Twisted Justice: A combined investigation. DI Lorne Warner and DI Sally Parker (Justice series Book 13)

by M A Comley

  “Of course. Where do you want me to begin?”

  “You told us about how your father died. I’m aware of just how young you were back then, but can you tell me how your mother appeared to get away with a murder charge? By that I mean, how did the pair of you get out of the house, and what happened next?”

  His hands clenched in front of him and twisted slightly as his knuckles turned white.

  “Take your time, Joe.”

  “From what I can remember, I think Mother realised she’d gone too far. I could see the panic in her eyes. She tried to reach my father—maybe to help him, I don’t know—but the flames by then had engulfed his body. She saw me sitting on the stairs and screeched at me to join her. Mother held out her hand and forced me to run past his burning body. She didn’t even have the courage to come and collect me. Together, we escaped the house. The second we were outside, she started to scream for help. A couple of neighbours ran to our assistance. Bill from next door called for the fire brigade and the police. We lived in a semi. He probably only rang out of duty and to help save his own precious home from going up in flames. He always kept his distance from us.”

  “So once the police and the fire brigade arrived at the scene, did they get the fire under control easily, or did it take a huge effort on their part?”

  “Once they’d set up, I think it only took a few moments to put the fire out.”

  “Did you hear your mother’s explanation about how the fire started?”

  “No, she told the police she was too traumatised to speak. We both spent the night in hospital. They sedated us, or me, because I was inconsolable. I think Mother saw my being upset and the attention I was receiving as a chance to get attention for herself. They gave her a stage, and she enjoyed her acting debut that night, if I’m not mistaken. That makes me sound such a callous bastard, I know, but that woman deliberately killed my father and revelled in the fact that people were taking genuine interest in her for a change. That’s my perception of events, of course. I only came to that conclusion years later.”

  “What I don’t understand is how she got away with it. I’ve read the incident report, and the officers in charge put the incident down to a mere accident. Yet, you stated she threw things at him which hit his head. Maybe we can reopen the case and take a closer look at the postmortem report. Sorry, I’m just thinking out loud here. Did you continue to live in the house after the fire? Do you know if the insurance company paid out? I suppose they would if it was deemed an accident.”

  “Yes, they paid out on the accident claim. We moved house a few months later, once Mum got her claws into yet another man. He didn’t last long, though, not once he started hitting her. Mum never allowed a man to dominate her in that way, ever. Actually, I’m surprised she didn’t knife him. By the evil looks she gave him behind his back, I think the bloody thought often crossed her mind.”

  Lorne blew out a breath. “I guess he has to be considered a very lucky man. What about Claire’s second husband?”

  “She didn’t marry again until around eight years later.”

  “Excuse me for butting in—how did your older sisters come about, then?”

  “The odd fling that ended up in Mother unwisely falling pregnant. You’d think a woman who hates kids as much as she does would practice safe sex, wouldn’t you? Not Mother! Anyway, she probably saw Deutschmark before her eyes when she married the next sucker.”

  “Are you telling me he was German?”

  “Yes, he was Olga’s dad, Heinrich Smitz.”

  “Ah, I see. My partner back in London passed on the general information about Claire’s two marriages. However, she didn’t go into any detail about the men. So what happened to Smitz?”

  “The same thing. He appeared to burst into flames, according to the police report, this time during a barbecue, would you believe?”

  “In front of you again?” Lorne asked, horrified.

  “Yes, in front of all the kids. I was older then, around thirteen. I was the only one who really saw what actually happened, though. Heinrich was having fun. He was in charge of turning the food on the barbecue. Yes, he’d been drinking and was probably too far gone to think straight when the time came to fight for his life. He turned his back on the barbecue for a second to tell one of the girls off, I believe. Mum snuck up and tipped some alcohol on the barbecue. The bloody thing went up, and the flames leapt high into the sky. Poor Heinrich didn’t stand a chance. The shock sent him off balance. When he turned to tackle the blaze, he stumbled on some cans lying at his feet and ended up face down on the grill. His clothes set alight, and he screamed. Mum shepherded the kids into the house. She was constantly looking over her shoulder. I tried my hardest to help him, but he was frantic, wouldn’t let me near him. I tried to tackle him to the ground, knowing that if I rolled him, it would be possible to extinguish the flames, but he thrashed about. All that did was fan the flames. Suddenly, he collapsed to the ground. I pulled the tablecloth off the table, sent all the food and plates crashing. I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was try and put out the flames. It was too late. When I reached him, his eyes were wide open. He was dead. My own father’s fate ran through my mind at that instant. She did this. She killed both of them, but would the authorities listen to me? She denied everything. Every time I said anything, she swore blind I had an overexcited imagination and made me out to be a fool. It was not long after that I started running away from home. I lived in fear every night, too scared to sleep in case she snuck into my room to suffocate me. Yes, I had an overactive imagination in that respect—who wouldn’t in the circumstances?”

  “How dreadful. Sorry you had to witness such an awful incident. Okay, I’m going to request we open both files ASAP. She can’t—and I won’t allow her—to get away with this, Joe. You have my word on that. So you ran away from home. How many times?”

  He contemplated her question for a few moments. “It must have been a dozen times or more. In those days, the police picked you up if they spotted you in the street, bundled you in the back of a panda car, slapped your wrist, and took you back home. I begged and pleaded for them to take me to a children’s home, but they thought I was nuts. They told me that those places were the pits compared to the type of home I came from. Who gave them the right to think that? No one knew the living hell I went through at the hands of my mother. Every time they drove me home, she welcomed me with a loving hug and crocodile tears. Once the door was shut, she slapped my face, punched me a few times where the bruises wouldn’t show, and locked me in my bedroom for days, without food and water. I found myself thinking the unthinkable, wishing that she would kill me. It would have been preferable to the existence I was being forced to lead. Eventually, I learned to do just that—exist. The day my sixteenth birthday arrived, I gave myself the best birthday present I could think of. I packed a suitcase and left—for good. My mother was pitiful, tried to block the door, but I gathered an almighty strength from somewhere deep within and tossed her aside in the hallway. Our relationship has been somewhat strained ever since.”

  “So you only turn up for weddings and funerals out of a sense of duty?”

  “Yes. It pains me to say that. No man should feel such anger towards his family—or mother, to be more precise—like I do. However, people have to put themselves in my shoes before they start casting aspersions in my direction.”

  “You have no worries on that front concerning me, Joe. What else can you tell us about your mother or sisters that might help our investigation?”

  Joe inhaled a deep breath. “From a very young age, Mother trained the girls to be like her. Showed them how to manipulate men, to achieve what they wanted and to not think twice about casting aside the men who refused to be compliant.”

  “What was her main objective? Money?”

  He nodded. “Her one and only objective. Here’s something you won’t know: Mother is almost broke.”

  “What? How can that be? She divorced Allan but ended up with the hous
e while he left the marital home empty-handed.”

  “Ah yes, this is where her greed faltered, though. She didn’t realise that Allan was a secret gambler. He walked away with nothing. She thought he would give her a substantial sum to maintain the upkeep of the house. Wrong! The bills are crippling, especially living in the Fulham area. Still, I suppose it won’t be long before she has yet another male victim in her bed, lavishing her with expensive gifts, loaning her thousands of pounds when she flutters her eyelashes, asking him to get her ‘out of a financial blip’. That’s usually how it works.”

  “I don’t wish to appear rude, but do you really think that kind of strategy works on men, given your mother’s age?”

  He laughed briefly. “Have you seen how many desperate widowers there are sprinkled around London?”

  “Don’t they tend to go for much younger women?” Lorne asked, trying to fathom out the workings of a woman’s mind who had spent her whole life spreading her legs to obtain access to their wallets.

  “It depends. There’s no doubting you get some men who prefer to be seen with a glamorous model-type hanging off their arm at functions. However there are also men who appear to be far more comfortable with an older, more experienced woman to keep them company in front of a glowing, open fire. It takes all sorts to make a world, as the saying goes.”

  “There’s no doubting that motto in light of what I’ve learned about your family over the past week or so.”

  “Here’s another thing likely to blow your mind, Lorne.”

  She tilted her head and asked, “What’s that?”

  “My mother employs a few staff—actually she’s employed a lot over the years—who are or were illegal immigrants. She treats them like slaves, hands out less than minimum wage so they are forced to stay and work for her because they don’t have the funds to move on. They live in the smallest room—depending on what house we’re talking about, this could be the cellar or the attic—with bare essentials to their names. They’re on call twenty-four hours a day for a pittance, which breaks my heart. Another situation that fuels the flames of hatred within me.”

  Lorne quickly scribbled down the notes as the cogs in her head began to churn. This valuable piece of information could get them a warrant for the house and eventually lead to an arrest. Didn’t a few of the notorious criminals in America get pulled over for the most innocuous of crimes such as driving offences or tax evasion? “It’s going to be hard to pin anything on your mother, as we’ve seen over the years, but this could be the lead we need to bring her down. Anything else?”

  “I’m not sure how valid this information is, but I was walking down the stairs at the house when they were arranging things for the wake.”

  “At Lucy’s house, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I overheard Mum and Teagan arguing about something. I strained my ear and heard a name crop up. I’ve never heard this name mentioned before, so have no idea what it relates to.”

  “Go on,” Lorne asked, her pen ready for action.

  “Barbara Stainforth. Forgive me if the name leads you up the wrong track. I’m just trying to give you all the information I can muster in the hope you can finally get my treacherous mother put away.”

  “Leave that with me. I can do a background check, see what we can come up with. Can you think of anything else, Joe? Not that you haven’t given us a substantial amount of info already to be going on with.”

  “I think that’s it. I hate to ask, knowing you have a lot to deal with right now, but could you possibly arrange the witness protection for me immediately? I have a feeling my mother will have a fair idea who has dished the dirt on her when you show up on her doorstep.”

  “Maybe she’ll think that Olga has spilled the beans on all her wrongdoings over the years.”

  “Perhaps, although I doubt Olga will be able to remember much, what with the drugs addling her brain.”

  “She’s told us enough. Now it’s up to us to use what you’ve both given us to our advantage. Stay here. I’ll check out the situation of a safe house and arrange for someone to take you there.” Lorne reached across the table and patted the back of his hand. “I admire your courage in coming forward. Sorry for what this woman has subjected you to throughout your life, love.”

  “Thank you. Just promise me you’ll do everything you can to end her vile reign over this family.”

  “You have my word on that, Joe.”

  Lorne left the room and returned to the interview room next door. She called Sally out into the hallway. “How’s it going? Do we have enough to arrest Knight yet?”

  “What’s that twinkle in your eye, Lorne?”

  She smiled and waved the notes she’d jotted down during the interview with Joe. “I think we have enough here to go after Claire Knight. I also think we should deal with this as a matter of urgency.”

  “I’m almost through here with Olga anyway. She’s complaining she’s tired. I’ll send her back to her cell for a rest and dispose of Wallace’s services then meet you back in the incident room. Can’t wait to see what you have.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lorne sat at her desk with two fresh cups of coffee sitting in front of her and waited patiently for Sally to arrive. Her friend stormed through the door and marched towards her wearing an anxious expression. She sat opposite Lorne and sipped at her coffee while Lorne ran through the major points in her notes.

  “Wow, really? Slaves? That has to be the route we take to pull her in, doesn’t it?”

  Lorne raised a finger and tapped the side of her nose. “Let’s try not to be too rash about arresting her on that count just yet. By all means, we can organise an arrest warrant on those charges, but Joe also came up with the name Barbara Stainforth.” Lorne couldn’t ignore the frown on Sally’s face. “Okay, I’m thinking that name rings a bell with you.”

  Sally waved her hand uncertainly, twisting in her chair, and spoke to her partner. “Jack, do me a favour and conduct a search for Barbara Stainforth, will you?”

  “The millionairess?”

  “You know her?” Lorne asked Jack, her eyes bulging.

  “Of course. Shame on you, Sally, for not recognising the name.”

  “Consider me bloody told off, then.” Sally shook her head. “Nothing is springing to my mind, Jack. Let us have everything you can find out about her, pronto.”

  Jack tapped at his computer, and his printer churned to life moments later. Lorne and Sally studied the information he handed them.

  “So, why do you think her name cropped up with the family?” Sally asked.

  Lorne shook her head. “I have no idea. I think it would be worth paying Mrs. Stainforth a visit, though.”

  Sally rose from her chair, but Lorne caught her arm. “Wait a minute. I meant figuratively speaking, not us personally. I’m thinking we should send a male officer to see her, perhaps someone carrying a briefcase.” Lorne winked at Sally.

  “Why? What’s the significance in that?” Sally asked.

  “If we leave the family alone for a day or two, that could lead them to believe Olga hasn’t told us much. If they’ve got plans on visiting this millionairess’s home, it might spook them if you or I turn up. However, if they see a smartly dressed man call at the house carrying a briefcase, their interest will be piqued, but for a very different reason. Supposing we get Jack to go; if he turns up without a briefcase, then I’m thinking they’ll presume he’s a copper. If, on the other hand, he visits Mrs. Stainforth’s house with a briefcase in hand, anyone watching might take that as a sign of Jack being from a financial background.”

  “Ahh... I’m with you now. What do you say, Jack? Are you up for it?”

  “Of course. What do I do when I get there?”

  “Once inside, out of earshot from any possible onlookers, I think you should ask Mrs. Stainforth if she has had any dealings with Claire Knight. Take it from there, Jack.”

  “All righty. My next question is, where do I get a bloody briefcase?�
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  Sally and Lorne shared an exasperated look. “Go to lost property, see if they have any lying around. I’d offer you mine, but it might be too girly for you,” Sally replied.

  Jack left the incident room and returned carrying a somewhat-battered black briefcase. He held it up in front of him. “Will this do?”

  “That bloody thing is more battered than a piece of cod. It’ll have to suffice. Let’s run through things again before you leave. Ask the woman if she has any form of connection with Knight. Hopefully, you’ll be able to gauge whether she needs our help rather than coming right out and asking her. If she does, then give her my direct number so that she can contact me. In the meantime, Lorne and I will put our heads together and see if we can formulate a plan to entice Knight and her entourage.”

  Jack was gone for about an hour before he came barging through the doors. “I hope you’ve conjured up a scheme, because we need to put that into action pretty damn quick.”

  “What’s happened, Jack?” Sally asked.

  “There’s a meeting scheduled between the two ladies tomorrow.”

  “What?” Lorne sat upright in her chair. “Did you tell Mrs. Stainforth that you think she might be in trouble?”

  Jack shook his head. “There was no need. She’s aware of that already. She’s scared shitless of Knight and her family but can’t see a way out of the situation. I’ve told her we’ll help all we can. She seemed relieved to hear that, said she’d been living on her nerves for months now. Everything escalated in the last week or so, since Ryan’s death. They have something very bad over her.”

  “Bloody hell, man, get to the point!” Sally ordered.

  He shrugged. “That’s where she lost me, something about the deeds to the house.”

  Lorne chewed the inside of her mouth as she thought. “Didn’t Olga mention something about taking papers from Daniel Grade, as well as robbing him of the cash?”

  Sally nodded. “She did. Could that have been deeds? But Stainforth said that things had escalated since Ryan’s death, not Grade’s.”