Cruel Justice

by M A Comley

  “I got you a coffee.”

  He sat down again and wiped his face with a handkerchief.

  Lorne stood up, picked up the letter opener, and tore the tape around the edge of the box. “This will probably be the new stationary I ordered last month.”

  “Where do you want me to start today?”

  She flipped the lid up and reached inside to pull out a large packet wrapped in bubble-wrap. Throwing the box on the floor, she sliced through the wrap as she carried on their conversation. “We’ll see what the team came up with after we left last night, then—”

  A maggot fell out of the package and landed on her desk. Lorne jumped back in horror.

  Then the smell hit them.

  “Shittin’ hell,” Pete cried almost tipping back in his chair.

  Lorne opened her drawer, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and a few of masks. She threw one of the masks to Pete, and he hurriedly placed it over his nose.

  “Here, let me do it, boss.” He volunteered, but she pushed his hands away.

  “I’ll do it. Here goes.”

  After ripping away the rest of the tape at the top of the bubble-wrap, she peered inside.

  Lorne just made it to the bin before her breakfast came up.

  Pete moved towards the package, but she put her hand up to stop him. “Pete, don’t! I think it’s Belinda Greenaway’s head.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  October 5, 2007

  Doctor Arnaud arrived half an hour after Pete rang him.

  Lorne discovered a note inside the box she’d thrown on the floor. It read:

  HERE LIES THE MISSING PART TO YOUR FIRST PUZZLE.

  She was studying it when Arnaud entered her office. “Are you okay, Inspector?”

  “I’m fine. Well, as fine as I can be, when confronted with something as macabre as this first thing in the morning. What do you make of it?” She handed him the note.

  He pulled on his latex gloves before accepting it.

  “Curious, is it not? It looks to me as if the typeface belongs to an old printing set.”

  “You mean a John Bull type printing kit? I had one when I was a kid.” Her voice shook.

  “Look, why don’t you take a break? Splash some cold water on your face or something. I’ll be here for a while.”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” Pete said from the doorway.

  “Okay, okay. Back off, the pair of you. I know when I’m outnumbered. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  “As you wish, Inspector. It is your office, after all.” Arnaud placed his bag on the floor and moved towards the package on her desk.

  “Jesus, we’re definitely not dealing with your run-of-the-mill type of killer here,” Pete said over a strong cup of coffee in the canteen.

  “Can you remember if the address was handwritten?” Lorne asked, sipping from the chipped mug. Her mind was racing. Puzzle, the killer had mentioned “the missing part to your first puzzle”. So far, the whole frigging case had been a puzzle. Does that mean this is the first of many pieces? What does this guy have in mind?

  “Yeah, it was in black ink, no address. It just read ‘Detective Inspector Lorne Simpkins’, and in the corner in capital letters, it said ‘personal’.”

  “After we’ve had this, go see the desk sergeant. See where it was found and at what time?”

  “I’ll check the CCTV footage.”

  “Good idea. You okay, Pete? You’ve hardly had the best start to the day, have you?”

  “Me? Yeah, I’m fine. How about you?”

  “What’s that old adage? It never rains but it pours. That’s pretty succinct in this instance, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yup. See you in a while.” He gulped down the remains of his coffee and left.

  Lorne walked through the incident room, stopping only to tell her team what had happened. She left them discussing the event and returned to her office. Arnaud was bent over, still examining the head. She crept up behind him and peered over his shoulder.

  He turned his head slowly to face her. Lorne immediately jumped back.

  “My, aren’t we jumpy?”

  She ignored his comment and quickly regained her composure, looking beyond him at the head displayed upright on her desk. “Found anything, apart from the obvious, Doc?”

  “I fear it is the head of our first victim. At least now we can lay her to rest in one piece. I’m certain of the COD now.”

  She raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “COD—Cause of death—and I wish you would call me Jacques. Especially as we seem to be spending a lot of time together lately.” His eyes sparkled, and she couldn’t help but notice the attractive little laughter lines that appeared at the corner of them.

  “I would prefer to keep things on a professional basis, Doctor.”

  “I can take a hint, Inspector.” His face grew serious, and he explained, “She was hit several times with a blunt object and sustained the same kind of injuries as Kim Charlton.”

  “Have you had a chance to take another look at the allotment shed yet?”

  “I was en route when your partner rang me. Of course, I came straight here. I will send someone down there later to do the necessary tests. Right now, I’d like to get this back to my lab ASAP. I’m sure you can’t wait to get rid of it or the smell. I might suggest you use a different office for the next few hours?”

  “Thanks for the advice. Can I help you out with that?”

  “Merci. Can you take my bag out to the car, while I carry the box?”

  They walked through the stark grey corridor and out to the car park in silence. Reaching his car, Lorne asked, “When will all the results be available? I hate to rush you, but my boss wants this case wrapped up in a few weeks.”

  He handed her the keys, she pressed the button, and the central locking system unlocked the boot. Jacques placed the box and his bag inside. Lorne followed him round to the driver’s door.

  “Does your boss usually make such unrealistic demands?”

  She stepped back as he opened the door and got in. “Not usually, but there are extenuating circumstances in this instance. He has his reasons for wanting the case wrapped up quickly.”

  “Would you like to share those reasons with me?”

  Lorne shuffled her feet and shrugged. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid. Pete doesn’t even know.”

  “Would you like me to have a word? I could impress upon him what sort of time scales we are looking at for each procedure and test.” Arnaud smiled up at her as he started the engine.

  “There’s no need for you to do that. I’m sorry; I think I might’ve given you the wrong impression. He’s not an ogre—far from it, in fact. I’m just going to see him now. I’ll reassure him that everyone is doing their utmost to bring this case to a swift conclusion. I’ll see you soon, Doctor.” She closed the door to his sleek black BMW sports car, and he roared off.

  As she watched him leave, an unfamiliar churning stirred deep inside of her. Don’t be so ridiculous, Lorne. You’re a happily married woman—well, a married one, at least.

  “I’ve got the CCTV tape. Do you want to go through it in the conference room?” Pete asked when she rejoined the team.

  “Can you make a start, Pete? I better bring the chief up to date.”

  “Will do. Tracy, you want to sit in on this one?”

  “I’ll meet you in there. I’ll grab a few coffees,” Tracy answered, heading for the machine.

  “Atta girl. Mine’s white with two sugars.”

  Lorne and Tracy watched Pete make a hasty getaway.

  “He means he’s trying to cut back, and one sugar will do. Thanks, Tracy.”

  They both chuckled as they went their separate ways.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Lorne, come in. I was just about to come see you. What was all that commotion about earlier on?” the chief asked.

  She filled him in on the package and its gruesome contents.

  “That
’s awful. Here, take this.” He handed her a tumbler half-filled with Scotch.

  “I can’t drink this, sir. I’m on duty.”

  “You’ve had a shock. Get it down your neck—that’s an order.”

  “I wanted to advise you on the state of play, sir. With the second and third victims, we found trace evidence at the scene. But the results won’t be available until the end of the week.” Lorne knocked back a large mouthful of the amber liquid and immediately coughed and spluttered.

  “Is there any chance of hurrying things along?” The chief’s brow furrowed.

  She couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked; his skin was grey and lifeless. His weight had suddenly dropped, too, but she’d been too busy to notice before. His once tight-fitting collar hung loosely around his neck.

  “Sorry, sir, but no. I had a word with the pathologist, and he assures me they’re rushing the tests through, but it’s bound to slow things down a bit, with three victims and a mountain of evidence to try to match.”

  “Keep on top of it, Lorne. By the way, they’ve appointed my replacement,” he said, quietly.

  Stunned, she shook her head. “They have, already? Who is it, sir?”

  “They’re keeping it under their hats for the moment. Whoever it is will be taking over on Monday.”

  “What do they hope to achieve by keeping it a secret?” Lorne swallowed the last drop of Scotch, her need for the amber liquid suddenly increasing.

  “There’s too much of this ‘I know something you don’t know’ going on in the force. Actually, I’m quite relieved I’m leaving, even if it is through ill health. We’ll have to wait and see who walks through the door on Monday. The rumour mill has been surprisingly quiet about this one. Usually, you get a list of ten possible applicants, but not this time.”

  “One thing’s for certain: I won’t have the same relationship with the new chief as I have with the outgoing one.” Lorne’s eyes misted up.

  “I’ll keep in touch when I leave, Lorne. You know I regard you as a daughter. You’ll be fine. I’m positive your strong will and determination will pull you through. It always has in the past. I seem to remember we haven’t always seen eye to eye. Take that case where the social worker killed his wife—Len Craven, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “I was convinced it was an accident and warned you to back off. Thankfully, you were too stubborn to listen; you put him under a twenty-four-hour surveillance. He was into drugs in a big way as I recall, accumulating huge debts and came up with the hare-brained scheme of killing his wife for the life insurance. When you solved that case, I was forced to eat my words, wasn’t I?” He smiled as he reminisced.

  “Yes. But no matter how fraught our relationship has been in the past, neither of us bore a grudge, did we, sir? On the whole, you generally let me go with my instincts. Others might perceive that as me being bloody-minded. For instance, the case we’re working at the moment. Pete was adamant that Oliver Greenaway killed his mother and aunt. I was absolutely certain he hadn’t. Pete’s always decrying the fact that I rely on my woman’s intuition too much, but it hasn’t let me down yet.”

  “I completely understand your concerns. What about when I appointed Pete as your partner? You screamed and cursed like a woman possessed. Now you think he’s the greatest thing under the sun.”

  “Point taken. I just know it’s not going to be easy obeying the rules of a new kid on the block. Que sera, sera. Anyway, I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no use worrying about things beyond my control.”

  The chief proved how well he knew her and asked, “Are you and Tom having problems?” He reached across the desk and placed a hand over hers.

  Tears of frustration sprang to her eyes. Without looking up she replied, “Sorry, sir. Slip of the tongue. Ignore me. That package probably affected me more than I realised.”

  He gripped her hand tightly. “Look at me, Lorne.” She obeyed him. “If you want to talk any time, you know where I am.”

  Easing her hand from under his, she said, “I’ll remember that, the next time we have an argument and I’m contemplating my life’s journey at three o’clock in the morning.”

  “Ah, don’t think the wife would be too keen on that idea, do you?”

  They both smiled, and Lorne stood up to leave the room.

  “I meant what I said, Lorne. Don’t ever forget it.”

  She nodded and left his office. As she headed down the corridor towards the conference room, she took a few deep breaths to help push down her bubbling emotions.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “What have we got?” Lorne asked, walking into the incident room.

  “At 4:32 AM, a suspect delivered the package. Take a look.” Pete nodded at Tracy, and she started the video.

  A shudder ran up Lorne’s spine as she watched a man, dressed from head to toe in black, deposit the box on the top step of the station. He arrogantly stopped to wave at the camera, obviously knowing his every movement was being taped. His hooded sweatshirt obscured his face; it was impossible to make out his features as he mocked the camera.

  “Is there any way we can find out how tall he is? It would be a start.”

  “I’ll line a few of the guys up—varying heights, of course. See what we can come up with. I’ll get on it straightaway,” Pete said.

  Lorne and Tracy checked the video, frame by frame, for clues. Nothing—no rings, no glimpses of tattoos. Nothing.

  Mitch burst into the room and threw himself into one of the vacant chairs. He placed a list on the table and slid it across to Lorne. “Fifteen perverts in and around the Chelling Forest area.”

  “By ‘perverts’, I take it you mean registered sex offenders, Mitch?” she asked, studying the list.

  “Actually, what I meant to say was, there are fifteen names on the list—thirteen sex offenders and two registered paedophiles.”

  “Good work, Mitch. I want you and Tracy to pay everyone on the list a visit. Bring in anyone looking shifty.” Mitch opened his mouth to speak, and she raised her hand to stop him. “Yes, I know this type always look shifty, but you know what I mean. If we start bringing in some of these bastards, word will soon get around. It might make our killer think we’re closing in on him.”

  “Only if he’s connected to this group, ma’am. What if he’s not?” Tracy pointed out.

  “Then we’re back where we started, up shit creek. Paddleless.”

  “Molly has made an interesting discovery, too.” Mitch tucked his chair back under the long table and stood behind it.

  “What’s that?”

  “Shall I send her in to see you, ma’am?”

  “Can’t you tell me, Mitch?” Lorne asked, desperately trying to avoid yet another confrontation with her least favourite member of staff.

  “There’re a lot of details involved. It would be better coming from her.”

  “Okay.” Lorne sighed. “Send her in.”

  Tracy cleared her throat. “Umm…‌Can I speak freely, ma’am?”

  “Of course, Tracy.”

  “It’s about Molly, ma’am.” The young sergeant hesitated, her gaze focusing on the worn oak table between them.

  “What about Molly? I know she can be out of order at times, but if she’s upset you in any way, I want to know.” Lorne’s blood started to boil. If that bloody woman has done anything to upset my star pupil, I’ll string her up by the nipples.

  “She had a word with me the other day. I don’t really know how to say this, ma’am, except to come right out with it. She feels that you pick on her.”

  “She what?”

  “She admits she has an argumentative nature, but she says she tries hard to control it. She’s desperate to sort things out with you, ma’am. She doesn’t appreciate having a final warning hanging over her head.”

  “So, she asked you to mend some fences for her, is that it?”

  “No, ma’am. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. Me and my big mouth. She’s
trying to find the right time to have a word with you, but things are so manic around here at the moment, it’s difficult for her.”

  Lorne could see how upset Tracy was. The poor girl was stuck in the middle, trying to help both sides concerned. “I’ll see you later. Be careful out there.” As the younger woman reached the door, Lorne called after her, “And Tracy, thanks for speaking up for Molly.”

  Maybe she was wrong about Molly. Perhaps it was her fault that Molly acted the way she did towards her. A possible clash of personalities? Why didn’t Pete have a problem with Molly?

  Lorne didn’t have time to dwell on the problem any longer, because Molly entered the room. She welcomed the woman with a forced smile, hoping it would break the ice between them. “Hi, Molly. Mitch tells me you’ve got something interesting to tell me about the case.”

  Molly stood at the front of the desk, and Lorne pulled out the seat next to her and gestured for her to sit.

  “You asked me to check out the Greenaway’s staff. There’s a housekeeper and a butler/‌chauffeur/‌odd-job man. They’re a married couple—Mr. and Mrs. Ron Hall. Employed by an agency, they’ve been with the Greenaways for over ten years. The agency insisted the couple were model employees. When I asked the owner of the agency to look back over their employment record, she told me that they’d left their previous post under a cloud.”

  “Was it a storm cloud?” Lorne smiled.

  Molly, visibly relaxed now, said, “I suspect it was, although there was no actual complaint filed against them. They were ordered to vacate their employer’s home immediately. The woman became cagey the more questions I asked. I think it would be worth a follow-up call. To me it sounded as though she was covering something up.”

  “Do you fancy going over to see her?”

  “Me? But I never leave the office.”

  “Here’s your chance, then. How would you feel about following up on your own lead, Molly? What do you say? Shall we call a truce?”

  “I’d like that very much, ma’am. I know my fuse is a tad short at times, and I apologise for that.”