by M A Comley
Towering over her, he wore a puzzled but amused expression. “Inspector? Did we have a rendezvous booked for today?”
“No. But I’ve just found this and thought I’d bring it to you right away.”
“What is it?”
“A mobile phone. I’m wondering if it’s Jenny’s. The SOCO men must have overlooked it.”
“Come with me.”
As he marched up the hallway, Lorne found herself trotting to keep up with his exceptionally long strides. She wondered if he was wearing a smirk as he walked. He pushed open a door to a small office. “Joel, the inspector has just brought us a gift. Do the necessary tests on it immediately, please?”
The young man removed the phone from the bag and studied it. “Here’s the owner’s number. Is it what you were expecting?” He jotted down the number and showed it to Lorne.
She let out a long breath. “Yes, I believe so.” Sitting in the spare chair, she asked, “Can you look for prints?”
“I’ll leave you to it. Good luck. I have a PM to attend.” Arnaud left the office before Lorne had the chance to thank him for his assistance.
Joel pulled open a drawer to his right and placed the phone on a glass plate. Then he dusted the phone with powder. Several prints showed up immediately. He photographed each print then removed it with a piece of clear tape. He repeated the process five more times. After putting them under the magnifying glass, he concluded he’d found two sets of prints on the phone. He took a file from the stack lying in his in-tray and compared one set of prints.
“Is that Jenny Bartlett’s prints?”
“It is indeed. A perfect match. Now all you have to do is find out who the other set belongs to, Inspector.”
Lorne smiled broadly at the young man. “I don’t suppose you have time to run that through the system for me while I’m here, do you?”
“With a charming smile like that dazzling me, how can I refuse? I’ll be right back.”
The man’s footsteps retreated into the distance and a door slammed shut. Moments later, Joel returned. “Okay, I’ve set the search going. If there’s a match in the system, we should know either today or tomorrow.”
Lorne tutted. She’d had a feeling he would give her that news. “Fair enough. Will you ring me as soon as the results are in?” She gave him one of her business cards and opened the door to leave.
“I will. Have a good day, Inspector.”
“I’ll try,” she mumbled then made her way up the hallway to the car park.
She bashed the bonnet of her car. Pete propelled out of his seat and hit his head on the roof of the car.
“That’ll teach you to fall asleep whilst on duty, Sergeant.” She sniggered and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Not funny. I was resting my eyes.”
“If I had a quid for every time you said that, I’d have my own chauffeur-driven limo.”
“Hey, I’m all for comfort.” He looked out the window and added, “And it would beat having to put up with your dreadful driving, too.”
Lorne punched his thigh. She started the engine, and with poor timing after her partner’s dig, she crunched through the gears as she pulled away.
“See what I mean?” Pete mumbled.
“Stop putting me off. Do you want to know the outcome of my visit or not?”
Pete sat upright and glanced at her. “Go on? Surprise me.”
“Well, we managed to obtain two prints. One was Jenny’s, and the other is running through the system right now.”
“I wonder if it’ll turn out to be Killon’s.”
“That’s the sixty-four-million-dollar question. I think I’m going to organise a warrant on the Killon’s house, just in case.”
“It’s about time.”
His comment earned him another thump on the leg. “Patience, dear man,” she said, crunching into third. She glanced sideways to see Pete shaking his head and stifled the chuckle rising up.
Once they returned to the station, Lorne put in a call to the Magistrate’s court to obtain the warrant. Then she leapt into shifting some of the paperwork cluttering her desk. By six o’clock, she’d had enough and headed home.
Henry the Border collie greeted her at the front door, with a wagging tail and his tennis ball in his mouth.
She crouched to hug her best pal. “Hello, boy. Have you had a good day? Drop the ball, hon.” As usual, the young dog gripped the ball firmly in his teeth. Lorne gave up trying to tug it from his mouth and ruffled his head. “Your loss, buddy.”
She cringed when she entered the lounge to find her daughter, Charlie, sitting on the sofa, watching TV whilst doing her homework. Rather than tell her daughter off, she walked through to the kitchen to find Tom dishing up dinner. He grunted hello—typical of a man struggling to multi-task.
“Can I help?” She noted that the table had already been laid and sensed her husband was still in a bad mood from the previous evening.
“Nope. Just sit down.”
“Charlie, dinner’s ready.”
Her daughter appeared quicker than a bolt of lightning. “I’m starving. Smells good, Dad.”
Lorne shook her head at her daughter’s inability to acknowledge her after a long day at work. She retrieved three glasses from the cupboard and filled two with wine for Tom and herself and one with orange juice for Charlie. “Good day at school?”
“So-so,” Charlie mumbled.
And that was an indication of how most meal times went down in the Simpkins house lately. Lots of anger bubbled under the surfaces of both her husband and her child, and she didn’t have the slightest clue how to overcome it. The harder she tried to work things out, the more the other two dug in their heels.
Why do I even bother?
Charlie spent the rest of the evening in her bedroom while Lorne and Tom sat on the sofa, watching mind-numbing soaps on TV.
At ten o’clock, Lorne yawned and stretched. “I’m done in. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Let Henry out before you go out, will you? I’ll be up later.”
Lorne put the dog in the garden and looked up at the inky-black sky. She knew if Tom didn’t go to bed at the same time as she did, he would make sure he woke her up when he finally decided to come to bed in the early hours of the morning. He always did.
She bent down and kissed her husband on the cheek. “Goodnight, love.”
“Night.”
Lorne climbed the stairs with Henry close behind her. Another day completed in the exciting life of Lorne Simpkins, detective inspector, wife and mother. What a thrill that was.
CHAPTER NINE
“What’s with the excited-puppy face, AJ?” Lorne asked the second she stepped into the incident room the following morning.
“I think I might have some good news for you regarding the case, ma’am.”
“Okay, don’t keep me in suspense, man.” Lorne sat down in the free chair closest to the young detective’s desk.
“I had a call about half an hour ago. The man wanted to speak to you, but he had to go out early this morning and didn’t know when he’d be back, so he decided to talk to me instead. I hope that was okay?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly. What did he say? Did he see the attack happen?”
AJ tilted his head and clicked his tongue. “No. He saw the victim and Simon Killon at a restaurant about six months ago.”
“Ah, we already know about that instance, AJ. There’s nothing new there, or is there?”
The smug look he was sporting gave Lorne an inkling he was about to tell her that something significant had happened during the couple’s rendezvous.
“I thought it was the same evening we already know about, too, except the man—a Mr. Lincoln—said that the couple appeared to be very intimate with each other. ‘Pawing each other’ was how he worded it.”
“Is that so? Would you be all over a dinner date you were telling bad news to? Interesting! Thanks, AJ. That’ll add weight to my request for a warrant under ‘re
asonable grounds.’ I take it Pete isn’t here yet?”
“Not yet, ma’am. Should be in soon. He’s not usually late.”
“My ears burning?” Pete asked, pushing open the swing doors.
“Why would we be talking about you?” Lorne jested. “Don’t bother taking your jacket off. I want to drop over to pick up this warrant first thing and get over to the Killons’ house to conduct a search.”
“Aw…does that mean I’m gonna have to miss out on coffee and breakfast?” Pete whined, his shoulders slumping.
“Yep. You could do with shifting a few excess pounds, hon, anyway. Come on, I’ll fill you in on what AJ just told me in the car. We should only be a couple of hours, AJ. Take any messages for me.”
Lorne drove to the local courthouse and ran inside the building. A few moments later, she climbed back in the car with the necessary document in hand. “Okay, let’s see what Killon has to hide, shall we?”
“I doubt he’ll be there,” Pete said.
Lorne turned to look at him, amused that he was clinging onto the seatbelt pulled tight across his chest. “If there’s no answer, we’ll ring him at work. Maybe his wife will be at home.”
The Killons’ house was a detached property on a cul-de-sac surrounded by similar properties, all with beautifully maintained gardens at the front.
Lorne parked in the street as opposed to the drive of the house. “Ready?”
“Yep. Let’s hope neither of them kick off.”
“Let’s play it calmly, and that shouldn’t happen, Pete.” Lorne rang the bell and turned her back on the front door, surveying the other houses. She spotted a few of the neighbours twitching their curtains. “Looks like a close-knit community.”
Eventually, a woman with messed-up hair, wearing a bright-pink towelling robe, opened the door. “Yes, what do you want?”
Lorne flashed the warrant in the woman’s face and motioned for Pete to go ahead and enter the property. “All right if we come in? Is Mr. Killon here?”
“No and no. You can’t barge in here like that.”
“I think you’ll find this piece of paper gives me the power, Mrs. Killon. I suggest you ring your husband and ask him to return home to be with you while we conduct a search of your property.”
The woman clenched her robe shut at her chest and ran into the kitchen. Lorne could hear the irate woman calling her husband, demanding that he leave work immediately. “You can wait until he comes home before you start,” she said tearfully.
“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, Mrs. Killon. We’re going ahead with the search with or without yours or your husband’s blessing. Are you aware of the situation? The ongoing case, I mean?”
“Yes, that Jenny Bartlett was killed.” Her eyes narrowed.
Lorne thought the woman had every right to be annoyed that the case involved her husband’s former lover, but she wouldn’t allow Mrs. Killon to get in the way of the investigation.
“That’s right. Did you know the victim?”
“Nope. Did you?” Mrs. Killon retorted.
“Unfortunately, not. Do you know when your husband last saw his ex-girlfriend?”
That wiped the smirk off the woman’s face. Her gaze dropped to the wooden floor, and she shuffled a little. “No idea. I’m not his keeper.”
Lorne thought the response was somewhat childish, given the circumstances, but she didn’t see any point in challenging the woman. Some animosity obviously lingered either between her and her husband or between her and the victim.
“Will your husband be long?”
“About ten minutes. Do you have any objections to me getting dressed before you start?”
“That’s fine. We’ll start down here while you get ready.”
The woman scowled at Lorne, seemingly furious her delay tactics hadn’t worked. “If you must. What exactly are you looking for?”
“Evidence.”
“Of what?” she asked, moving over to the coffee table, where she picked up her packet of cigarettes and lit one.
“A crime being committed.”
“By my husband? You think he’s the murderer?” the woman screeched then dragged heavily on the cigarette. She blew the smoke out almost immediately, as if she weren’t used to smoking.
“There’s no need for you to get upset about this, Mrs. Killon. At the moment, all our searches are just part of the process. If your husband has nothing to hide, then he shouldn’t mind us being here. Neither should you. Is there something you’d like to share with us?”
“Don’t be absurd, Inspector. My husband is innocent of all the blame you are trying to lay at his door. Innocent.”
“I’m not trying to apportion any blame, Mrs. Killon. Just here to establish facts and search for evidence.”
“Establish facts? Simon told me that you’d already interviewed him.”
“Hardly, it was a fact-finding mission. Since we last spoke, something interesting has come up in relation to what he told us.”
“Go on?”
“That’s between your husband and us. Please, take your time getting dressed. We’ll be a while down here.” Lorne dismissed the woman with a smile.
Mrs. Killon stomped from the room and thundered up the stairs. Lorne could hear the woman rushing through her bedroom, then she heard the shower running in a room overhead.
Lorne and Pete set to work looking through drawers and lifting the furniture in the lounge. Around ten minutes later, a breathless, worried-looking Simon Killon rushed through the front door.
He snatched the address book from Lorne’s hand. “What in God’s name is going on here, Inspector? I’ve been upfront with you from the beginning about my relationship with Jenny. I can’t believe you would come into my home like this.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Killon. I have a case to solve, and in light of what I’ve just heard, this seemed a pretty good place to start.”
He paced the area in front of Lorne. “What? What have you heard that could be so damning to bring you to my door, Inspector?”
Lorne strained an ear towards the stairs, listening for Mrs. Killon to return. “You lied to us.”
“When? I did nothing of the sort.” He dropped into the sofa and buried his head in his trembling hands.
Is that guilt, anger, or fear making him tremble like that?
“In your office. The day you met Jenny for lunch, you said that it was to break things off with her because you and your wife had decided to give your marriage another shot. Is that correct?”
He stared at her and frowned. “Yes, that’s correct. If someone has told you otherwise, then they’re lying.”
Lorne moved closer to the man, and Pete stood beside her just in case the suspect struck out like a stray dog cornered down an alley. “Why would someone feel the necessity to lie to us about that day, Simon?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have to tell you how many warped people are out there, walking the streets, do I?”
“Okay, you think someone is trying to set you up?”
His arms flew out to the sides then dropped. “How the hell should I know?”
“Do you have any enemies we should be aware of? It’ll certainly broaden our enquiries.”
“No. Oh, I don’t know. I can’t think of any. However, it would make sense, considering the shit we’ve had to deal with. I told you about the damage to my car, et cetera?”
Lorne turned to look at her partner and raised an eyebrow. She had pushed aside the man’s vandalism claims. This case could be far more complex than I first thought. “We need to get down every incident, Simon. If you have dates and photographic proof, it’ll help your cause. To be honest, if you can’t provide the necessary proof, then I have to say that it’s not looking good for you at present. You’re the main suspect in Jenny’s murder.”
Simon stared at her agog for a few seconds. “I can’t be. I loved her…once upon a time. Why would I kill her?”
“That’s my job to find out, Simon. If you d
idn’t kill her, then I need to track down the person who did.”
“But I’m telling you I didn’t do it. I’m happy with Tammy. We’re pregnant—I mean, we’re having our first child.”
With that, Tammy walked into the lounge, her hair damp. She stood beside her husband, one hand on his shoulder and the other hand rubbing her flat stomach.
“Congratulations. When is it due?” Lorne noticed that Tammy’s smile seemed a little hesitant, and she took her time answering the question.
“Around January. It’s my first, so the doctor said there is every chance that the baby probably won’t be on time, either late or even early.”
“How exciting for you. I hope all this upset doesn’t harm the baby. I apologise from the outset for any disruption we might cause you both.”
“It would be nice if there weren’t two detectives going through our personal things right now. However, if your search proves that my husband is innocent of this crime, then please go ahead.” She raised the hand on her stomach and placed it over her heart. “I know in here that Simon is totally innocent.”
“Let’s see if we can find any evidence that backs up your assumption. We’ll continue the search while the two of you write down the alarming events that have been happening to you over the past—how long did you say?” she asked Mr. Killon.
“At least six or seven months, Inspector.” Simon picked up a notepad and pen and began scribbling.
“Okay. I’m keen to see what we’re up against. If you could also make a list of people who might have a vendetta against you, personally or professionally, that would help.”
He glanced up at Lorne. “You think a work colleague or client did all that crap?”
“It’s something we need to look into, Simon. We often spend as much time proving someone’s innocence as we do finding the guilty party to a crime.”
“Well, I repeat, I am innocent, and I want to do anything and everything to prove that to you. Can I ask if you’re looking for anything in particular?”
“I’d rather not say right now. I can tell you that we found two items of significance at the scene, and we hope they will lead us to Jenny’s murderer. The person we’re after was surprisingly sloppy and neglected to clean up after himself.” Lorne smiled at Simon then at his wife, who had sunk into the seat next to her husband.
