"Does he have a drink problem?"
"Only after an argument. He thinks it solves his problems."
"And does it?"
"I wouldn't know, I'm not around him that much. He's just feeling sorry for himself and chose to take it out on me. Don't worry, I have broad shoulders. It'll blow over, it usually does."
"You shouldn't have to put up with that. Does he know how demanding your job is?"
"That's the problem. The job, I mean. Because I accepted promotion I spend less time at home with him and Charlie. I think the crux of the matter is that he feels isolated. He spends every waking minute of the day at home. He gave up work years ago and now it's proving impossible for him to find a job. It was his decision to become a house-husband. My workload won't allow me the time to sort things out at the moment. He'll be fine when I get home tonight, I'm sure."
"I might speak out of turn here but to me he sounds selfish. Especially when it was his decision to give up work."
"That's right, but look at it from his point of view, you'd go mad if you were confined to four walls most of the day, cleaning up after two women."
"I'm afraid, ma cherie, I wouldn't have allowed myself to get into such a position in the first place. I repeat it was his choice. I have plenty of married friends where the wife is at home all day. They appear to survive better than your husband does. Life is after all what you make it. Tell him to get a hobby or do some decorating if he's that bored."
It was pointless making excuses for Tom to a person she barely knew herself. She quickly changed the subject. "Was it a big pile-up?"
"Sorry, I don't understand?"
"Last night. Was the motorway pile-up a big one, many fatalities?"
"Ah, the typical swift change of subject. I thought you were better than that, Inspector?"
Lorne noticed how hurt he looked and wondered why he would be interested in her dull marriage. Or does he take pleasure in hearing about my husband's inadequacies?
"It's a sore subject that's all, Jacques. If you want me to start blubbering like a child then fine, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not let my sergeant see me with my defences down."
Before he could answer she was relieved to hear Pete's heavy footsteps trotting up the corridor.
"Here it is." Pete held the crowbar in his outstretched arm. Lorne blew out a frustrated breath as she went to fetch it.
Jacques' hand brushed against hers as he took it from her. Their eyes met, his sparkled with amusement.
"If this matches then we better start taking our psychic Miss Lorde seriously," Lorne said. Jacques raised an eyebrow, she explained, "She thought the weapon was a bar with a hook and a point."
"It's a perfect match. I'll compare the other cases after I have finished the post-mortem. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the right ear is missing, I think we can assume it will reappear shortly through the post."
Jacques completed the post-mortem by ten-thirty, giving Pete and Lorne thirty minutes to get to the funeral.
Chapter Thirty-Five
A van making a delivery to Sam's electrical store blocked the shortcut they wanted to take up Miller Street. Lorne tooted her horn and the driver rudely aimed a V-sign at the car. Pete pulled the door-handle but Lorne managed to restrain him. In the end, she was forced to back up and go the long way round. They arrived at the church with only minutes to spare.
A large crowd was winding their way up the path to the entrance of the church. Oliver was just inside the door on the left, welcoming mourners acquainted with his mother. The upper class were well represented amongst Belinda's friends. On the right, Colleen and her husband were greeting people paying their respects to Doreen. The pews on the left were already full, a stark contrast to those on the right — a reflection of the divide there'd been in the two women's lives.
Oliver smiled at Lorne and Pete as they approached.
"Nice of you to come, Inspector, Sergeant." Oliver greeted them with a firm handshake. "A place has been saved for you at the back." He pointed to a pew on the 'posh' side of the church.
"Thanks, Oliver, we'll talk later."
Once they were seated Lorne and Pete started people-watching. "Those two look totally out of place," Pete whispered. He nodded his head in the direction of a couple in their fifties, sitting in the second row at the front.
"They must be the Halls. Keep an eye on them we'll have a word with them after the service."
It was obvious who Pete was referring to as Mrs Hall was the only woman on the 'posh' side not wearing a hat. The other women in the congregation looked as if they were trying to win first prize on Ladies' Day at Ascot.
During the service, friends of each twin read several touching eulogies before Oliver stood to make his speech. After thanking everyone for coming, he turned his attention to the investigation. Lorne thought he was about to slag off the police for not coming up with any significant clues yet, but to her surprise he praised her team for doing their best with their enquiries. He finished his speech with a plea from the heart, urging all those gathered to help the police find the culprit who'd killed his relatives and bring them to justice.
Lorne even spotted Pete wiping away a small tear when the coffins were lowered into the family plot alongside Oliver's father.
"Mr and Mrs Hall, can we have a quick word?" The pair clung to each other as the detectives walked towards them.
"Who are you?" Mr Hall demanded defensively.
Lorne flashed her ID. "We'd like a few words about your roles within the Greenaways' household, if you don't mind?"
"I see. I told a colleague of yours we don't know anything about Mrs Greenaway's murder," Mr Hall said, throwing a protective arm around his wife's shoulder.
"Yes, but you neglected to tell her you'd had problems with a previous employer, didn't you, Mr Hall?" Pete said.
"Can we talk about this somewhere else?" the man said, nervously glancing around.
Lorne nodded and the couple followed the detectives to their car.
"So?" Pete asked.
"We were forced to leave our previous employers because Mrs Mountbatten, the lady of the house, became neurotic. She was prescribed some new tablets for her nerves and her mind started to play tricks on her. Her husband was an explorer and went away on expeditions for months at a time."
"What sort of things did she start imagining?" Lorne watched the colour drain from Mrs Hall's gaunt face.
"It was a large house and one night, just after midnight, we'd gone to bed hadn't, we love?" The woman nodded but her eyes remained lowered and focused on her lap. "Mrs Mountbatten thought there was an intruder in the grounds. She'd seen a shadow from her bedroom window. I went outside to take a look, but couldn't find anything. A couple of Dobermans roam the grounds so if there'd been an intruder they'd have let us know. The dogs didn't even stir."
"What happened next?"
"When I went back inside she offered me a glass of whisky, which I gladly took, it was a cold, frosty night in December. She was a bit agitated about something and told me she and her husband were experiencing … difficulties in the bedroom."
He gulped then went on with his story. "Well, she started coming on to me. Playing with the hair on my chest, that kind of thing. I was uncomfortable and told her to stop, she took it as a come-on and started tearing at my dressing gown, trying to remove it. That's when Margaret came into the room. I think her scream startled Mrs Mountbatten and she tried to make out that I was coming on to her. It was a lie and I told her so. She was ashamed, although she wouldn't admit it and ordered us out of her house. We left the next morning, we told the agency straight away, they queried it with the woman and called her bluff. They told her that if she wanted to press charges she would have to do it within seven days. She refused to get the police involved and the agency took that to mean she'd been lying and that we were telling the truth. That's why they kept us on their books. Then the Greenaway job came up and we've worked there for over ten years. With no bother, I
hasten to add."
"That must've been an awkward time for you both." Lorne suspected Mr Hall was telling the truth so her questioning went in another direction. "I wonder did Mrs Greenaway ever receive any strange phone calls or suspicious visitors that you can remember?"
"Not that I can recall. She was a nice lady, never uttered a bad word about anyone. Why would anyone want to kill a woman like that or her twin sister? They must be sick."
"That's what we intend to find out. Have you found another job yet?"
"The agency told us yesterday they've got another post for us, it's about ten miles from here. We start next week." The man sounded relieved as he squeezed his wife's shoulder. Mrs Hall rested her head on her husband's chest and smiled at Lorne for the first time during their conversation.
"Keep us informed of your new address, won't you? You may be called as witnesses if, and when we catch the killer."
The couple left the car. "They seem a nice couple," Lorne said, watching them walk away.
"I'll have to admit they do. They're damn lucky the agency stood by them, usually when toffs talk people generally listen."
"Come on, I'll stop at the baker's in town and treat you to a baguette, and a cream cake."
His eyes lit up. "Thought you were putting me on a diet?"
"Well, I need cheering up and a chocolate éclair usually hits the right spot. What sort of boss would I be if I didn't get you one as well?"
The clock on the nearby church struck one as they arrived back at the station. Lorne noticed a note lying on her desk when she walked into her office. It was from the psychic, Carol Lorde, it read: Inspector, forgive me. Ring me if I can be of any further help with the case? The women ended the note with her phone number.
"What's that?" Pete entered the room with two cups of coffee. He kicked the door shut behind him.
"A note from Carol Lorde. I must give her a ring after lunch to see how she is."
"It galls me to admit it, but she was bang on with what she told us, a rabbit and a hat come to mind."
"Actually, I reckon she pulled the whole cast of Watership Down out of it. She was amazing. Don't tell me you've changed your mind about Mediums?"
"Small, medium or large, it would take a darn sight more than that to alter my views entirely."
"Ever the cynic, Pete. I think we should continue hunting down the rest of the drivers this afternoon."
"Fine by me. I'll pull the file after lunch."
There was a knock at the door.
"Sorry to disturb your lunch, ma'am. The chief would like to see you ASAP," Tracy said.
"Thanks, Tracy, how far did you get with the list of sex offenders?"
"About a third of the way through the list. Looks like the word has got around though. Every time we knock on a door, the bloke seems to be expecting us. We're checking through some alibis, but so far they're coming up smelling of summer blooms rather than shit. We'll keep on the trail until it goes cold."
"Keep me informed. By the way, tell Molly we've questioned the Halls and I'm satisfied we can scrub them off the list, too."
Lorne took a bite out of her éclair as she rang Carol Lorde. "Hi, Carol, sorry we had to run off the way we did. How are you feeling?"
"Inspector, how nice of you to call. Please tell me what you found?"
"I have some bad news. We found the woman we were after. Unfortunately, we couldn't save her. Carol, I was wondering if you've ever helped the police out on an investigation before?"
"No, never. I haven't had my skills for that long, you see. I was involved in a near fatal car crash about three years ago. That's when I got the calling from God. When I was lying in my hospital bed I saw a bright light, at one point I was levitating over my body. Obviously it wasn't my time to go because I was sent back. After that I discovered my gift."
"Were you religious before the accident?" The psychic's tale fascinated Lorne.
"Not in the slightest." She laughed softly. "Never stepped foot in a church, apart from the odd wedding and funeral that is. They give me the creeps. It would mean a great deal for me to help on the investigation, especially as I'm having these visions. It would be good to make sense of them, Inspector."
"I'll have to find out what the correct procedures are, obviously there's the matter of confidentiality to consider. The last thing we want or need is the media knowing details about the cases. It would be far too upsetting for the families of the victims. Give me a couple of days to do some digging and I'll get back to you. Saying that, if you have another vision in the meantime please contact me or a member of my team straight away."
"I will. Please pass on my condolences to the family of the victim. And sorry I wasn't able to help sooner."
"I'll be in touch."
"Christ, I hope the new chief is okay with that." Pete shoved the last mouthful of cake in his mouth and swilled it down with a swig of strong coffee.
"That reminds me, I've been summoned by the old one." She brushed the crumbs off her face and lap, tided her hair then set off.
She heard the mumble of voices coming from the chief's office as she approached. His secretary opened the door to announce her.
"Ah, here she is. Lorne come in, join us. I'd like you to meet your new Chief Inspector…"
The chief continued talking but his words drifted past her. Lorne's mouth fell open. The man rose from his seat, his athletic frame blocking out the light filtering through the chief's window. His jet-black hair had wisps of grey running through it. His suit was obviously designer, proof if any were needed how far he had climbed up the police ladder.
As he stretched out his hand to shake hers she caught a glimpse of his immaculate white cuffs, fastened with gold cuff-links that glinted in the glare from the overhead light.
She felt anchored to the spot. Her reaction amused him, evident in the twinkle of his smoky-grey eyes. He cleared his throat and she glanced down at his outstretched hand. Lorne wiped her sweaty palm down the front of her skirt before slotting her hand into his. He squeezed it, crushing her fingers so they overlapped. He smirked, but she was determined not to wince or cry out in pain.
"…Sean will be taking over from me on Monday. Sorry, do you two know each other?" the chief asked, watching the sparks fly between them.
"Let's just say our paths have crossed once or twice before, haven't they, Lorne?" He winked and an ominous shiver shot up her spine.
She was relieved when he didn't let on to the chief just how well acquainted they'd been in the past. "It's been a while, Sean," she said.
"Ah, times have certainly moved on, I'm afraid you'll have to call me boss, or Chief Inspector now, Lorne. It's a little less familiar, don't you agree?" His smirk deepened as her cheeks turned pink.
"Of course. I won't make the same mistake twice."
"We've just been discussing you, Lorne," the chief said, as they all sat down.
Lorne focused on her current chief and raised an eyebrow. "You have?"
"Yes, I've been filling Sean in on your latest case. Told him how the killer has been contacting you and that you believe he's watching you. We've decided it'd be best if you took the weekend off. Have some 'R&R' and then start afresh on Monday. Let's be fair, it's been a while since you had any time off, you'd certainly benefit from it. What do you think?"
"With respect, sir, I think I'd rather stay on the case over the weekend. Try and catch the killer before he targets someone else. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that'd be extremely difficult to achieve if I'm sat on my backside at home."
Roberts broke in before his counterpart could speak. "I'm afraid it isn't open to discussion, Lorne. I need my best DI in top form when I take over on Monday. I heard on the grapevine that you did an excellent job on the Gripper Jones case. When did you last have a day off?"
"I can't remember." Lorne's heart raced in annoyance.
"I'm sure, Tom, is it? Would be happy to spend a weekend with you for a change." His eyes challenged and Lorne's gaze dropped to the
floor. How dare he mention Tom's name!
A forgotten hatred she'd successfully kept buried for the last thirteen years bubbled to the surface. Was this Sean's chance to get revenge? Was he about to make her life a misery, the way she and Tom had once made his? She could feel the thumbscrews turning already. Maybe she should throw in the towel now, before she gave Sean the opportunity of sacking her?
"When you know me better, chief, you'll realise I'm a workaholic. I tend to do my best police work when I'm under pressure. Tom accepts my career comes first," she said, trying to disguise her temper.
"I've heard all I need to hear about you, Lorne. I've followed your career closely over the years. I insist you take the weekend off to replenish your resources, then we can tackle the case on Monday, together."
Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one)) Page 20
