Ultimate Justice

by M A Comley

  Hmm…‌that’s strange. Maybe she’s had a fall or something.

  Natasha dismissed the girl, and she ran back into the house again under Lorne’s watchful gaze.

  Satisfied that Timmy had settled in to his new surroundings and that Natasha cared for him—despite feeling suddenly uncomfortable with how Mai Lin reacted to her visit—Lorne decided to leave.

  “I’m glad Timmy has found his home for life, Natasha. Any problems at all, don’t hesitate to ring me. I better get back home now, as I have a young family coming to pick out a dog early this afternoon.”

  “I understand, but it’s a shame you can’t stay and chat,” Natasha said, nibbling on her crispbread.

  As Lorne meandered back to the car, she couldn’t help wondering if, in spite of her wealth, Natasha wasn’t a very lonely woman. Lorne was distracted on the journey home, she thought a lot about Mai Lin’s terrible situation. Having to deal with her sister’s death in a strange country was one thing; however, Lorne was also concerned about the facial bruises Mai Lin had gone out of her way to try to cover up.

  CHAPTER THREE

  From the minute she arrived home until five o’clock, the afternoon proved to be chaotic. The centre was unusually busy with people dropping by wanting to offer some of the permanent boarders a new home, and the phone didn’t stop ringing, either. Most of the calls had been enquiries from people wanting to board their dogs for a week or two’s holiday, but sadly, they didn’t have room for any more boarders. With all of them busy, in one way or another, Lorne didn’t get the opportunity to voice her concerns about Mai Lin to either Tony or her father. Nonetheless, that didn’t stop the girl’s plight from popping into her mind now and then during the afternoon.

  “Boy, what a day!” Tony announced, collapsing into one of the chairs around the kitchen table.

  Lorne filled the kettle and turned to watch her tired father ease himself into the chair next to her husband. She tried to make light of how tired they all looked. “Huh! Men—no stamina for real work.”

  Tony was the first to pounce on her. “Says you. The one person who took time out to go off gallivanting.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” her father added with a smirk.

  “Ah, about that visit: I wanted to have a chat with both of you with regard to what happened during my visit. Let me make the coffee first.” She glanced over her shoulder and watched the two men in her life exchange a puzzled look. After making the coffee, she placed a mug in front of everyone and sat down next to her husband.

  “Come on, don’t keep us waiting. We’re not going to have to take the dog back, are we?”

  “Not this time, no.” Lorne blew on her coffee before she took a sip. It was a delay tactic while she mulled over how to tell them about Mai Lin’s situation.

  An impatient Tony asked, “What, then? Lorne, I know to be worried when you go quiet on us.”

  She smiled at her husband’s exceptional perception. He really did know her well. “Okay. When I arrived at Natasha Wallace’s house, everything with the dog went well. She’s changed his name to Timmy and the little chap appears to be really happy there.”

  “So what’s the problem?” her father piped up proving to be just as impatient as her husband.

  “You two are incorrigible. Give me a chance, I’m getting there.”

  “Wish you’d speed it up a bit—I’m dying for a soak in the bath,” Tony complained.

  Lorne slapped the top of his arm and tutted. “Here’s the thing: on my previous visit to Natasha’s ‘stately home,’ I don’t remember seeing a maid there.”

  “I’m not with you.” Tony seemed confused.

  “Give me a bloody chance, Tony. Right, so we were out by the pool, and the maid, a petite Asian girl, brought us out a tray of tea.”

  “So? What’s unusual about that?” her father asked.

  Frustrated that the two men kept interrupting her, she grabbed her mug and stood up, walked over to the worktop, and leaned her back against it so that she was still facing them. “Will you two just listen and stop interrupting me?” Both men nodded. “The girl seemed really upset, and after she left the tray and walked back into the house, I asked Natasha what was wrong with her. You’ll never believe what she said.”

  “We’re waiting,” Tony replied.

  “It turns out that Mai Lin’s sister might have been aboard that boat on the news. You know, the one that went down in the storm.”

  “Wow!” Tony’s exclamation hung between them for a second or two.

  Lorne glanced at her father whose face had crinkled with concern. “Did you get a chance to ask her about why her sister might have been on the boat? Not that I think you’d get a straight answer if her sister was being trafficked.”

  “Precisely. I really didn’t want to ask her all sorts of probing questions in front of Natasha. It wouldn’t have been an appropriate time either considering she thinks her sister has just died. I’m not sure how to proceed. What do you guys suggest?”

  Her father shrugged. “It’s difficult, as we don’t know the circumstances for her sister being aboard the boat, it could turn out to be completely innocent, although I doubt it. Only a fool or someone desperate would put themselves in jeopardy like that—cram themselves into a ship’s hold on a long trip. We need to wait until we get all the information before getting involved.”

  “I agree,” Tony said looking thoughtful. “Could you give Katy a call?”

  “Good idea. It’s her birthday on Sunday, and I was going to invite her to spend the weekend with us anyway, as Charlie is otherwise engaged. She’s going to a seventeenth birthday party at one of her friends’ places. I told her to take the weekend off. I’ll give Katy a call now, before she leaves work for the evening.”

  “You do that and I’ll start on dinner. How does spag bol sound?”

  Lorne kissed her husband on the cheek as she passed him on the way into the lounge. “Sounds like a wonderful idea to me.” She heard pots and pans banging behind her, and thought back to the time when she had taught Tony to cook. She smiled at how far he’d come since the day he had forgotten to put water in with the pasta and she’d had to throw one of her best copper bottom pans away. He wouldn’t dream of doing such a daft thing nowadays, after her superb guidance in the kitchen.

  She picked up the phone and dialled Katy’s mobile. A harassed Katy answered after the fifth ring, just before the voicemail kicked in. “Yesssss!” she hissed.

  “Ah, I know that tone well. Is it a bad time? I can call back later, no problem.”

  “Nope, now’s as good a time as any. Sorry, Lorne. My inept colleagues are just winding me up, that’s all. How are things?”

  Lorne could tell by Katy’s tone that she didn’t want to share what was bugging her, so Lorne avoided asking the obvious question. “What are you up to this weekend?”

  Katy was silent for a while as she contemplated her answer. “Not much, why?”

  “You’re spending it with us. No arguments. I’m not having you spending your birthday alone. It’ll just be the four of us.”

  “Four of us?” Katy asked, her voice softening.

  “Yeah, the brat won’t be here.” Lorne chuckled. “You can have her room for the weekend.”

  “That’d be cool. I wasn’t relishing the thought of being alone this weekend—not that I’m heavily into celebrating birthdays or anything. How’s the centre doing?”

  “Busy today. Listen, I don’t want to hold you up any more than is necessary. However, I do need to ask a favour while I’m on the phone.”

  Katy lowered her voice and Lorne could hear the sound of Katy’s shoes walking on the tiled corridor. “Shoot, I’m out of earshot of the team now.”

  Lorne chuckled, “Yeah, I can hear that it’s still nice and echoey in the ladies’ loo. I wondered if you knew anything about the boat that capsized in the storm off the Kent coast?”

  “Dreadful story. Not heard anything as yet, only what I’ve seen on TV. Why?”r />
  “Well you know what suspicious minds Tony, Dad, and I have. We thought it sounded like a human trafficking case.”

  “Hmm…‌I’ve been up to my eyes in it around here and not given it much thought, but looking at it objectively, you could be on to something. Why the interest? I mean, why this particular boat? There are hundreds of incidents like this that happen throughout the year. We’re easy access for this kind of thing, what with the UK being an island, although it is a worldwide problem. Why has this one grabbed your attention, Lorne?”

  “To begin with, I wasn’t really sure. While I was watching the news, something in me began to stir. You know what happens when you get a gut feeling?”

  “Yeah, I do. You said ‘to begin with’—has something else happened?”

  Lorne gave Katy a brief summary of what had happened at Natasha’s house, and Katy listened without interruption.

  “I see. Well, I can certainly see what I can dig up this end. Can I get back to you tomorrow? In fact, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave it ’til early afternoon; maybe I’ll have more details to work with by then. What do you think?”

  “Great idea. I’ll wait for your call. Are you going to do this with or without Roberts’s knowledge?”

  “Without, for the time being. But if I stumble across anything worthwhile, I’ll have to let him know. You know how it is.”

  “I understand, Katy. Speak to you tomorrow, then. Oh, and by the way, back to the weekend: is there anything you don’t eat?”

  “I can’t stand that porridge stuff for breakfast. There’s a reason they give it to the prisoners serving time.”

  Lorne laughed. “And that reason is?”

  “Extra punishment, of course.”

  She had to laugh at the way Katy spat out the words. There was nothing wrong with porridge in Lorne’s book. A good healthy breakfast set one up for the day. “I’ll make sure we have all the ingredients for an unhealthy fry-up for your stay, then.”

  “Sounds fantastic. I’ll get back to you after lunch tomorrow,” Katy reminded her before they hung up.

  Lorne joined the others in the kitchen. Tony turned to look at her when she walked into the room. He had tears streaming down his face. She walked over to him and dabbed at his cheeks with a tissue. “There, there, dear, no need to cry.”

  “Damn onions, they always seem to get their revenge.”

  “Forget the tip I gave you about putting a metal teaspoon in your mouth while you peel and cut them, did you? And you.” She turned to her father and wagged her finger at him. “Why didn’t you remind him how to combat the tears?”

  Her father gave an innocent shrug. “What would be the fun in that? I like seeing another man cry, even if it is only over an onion!”

  “Oh dear, and I thought I was the one with the mean streak.”

  “If you two have quite finished laughing at my expense. How did things go with Katy?”

  “She sounded totally harassed, poor love. She’s going to leave it ’til the morning, then start digging around for me.”

  “Makes sense to leave it another twelve hours or so,” Tony said, placing the diced onions into a pan.

  “Here, let me. It’s taken you over ten minutes to slice one onion; I could’ve had the whole dinner knocked up in that time.”

  Her cheekiness earned her a whack on the backside with a tea towel.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Derek Croft was sitting at his desk pounding a frantic rhythm on his computer keyboard, aware of the deadline creeping up on him. If he didn’t get this story right, he’d have his notice in his hands by the end of the week. He looked up at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes, then glanced at the silent phone sitting alongside his computer. Ring, damn you, ring! All he needed was a few snippets of information to complete his story, but his contact had let him down—again. Bloody informants were useless nowadays. Unreliable druggies, most of them, who took his money—his money, not the firm’s—and ran to the nearest dealer to buy more drugs. The trouble was that these people knew what happened on the streets. Which was why these morons were vital to him.

  His thoughts focused on the black phone, willing it to ring, but to no avail. After several more minutes of anxious staring that turned into teeth grinding accompanied by a glare, Croft decided that the only way his boss was going to be happy with his latest story was if he fabricated something a little juicy.

  He closed his eyes and an image popped into his mind. He took it as an act of fate and ran with it, bugger the consequences.

  The ill-fated vessel Spiritus smashed against the rocks off the Kent coastline. So far, the captain and crew, numbers yet to be confirmed, have not been found. Twenty-five dead bodies have already been recovered by the coastguard. Most were found either on the rocks or floating in the bay. All the bodies that have been recovered in the wake of this terrible disaster have been of Asian origin and female. Sources have commented that these poor, unfortunate beings were doomed to a life of slavery and debauchery. Yes, folks, the slave trade is alive and growing on our wonderful shores.

  With drugs being seized at a phenomenal rate by undercover police in the capital, it means that the underworld gangs have been forced to turn to new pastures to sustain their lavish lifestyle. The trending crime appears to be that of human trafficking. Young Asian girls are being shipped, literally by the boatload, into London, where they are either sent to work in brothels or employed by some of Britain’s wealthiest families.

  More on this breaking story as we uncover further evidence.

  Croft hit the save button, attached a copy of the file to an email, and sent it to his boss with thirty seconds to spare on his deadline. He relaxed back in his chair and expelled a heavy breath. I hope I haven’t overstepped the mark with this one. As if on cue, one minute too late, his phone rang. “Croft speaking.” He listened as his informant delivered the goods and smiled when he realised that what he had suspected about the incident had proved to be true. “Good work. You hear anything else, any names or places, ring me straight away, you got that?”

  His informant answered him by hanging up, as he usually did. Seconds later, his boss bellowed out his name. Croft shot out of the chair as if it had just spontaneously combusted and sprinted to his boss’s office.

  He stood in the doorway, trembling from head to foot. “Yes, sir?”

  “What the fuck do you call this, boy?” Trevor Moon waved the sheet of paper in front of him and screwed up his eyes.

  Croft gripped the doorframe with his right hand for support. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

  “Bullshit. That warning I gave you wasn’t strong enough, I take it?” Moon threw the sheet of paper across the room in Croft’s direction.

  Croft hesitated, wondering if he should retrieve it or not. “Was the piece too short?”

  “Too short, too sketchy, and too damn provocative. Based on lies or your imagination, I shouldn’t wonder. What proof do you have?” Moon demanded.

  Croft pulled his shoulders back, assured in his source, despite the information arriving after he’d sent his boss the copy. “Come on, boss. You know how these things go. You print that, and within minutes I bet your phone will be ringing off the hook. Bent coppers, councillors, and the like will all be demanding where you got your information. This story has legs.” Croft cleared his throat, feeling confident that his boss looked more interested in his story now that he had challenged him. “If you don’t want to run the story, I know plenty of papers who’d snap my hand off for a story like that.”

  “Bollocks! Like I said, there’s no substance to the story. If you’ve made this up just to keep your job, you’re a bigger fool than I’ve given you credit for over the last few months.”

  Croft shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

  “Meaning?” Moon sneered.

  “Let me do some digging. I’m an investigative journalist, after all, so let me investigate the story properly.” Moon looked thoughtful, as if he were
contemplating Croft’s idea. Croft pushed his luck a little further. “How long has it been since this paper had a massive story, anyway? This could be the biggie we’ve been waiting for. Let me run with it. Print what I sent you. See it as a teaser to spark the public’s curiosity, if you like.”

  “Last chance saloon for you, Croft. Fuck this up, and you’ll be out of here as quick as that.” He snapped his fingers to emphasise his threat.

  Croft let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded. “Yes, boss.”

  “Now get out of here and go find me a story worth publishing.”

  Croft left the office and triumphantly punched the air. He’d just talked himself into at least another month’s salary. Now all he had to do was find Moon his story. He picked up his rucksack, shoved his pen and notebook in it, and left the office with renewed vigour in his step.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The following afternoon, Lorne received the call she had been waiting for. “Hi Katy, what did you find out?”

  “Disappointing results so far. Maybe it’s too soon after the incident for information to start filtering through. Here’s what I do know: the search is still going on for the captain and the other crewmembers. They managed to find some of the hold still intact, and discovered another three bodies inside. Heartbreaking, the coastguard said—the girls were only about sixteen. They were found clinging to each other. I’m stating the obvious here, but they must have been scared shitless.”

  Lorne shook her head and sighed. “What a dreadful way to die. Crap, I really want to get the bastards who put these girls through this shit. Where do we start, though?”

  “That’s what I was wondering. The case won’t really get underway until the rescuers have located all the bodies.”

  “I know. But Katy, how will we know how many people were stowed away? There’s hardly going to be any records of the voyage, with cargo manifests, etc., is there?”

  “These things have a habit of coming to light eventually. Let me do some more digging, and I’ll get back to you if anything turns up.”