Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one))

by Comley, Mel; Tirraoro, Tania

  Lorne walked back to Pete's car, a feeling of helplessness draped around her aching shoulders. Should she have protected Doreen more? In the last half an hour two people had told her she should have. Guilt replaced the helplessness as she mentally pictured the fear Doreen must have experienced during the attack.

  "I take it the husband didn't take it too well then?" Pete asked as he returned to the car and stood alongside her.

  "He blames me."

  "For what?"

  "He has a point. I should have asked uniform to check on the area every half hour. It would have served as a deterrent."

  "You're being hard on yourself. Can we start looking in Oliver's direction now?"

  "Why are you so damn suspicious of him, Pete?"

  "You know what they say, before looking at the outlaws you have to look at the in-laws."

  "Do you take pleasure in repeating yourself?"

  "No, but you have to admit it makes sense, boss. At least seventy per cent of homicides are committed by friends or relatives of a victim."

  He had a point, although he would have to come up with an astonishing motive before she suspected Oliver of not only murdering his own mother, but his aunt too.

  "Do me a favour, Pete, ask the Doc when the PM is likely to be. I don't think I could face any more of his odious comments at the moment."

  She had belted herself into his tank by the time he returned. "He reckons he's gonna be another three or four hours here. Says he's found quite a lot of trace evidence already. Looks like another late night down at the mortuary."

  "Let's get back to base, see what progress the team has made."

  "Did the neighbours come up with anything?" Pete asked.

  "The old man at number seven saw a man approaching Doreen's door, but he didn't get a good look at him. He'd heard her nephew was in town and presumed he was paying her a visit."

  "Perhaps it was. How come he didn't mention it to the boys in blue?" Pete replied.

  "Because he couldn't give any details, didn't even notice what colour his hair was."

  "Great, he eyeballs a fucking murderer and can't give us jackshit. What hope have we got of finding the creep?"

  "It's called old age."

  "Promise me one thing, boss?"

  "What's that, Pete?"

  "That you'll shoot me if I ever lose my marbles like that."

  She nodded her agreement.

  The chief was waiting for them when they entered the incident room. The phones were quieter than when they'd left.

  "Lorne, Pete, where are we up to?" the chief asked, perching on the edge of Pete's desk.

  "We think Doreen was killed by the same person. Looks like the same modus operandi."

  "Any witnesses?"

  "Nothing worth chasing. Doctor Arnaud says his team have found quite a lot of trace evidence at the scene, which looks promising."

  "Do you have any suspects?" the chief asked.

  "I reckon we should start digging deep into the son's background," Pete piped up before Lorne had a chance to reply.

  "Why's that, Pete?"

  "There's something about him that don't quite ring true, Chief."

  "Are you of the same opinion, Lorne?"

  "No, I'm afraid Pete's on his own with that one."

  "If suspects are thin on the ground, I'm afraid I'm with Pete, you should start looking at the son. What about her will? Do we know who she left her money to? If the son was the sole beneficiary it could be a motive. I'll leave it with you, keep me informed." He left the room looking worried, his shoulders slumped as if he had a colossal weight on them.

  Lorne watched him go with an odd ache in her heart. Then she slowly turned back to Pete and gave him a thunderous look. "Don't think you just got the better of me, Pete Childs. I'm neither in the mood nor the right frame of mind to argue with you at the moment. Get in touch with Belinda's solicitor. Delve into Oliver's personal and working life."

  While Pete began his mission, Lorne set out on one of her own. Beginning with Tracy she made her way round her team, gathering any snippets of information they had collected while she'd been out.

  "Can I have a quick word, ma'am?" Tracy asked.

  "Sure, what's up?" she smiled reassuringly at the young woman she regarded as her protégée.

  "I received a letter from Head Office this morning."

  "You did, did you? Well, tell me more." Lorne pulled up a chair and positioned it next to Tracy's desk.

  "They're encouraging new recruits to enrol in a forensic course they're introducing."

  "Sounds intriguing, what's involved?"

  "It would mean losing me from the office for one day a week, a total of eight weeks." Tracy winced and waited, as though expecting Lorne to explode.

  "I don't see a problem with that. Perhaps you could make notes and fill the rest of us in when you get back. Forensics is a vital part of the investigation process nowadays — it's hard to keep up with all the new procedures. Will you be attending a post-mortem?"

  "Unfortunately not."

  "So what will the course entail?"

  "Each week a different specialist will be giving a talk. We'll be looking at ballistics, scene analysis, fingerprinting, toxicology, things like that."

  Lorne could see the enthusiasm in her eyes and would've found it hard to deny Tracy the opportunity, even if she hadn't already given her the go ahead to attend the course.

  "You could give me a few pointers on the poison front, it might come in handy for a couple of members of staff," she whispered straight-faced, but when the younger woman's mouth flew open and her eyes nearly burst free of their sockets, Lorne laughed. "It was a joke, Tracy. Guess you haven't been privy to my 'wicked' sense of humour yet. Mind you if you've been listening to Pete, he'll tell you I had a humour transplant years ago."

  The pair laughed and the rest of the team looked their way.

  "Keep them guessing," Lorne whispered behind her hand as she went on to the next member of her team.

  A short time later, Lorne had jotted down all the relevant information they had gathered and transferred it to the notice board. Ten different vehicles, three men that no one could put a name to, clues were agonisingly thin on the ground.

  Maybe Pete had a point about Oliver, after all?

  Chapter Sixteen

  The man burst through his front door and shut out the crazy world behind him. His clothes were spattered with blood and his neck covered in scratches. Leaning against the front door, he panted breathlessly as he waited for his heart rate to return to normal.

  Banging noises and cries for help echoed through the house. He raised his eyes to the ceiling when he realised the soundproofing in the cellar would need his attention, sooner rather than later.

  "Well, how did it go?" The woman rushed towards him.

  "I got her, this time. She won't be hurting anyone else again."

  "I've had a hell of a time with that one down there."

  "I'll get rid of her after I've had some dinner, I promise." The man smiled down at the woman, hugged her lovingly then kissed her on the forehead.

  "I've made your favourite, roast lamb — it'll be ready in ten minutes. Why don't you get cleaned up and we'll open a bottle of wine to celebrate?"

  Incessant crying spoilt their meal.

  "Damn it, I've had enough of her!"

  While the woman took their dirty dishes to the kitchen, he tore back the rug and angrily ripped open the trap door. The girl stopped crying instantly. He climbed down the rickety ladder and watched her tremble as he approached.

  "Please, please not again. I promise to be quiet. Please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to laugh at you."

  "Ah, but you did, didn't you? You'll be free soon," he assured her.

  The girl had been stuck in the hellhole for two solid days. Numerous creatures had scurried past her in the dark and she hadn't been given a drop of water or food since she'd been captured. Her strength was dwindling fast. Her skin crawled as his eyes surv
eyed her naked flesh. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hiding her nakedness from his intimidating gaze.

  She sobbed again, and he towered over her like a vulture ready to swoop. He bent down beside her, stroked her hair as if she was his pet dog, then his hand began its vile journey. Starting on her cheek, his fingers outlined her lips, down past her throat, lingering torturously on her arm before finally caressing her shapely thigh. "Ssh there, there, it's all right."

  As he reached to undo his belt she screamed…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Doreen Nicholls' post-mortem drew to a close at one in the morning.

  "Therefore, I conclude that the cause of death was due to a fatal blow to the head," Arnaud said, before turning off his recorder.

  "Poor Doreen." Lorne watched Bones stitch up the Y-section to the woman's lifeless body. It was hard to find a reason why someone would despise Doreen so much as to want her dead. As post-mortems went, this had been her toughest yet. But she'd insisted she needed to be involved, feeling she owed the dead woman that much.

  "Poor Doreen, indeed. Even though she had a bad heart and was still very weak from her recent operation, she still managed to summon up enough strength to put up a fight for her life, the defence wounds across her hands and arms tell us that."

  "She had an angina attack when I told her about her sister's death."

  "I'm not surprised, she had a condition known as arteriosclerosis." Lorne frowned, so Arnaud explained, "Which basically means the flow of blood through the coronary arteries is restricted, the result is a shortage of oxygen travelling to the heart muscle. In my opinion, it was at an advanced stage, her life would have been shortened considerably by the condition."

  The doctor sounded surprisingly emotional. Is this his way of showing me he has compassion?

  "It'll be of little consolation to her family. But it may ease their pain a little knowing she didn't have long to live, anyway. When will the forensic results be back, Doctor?"

  "Twenty-four maybe forty-eight hours as it's the weekend, for some of us at least. I will let you know. We found several hairs and fibres on the body, a piece of dirt, possibly from the offender's shoe, skin under her fingernails and a few fingerprints on the broom. The killer was very sloppy this time. He even managed to leave a bloody shoe print on the doorstep. Perhaps distant sirens scared him off. It's a shame your colleagues weren't a little nearer when you called for their assistance."

  "She lives on the outskirts of town, in a small village. The closest squad car was on another call at the time," she said, sharply, sticking up for her colleagues.

  "Never mind, the deed is done now. I'll wait to hear from you."

  Lorne left the mortuary alone. The frosty night air caught her off-guard and she pulled her jacket tight around her already chilled body. Pete had insisted he would accompany her to the post-mortem, but she had ordered him to go home and get some rest. She suspected the days ahead of them would be long and laborious, it was pointless both of them being dead on their feet.

  Chapter Eighteen

  That Sunday, Lorne and Pete were the only ones in the office. She went over the findings of the post-mortem with him and asked how far he'd got with his quest to nail Oliver as their prime suspect.

  "Bearing in mind that it was Saturday yesterday, I reckon I did well. I tracked down Belinda's solicitor at about five o'clock. He was on the golf course at High Wycombe, not too happy about being disturbed I can tell you." He paused to take a sip of coffee. "Anyway, after his initial unwillingness to co-operate, and with a little friendly persuasion from yours truly, he finally came up trumps."

  "In what way?" Lorne knew how much Pete liked to make a mountain out of the tiniest molehill.

  A cocky tone slipped into his voice as he said, "Well, guess who the main beneficiary of Belinda Greenaway's will is?"

  "Stop building your part up, Pete, just give me the damn facts."

  "Touchy this morning ain't we? Anyway, Mr Franklyn-Lewis, Belinda's solicitor, told me that ninety per cent of her money was heading in Doreen's direction."

  "Really, and what do you glean from this snippet of information?" she said, raising an expectant eyebrow.

  "Actually, I glean quite a lot from what he said. Especially as he went on to tell me she changed her will a couple of months ago because she'd fallen out with her son." He finished reading from his notebook and triumphantly threw it on the desk between them.

  "Did he say why?" Lorne sat forward in her chair as the implications behind these new findings sank in.

  "Nope, all she would tell him was that it was a personal matter, one she didn't wish to discuss."

  "It nearly chokes me to admit this, but I think you might have stumbled onto something significant."

  "I told you, boss, he's shifty and I don't need any goddamn women's intuition to tell me that either."

  "Hang on a minute, before you get too smug. If Belinda's money was on its way to Doreen, what happens now?"

  "I'm not with you?"

  "Well, wouldn't Doreen's money go to her own daughter, Colleen?"

  "I guess so." He shrugged.

  "So why in God's name would Oliver kill his aunt?"

  "Because he's not as clever as he looks. Maybe his next victim is going to be his cousin." Pete's eyes beamed.

  "Nope, sorry, Pete, I don't buy it. He seems a pretty shrewd individual to me. There's another matter we should be considering here, too."

  "What's that?" His brow crinkled.

  "The sexual aspect of the case. Would he subject family members to that kind of sick behaviour?"

  "I beg to differ with you on that one. There are some sick folks out there. Anyway, I ain't finished yet. I also got in touch with his firm, Callick Oil and they told me things haven't been going too well for him over the last two or three years."

  "Meaning?"

  "Apparently, he's lost the company millions. He promised to bring in more business if and when he got promotion, but instead he lost them a few lucrative contracts."

  "I thought Oliver came up squeaky clean when we did the initial checks on him?" Lorne searched through the case file.

  "Depends who's asking the questions," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "Let's just say my charm works wonders on occasions."

  "You're a good cop, Pete, a bit highly strung and lacking in foresight at times. But basically, I wouldn't be without you." Her smile broadened as she noticed the colour rising in his chubby cheeks.

  "Aw, give it a rest, boss. Like you're always telling me, we make a good team."

  "I'll drink to that," she said. They raised their coffee cups and clinked them together.

  "Don't you find it strange, though?" Pete asked as he settled back in his chair.

  "What are you talking about now?"

  "If your aunt had just been murdered right after your mother, wouldn't you be down the cop shop straight away, demanding what the hell was going on?"

  "I'd be there before the ink had time to dry in the attending officer's notebook. Do we know where he's staying?"

  "I'll have to check, but I think it's the Deerfellow Hotel in town?"

  "You check while I tidy up here. I think it's time we paid Oliver Greenaway a little visit."

  "Yes, ma'am." Pete hurried out the door like a man on a mission.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The receptionist at the swanky four star Deerfellow Hotel informed them Mr Greenaway had checked out at ten that morning.

  With their suspicions heightened that their prime suspect had left town, Lorne and Pete decided to pay Colleen a visit. Maybe she'd be able to shed some light on what they had discovered about Belinda's will.

  "How could you think such a thing? Oliver loved his mother and he always visited my mum whenever he was in town." Colleen nervously twisted a tissue in a figure of eight around her fingers.

  "Some details have come to our attention that makes us suspect all's not well with your cousin. Has anything strange happened over the last
few months, anything at all?" Lorne asked.

  "I'm trying to think. At the back of my mind there is something I found strange, give me a few moments and I'm sure it'll come to me. My mind's all jumbled up because of what happened to Mum, I've got to go to the mortuary today. Don's coming with me." She smiled at her husband as he entered the room carrying a tray holding four mugs of coffee.