Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one))

by Comley, Mel; Tirraoro, Tania

  Lorne backed down, realising it would be pointless to argue further.

  "I know when I'm outnumbered. You win. I'll knock off at five tomorrow and return for duty at eight on Monday morning." She exhaled a deep, irritated, breath and got to her feet.

  Roberts' voice followed her to the door. "Have a long weekend, Inspector. Finish at five tonight and report back at nine on Monday, not eight. I look forward to working with you, Inspector."

  She was seething but determined not to show it. Turning, she smiled at the man who'd been her mentor over the years. "Are you having a farewell drink, sir?"

  "I'll come back after you've solved the case I know that won't be long. Take care, Lorne, regards to Tom and Charlie." His smile was full of regret. Is he sad he's going or guilty about leaving me in Sean's tyrannical hands? It was an absurd thought because he didn't have a clue what Sean was like, but she did. She knew Sean Roberts very well, unfortunately.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Lorne slammed the door to her office behind her. Pete entered moments later and found her sitting at the desk, her head buried in her hands.

  "What's up?" he asked, dropping into the chair opposite.

  "I need time to cool down, Pete, if you don't mind." She picked up some files, stomped over to the filing-cabinet, thrust the files away and closed the drawer with a force that made the cabinet rock.

  "I take it all this aggression is because you just met the new chief?"

  "How do you know that? Have you been spying on me, too?"

  "Don't take it out on me, boss. Hey, Molly and Tracy are in a right dither over him. Told me he's really good-looking. I can see Mitch's nose being put out of joint."

  Her frustration grew. "You know what they say — never judge a book … I've got to get out of this place. Come on, grab the taxi drivers file. I'll just nip to the ladies' and meet you at the car."

  * * *

  "Are you stupid? Why take unnecessary risks? You were an idiot to burn the body in daylight like that, do you want to get caught?" The woman shuffled her feet nervously.

  "I wanted to show that Inspector I was angry with her. I'm sick of her not taking me seriously." The man rifled through the newspaper, agitated he couldn't find the story about him and his handiwork.

  "She's just slow that's all. I'm sure she's taking you seriously, she'd be foolish not to."

  "Maybe we'll help things speed up a bit then, what do you say?"

  "How?" the woman asked.

  "I'm gonna snatch that Sedark woman in broad daylight. Let's see what Simpkins thinks of that. And if that doesn't work, we'll make the Inspector take us seriously."

  "She's bound to make the connection soon, take things easy."

  "I like playing with the woman." The corner of the man's mouth lifted.

  "And if she catches you, where will that leave me?"

  "I'll never leave you, love. A few more days and it'll be over. Then we'll get our lives back. Time to start afresh."

  The two hugged and the woman sighed contentedly as the man kissed her forehead.

  * * *

  "Who's first on the list?" Lorne's foul mood lingered.

  "Do you want to continue with the ones who were sent down on sexual assault charges or do you wanna start at the top?"

  "Sexual deviants first."

  "Tommy Adams. Lives ten minutes from here on Dune Street, another rough area."

  "Nice to see they stick to the same parts of town. Just like sewer rats, they seem to know their place."

  "Forty-nine, here it is, boss."

  The windows of the house were boarded-up and the front wall was crumbling. As they walked up the three steps to the door, Pete pointed to the drain-pipe coming away from the wall, probably because someone had climbed up it to reach the first-floor flat.

  A man in his mid-fifties, wearing a stained vest and jogging pants opened the door.

  "Yeah, what d'ya want?" He took a drag from his cigarette and spluttered as he inhaled.

  "We'd like to ask you a few questions about Kim Charlton." Lorne and Pete flashed their warrant cards.

  "Who? Don't know anyone by that name."

  The man tried to shut the door but Pete thrust his foot in the way. "Listen, buster, it's your choice — either you answer our questions here, or we do it down the cop shop. What's it to be?" Pete sneered, pushed the door back and burst into the hallway.

  "Hey, you can't come bursting in here like some maniac, I got rights."

  "Boss, have you got your cuffs handy? Guess we'll have to take this prick in after all."

  "What the … There's no need for that. I told ya I don't know any Kate Charlton."

  "Kim Charlton. Her name's Kim Charlton, she's a regular punter with your firm," Lorne corrected him. She looked over her shoulder at the small crowd gathering in the street.

  "I ain't never picked her up, I swear. Check with the friggin' firm, they'll tell ya."

  "Last Thursday, one of your colleagues was supposed to pick her up, he couldn't make it. Did you pick her up?"

  "What time last Thursday?"

  "Sometime between eleven and half-past, at night."

  "Nope, I was one of the drivers that was told to stay in town. We usually stay outside the Rose and Crown pub, they start kicking out early down there 'cos they've had a lot of problems with customers getting rowdy after hours."

  "How many of you were down there? Who were the others with you?" Lorne asked.

  "Let me see. Len was there and young Aiden," the man said, eyeing Pete warily.

  Lorne consulted her list and verified the names in full with Adams. "Len Dixon and Aiden Cole?"

  "That's them. I can vouch they were with me about that time."

  "Did any of them pick up a fare from the pub around then?" Pete asked.

  "Maybe, I can't be that definite."

  "But they could've?" Lorne asked, and the man nodded. "If they had, maybe one of the fares wanted to go near the girl's address. They might've dropped by and picked the girl up, is that possible?"

  "Not really. The boss tells us to drop off quick and get straight back to the pub."

  "Okay, thanks for your help, Mr Adams. If you remember anything else will you give me a ring?" Lorne handed him a business card, and she and Pete left.

  "Guess that just made the list smaller by three names." Pete grumbled to himself.

  "Who's next?" Lorne checked her watch. Four o'clock, one more visit then they'd call it a day. She had no intention of working a single minute past five, as instructed by her new boss.

  Fred Falconer was next on the list. He lived in a better suburb, and had a wife and two kids. He openly answered their questions in front of his wife. Lorne knew if he'd had anything to hide he wouldn't have done that. They headed back to the station.

  "It's time for me to knock off," Lorne told Pete as they pulled into the car park.

  "Huh, it's only five o'clock. You never knock off at five. You feeling okay, boss?"

  "Fine. I've been ordered to take a long weekend off. I won't be in again until Monday."

  "Hmmm … So that's why you've been grumpy all afternoon." Pete nodded his head slowly.

  "I have not," Lorne bit back.

  "Have too. What's going on? What's the story with you and the new chief then? Got a past together, have ya?"

  "Yes, Sean Roberts and I have come across each other before."

  "What's he like? You gonna tell me about him?"

  "No, I think it's best if you make your own mind up about him. He'll show his true colours soon enough, I'm confident of that."

  "You can be so bloody frustrating at times. What about the investigation?"

  "I'm leaving things in your capable hands."

  "Gee thanks. Does that mean I have to deal with Arnaud?"

  "Yup, you're the leading investigator, for the weekend at least. He's a softie once you get to know him."

  "I'll take your word on that. One thing's for sure, though, I don't intend spending the night with
him like you did, just to get in his good books."

  She refused to rise to the bait and issued him a warning glance. She could tell by Pete's face he knew he'd overstepped the mark.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  On her way home Lorne stopped at the local off-licence. Her mood had already improved since saying goodbye to her partner. During the drive she'd been thinking how she, Tom and Charlie could spend the weekend together. Maybe she'd take Charlie swimming or perhaps all three of them could go away on a spur of the moment camping trip. Hmm … wrong time of the year for that!

  The silence hit her as soon as she opened the front door. Maybe Tom had taken Charlie shopping or to the arcades as a treat, it wasn't as if he was expecting her home early. She wandered through to the kitchen and shivered at the coolness of the tiles on her bare feet. When she put the bottles of white wine in the fridge she noticed how bare it looked. That's strange, she thought, Tom always goes to the supermarket on Thursdays, complains the huge queues are hard to handle on a Friday.

  Opening the kitchen cupboards she found them nearly empty, too. What was he playing at?

  It wasn't until she placed the bottle of whisky she'd bought for Tom in its usual place that she spotted the note.

  Lorne, I've taken Charlie to Mum's for a few days. Maybe the break will do us good. It'll give us the time we need to reflect on our marriage. I need to consider if it's worth the time and trouble anymore! Don't bother ringing, I need to see if I miss you. At the moment I can't bear to be near you. I've told Charlie you're going away on a course for a couple of days, so she won't be expecting to hear from you either. Tom.

  He must be joking. This can't be happening. For God's sake Tom, don't abandon me now. Her hands trembled as she read the note five or six more times. Opening the whisky, she said aloud, "Oh my God, he's left me." She poured a large glassful.

  What the hell was happening to her life? She felt like she'd been dumped in the middle of an ocean, not knowing if she was going to drown or be able to stay afloat. Her chances of survival lay ominously in the hands of the people around her.

  Why was life being so harsh to her? Why now? She didn't deserve this.

  She needed a lifeline to reach out for. Taking a leaf out of her husband's book, she turned to the whisky for comfort, and collapsed into bed about ten.

  Friday morning was a non-event. Eventually Lorne stirred at one in the afternoon to the distant sound of the phone ringing. The answer-phone kicked in, but the person calling didn't leave a message. Her head pounded as she struggled to the bathroom, then, standing under the cold water, she showered for a couple of minutes.

  She couldn't face the thought of eating. What was she going to do for the next three days without her family around? She hated shopping at the best of times and couldn't stand the thought of traipsing round the supermarket by herself. What about doing some gardening? That was pointless too, it was bucketing down outside, adding to her misery. After tidying the house she picked up a book and read for a couple of hours, only to give up on the latest blockbuster when she found the plot confusing.

  During the afternoon the phone rang continually, but she was in no great rush to answer it and the caller stubbornly refused to leave a message on the machine.

  She was in the kitchen deciding what to cook for dinner when the doorbell chimed. Before she'd shut the fridge door, the bell rang again.

  "Give me a bloody chance!" She walked up her long narrow hallway.

  Her scowl turned to surprise when she opened the door.

  "I've been calling you all day, ma cherie."

  She felt a mess and hid behind the door. "Jacques! How did you get my address?"

  "Ah, that is for me to know. Is there any chance of you inviting me in out of this rain?" His hair was plastered to his face, but it didn't detract from his boyish good looks.

  "I'm not really up to receiving visitors," Lorne said, still shielding herself with the door.

  "Would you like me to go?"

  When she saw how hurt he looked, she relented, pulled the door open and walked back up the hall.

  "Where do I put my coat?" He stood in the puddle he made on the Minton tiles.

  "On the rack at the end of the hall, come on through when you've done that." She pointed at the rack and disappeared into the kitchen.

  "This is fantastic. Have you been here long?"

  "A couple of years. It wasn't like this when we bought it. We've been busy renovating it or rather Tom has. I was just about to make dinner, would you like to join me?"

  "Are you eating alone?" His right eyebrow shot up.

  "Not if you join me. Yes or no, I can't promise a gourmet meal, it'll just be something quick and easy," she told him, mulling over the contents of the fridge.

  "I would love to, merci. Can I do something to help?"

  "Open the wine for me. I can manage the preparation, anyway you've been at work, today." She handed him a bottle of Chablis and a corkscrew.

  "And why haven't you been at work today? Are you ill?"

  "I had a few days holiday owing to me." She opened a tin of tomatoes and poured them in a pan. "Pasta and tomato sauce okay? I'm afraid the cupboards are a little bare, I planned going shopping today but never got around to it." She watched him take in her dreary appearance and felt the colour rise in her cheeks.

  "I love pasta, it will be good for my waistline. I'm afraid I eat far too many takeaways."

  "You'd get on well sharing a place with Pete," Lorne laughed, surprising herself.

  "I like it when you smile. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to embarrass you," he said, as the colour in her cheeks deepened.

  She peeled and chopped a couple of onions and threw them in a pan, then sliced up half a dozen mushrooms, adding them to the onions. Her eyes watered and she reached for a tea towel to wipe them. It only made them worse. After removing the pan from the stove she sat on the stool beside Jacques, sniffed trying hard not to cry.

  His arm draped around her shoulder and she could no longer hold back her tears. "Forgive me, Jacques. I don't usually cry like a baby in front of strangers."

  "Is that what I am? A stranger, Lorne?" His arm slipped from her shoulder.

  Her eyes met his and she could see the hurt her thoughtless words had caused. "No … I didn't mean to sound so harsh. Forget I said it. I'll get on with dinner, you must be starving."

  She attempted to get off her stool but he stopped her. "Lorne, please tell me what is wrong. I might be able to help."

  She felt soothed by the mellow, comforting tone of his voice. What is it about his French accent that makes my heart race?

  "My life's a mess, there's nothing you can do to help."

  "At least let me try. Let me in to your confused world. My dear mother used to say it is far harder to help if a problem remains hidden.

  Lorne smiled as she studied his face. She was tempted to run her hands through his soaking wet hair but managed to resist. "We have a similar saying in this country, too. A problem shared is a problem halved."

  "There you go then, so share with me."

  "If I took the trouble to sit down and analyse my problems they probably wouldn't seem half as bad."

  "You're wasting time, tell me."

  His persistence paid off and she told him what was troubling her, glad that she didn't break down again.

  "So this Sean Roberts, you say you know him but I don't understand why it should upset you so much. The old chief departing, and the fact that the killer keeps ringing you I can understand how those things might upset you. But why Roberts? What did he do to you?" One hand remained on his thigh and the other rubbed her arm, coaxing the troubles from her.

  "It's not so much what he did to me, it's more what I did to him. We used to be an item then I met Tom." Jacques looked puzzled so she enlightened him. "An item, we were together, boyfriend and girlfriend."

  "Ah, I think I know where this is going to, now."

  "We were together for two years — he wanted us to
share a flat, but I couldn't. I told him I wasn't ready for commitment. He grudgingly accepted that but soon after we started drifting apart. One day my car broke down, Tom was a mechanic at the local garage. We hit it off straight away. I dumped Sean that night and within two weeks I was living with Tom. That's why he was so angry, he'd found out about our living together from a mutual friend. He caused a stink at work calling me all sorts. He was hurt and annoyed I'd told him I wasn't ready to commit and yet …"