hindering her concentration. At the back of the phone she noticed a couple of unpaid bills, a business card for a taxi firm—Doreen obviously used it as she didn't have a car — and the woman's post office savings book. Surely, if the suspect's intention had been to rob, wouldn't he have taken her savings book with him?

  Returning to the body, she systematically ran her eyes over the lifeless frame. She swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat and noticed the old woman's knickers had been pulled down to her ankles. Bending down she raised the hem of the woman's woollen A-line skirt and was sickened by what she saw.

  Jesus Christ what kind of sick piece of shit are we dealing with?

  There, between the woman's legs was a hand broom, the handle of which had been impaled in her vagina.

  A woman's scream halted any further assessment.

  Shit, Colleen.

  Rushing from the house she found Pete trying his best to restrain the sobbing woman, whose numerous bags of shopping lay scattered at their feet.

  Pete stood back as Lorne grabbed Colleen by the shoulders.

  "I'm so sorry, Colleen, we got here as soon as we could but it was too late to save her."

  "You mean … She's dead?"

  Lorne nodded slowly and the woman fell to her knees, taking Lorne with her. Colleen screamed, shouted and finally sobbed as Lorne held her tight, fighting to control her own tears.

  One of Doreen's neighbours came over and offered to make Colleen a cup of tea and once Lorne had settled Colleen at her mum's neighbour's house, she rang the devastated woman's husband at work.

  The forensic team arrived a couple of minutes later, Arnaud was with them.

  "I see that protecting the sister wasn't high up on your list of priorities, Detective Inspector Simpkins," Arnaud said, when she arrived back at the crime scene.

  Lorne found his observation offensive and it was hard to resist the temptation to swipe the smug grin off his face. Forget it Lorne, he's not worth it. "For your information, Dr, it's not the force's policy to protect the family members of a homicide victim. If we did, we wouldn't have enough officers to catch the bastards who carry out crimes like this, would we?"

  He grunted a response and proceeded with his examination, while Lorne stepped outside to find Pete.

  "Did the guys see anything when they arrived?"

  "When they got here the door was wide open and Doreen was already dead."

  "They didn't go in the house, did they?"

  "No, they said it was obvious she was dead and thought it best not to tamper with anything, unlike some I could mention."

  "All right, Pete, you've made your point. Her neck was broken and he knocked seven bells of shit out of her. Look, Colleen's husband is on the way. In the meantime, I suggest we knock on a few doors — see if anyone heard or saw anything."

  "They're retirement bungalows so we might be lucky. I'll take the houses on this side of the road if you like."

  Five minutes later, a car screeched to a halt outside Doreen's house. A man in a suit slammed the driver's door shut and headed up the path, but the two officers stood their ground and refused him entry.

  Lorne guessed who the visitor was. "Mr Shaw?"

  The man looked disorientated as he turned. "That's right, where's my wife?" His hair stood on end as though he had been running his hands through it, and his pink striped tie hung low around his neck.

  "I'll take you to her."

  "What the hell happened?" he demanded, as he followed Lorne to the neighbour's bungalow.

  "We're not sure. We'll know more after the post-mortem."

  "Why? Why did this happen? Why wasn't she protected after what happened to Belinda?"

  "We had no reason to suspect she was in danger. As far as we were concerned Belinda's murder was a one-off, a random killing."

  "I'm not trying to tell you your job, Inspector, but I think that assumption can be put to bed now, don't you?"

  "I'll need to ask you and Colleen some questions. When do you think you'll both be up to it?"

  "How long does grief usually take to get over, Inspector, a year maybe two?"

  "I know this isn't easy, Mr Shaw, but please don't make our job any harder than it has to be. The sooner we talk, the quicker we can catch the one who did this."

  "It would be better if we left the interrogation until tomorrow, providing of course that Colleen is up to it then," he sna
pped.

  "I'll give you a call in the morning."

  "You do that, Inspector."