Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law

by Leona Turner

  Standing in front of the door, he took a deep breath, as was fast becoming the tradition when meeting this woman. He knocked on the door. He was just starting to get second thoughts again when the front door swung open.

  “DI Holt, I’m glad you came. I was wondering if you might have had second thoughts.”

  Inwardly Holt shuddered; this woman had an uncanny knack for getting him spot on every time.

  “No, not at all; I said I’d be here, and here I am.”

  Smiling, she opened the door wider and gestured him inside.

  “Well anyway, it’s good to see you again in more informal surroundings. If you’d like to go through to the living room, I’ll bring us in some coffee and we can get started.” Noticing the confusion on his face, she pointed in the direction of the living room and disappeared through a door on his right.

  “I’ll rather have tea, actually, if that’s ok,” Holt called through the door at her retreating back. He wanted to stay in control of at least one part of this meeting, and if that was beverage choice, then so be it. Trying to appear relaxed, he started to walk in the direction of the living room. Once inside and alone, he started to relax. He saw the room for what it was: a haven. In hindsight, it was hard for him to say what he’d expected, but he was sure it didn’t resemble this. The place was painted a rich blue colour, which should have made the room feel cold, or at least small, but the high ceilings and large windows prevented that. The heavy deep blue curtains that framed the window should have looked chintzy, but somehow they didn’t. The sofa was big, obviously expensive, but had a lived in look, as if the owner might fall asleep in it occasionally. There was a blanket thrown haphazardly across the back of it that fitted in with that purpose. Occupying the far corner of the room was a small office area. Papers littered the desk, and although a small set of bookshelves stood next to it, most of the books had found their way onto the floor around the chair, stacked neatly in little piles. On the wooden floorboards rugs of varying sizes and styles gave the room a warm, comforting feel. There were two armchairs on either side of the sofa, angled around an antique oak coffee table. As he was trying to work out which was the most uncomfortable looking seating area—he didn’t want to sit in the chair Loretta classed as ‘her chair’—Loretta walked in with a tray.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Holt.” Smiling, she placed the tray down on the coffee table and sat down.

  “Thanks, and please call me Jimmy.” Just as Holt sat down, Loretta jumped back up again.

  “Forgot the biscuits. I always have to have coffee and biscuits when I get back from work—it’s one of my little rituals. Won’t be a minute.”

  Holt allowed himself a little smile, he’d never had pegged Dr. Armstrong as a biscuit lover; it didn’t fit in with her lifestyle at all.

  Loretta came back into the room and offered him a biscuit. Jimmy declined and watched as she ensconced herself back in the armchair opposite him and proceeded to dunk a biscuit into her coffee. She noticed him watching her.

  “Oh, sorry, another habit of mine; it doesn’t bother you, does it?”

  “Heavens no, I used to do that myself, but my wife hated it. My ex-wife,” Holt corrected.

  “Oh, I know your ex-wife, don’t I? Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry, it’s just—’

  “No, no, it’s ok. I wondered if it would come up. Actually, one of the reasons I chose to come and see you was because of what she’d said about you.”

  “Oh yes, and what exactly did she say about me?” Loretta’s voice was light and jovial, trying to diffuse any tension.

  “She just said you’re very good at what you do.”

  “Well, that’s good. Now, let’s get started. I already know a little about the cases.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, the cases are being followed quite closely by the media, Jimmy. Have you brought any photos of the crime scenes with you?”

  “Yes, but Loretta—it’s ok if I call you Loretta, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, of course, please continue.”

  “Well, before I show them to you, you must realise that I’m taking a huge risk in doing so. The atrocities performed on these poor souls are brutal even to the most hardened of people.”

  “It’s ok. I attended medical school and have some experience working in the A&E department. Trust me, I’ve seen my fair share of mutilated bodies.” She said this in a conversational tone, but the underlying weight of the statement hung in the air.

  Jimmy reached to the folder he had laid on the coffee table earlier.

  He pulled a wad of large, glossy photographs from the folder and handed them to Loretta. Taking the photographs from him, she started carefully looking through holding them carefully, almost gently, as if she was afraid that leaving her fingerprints on their surface would inflict further humiliation and pain to the victims. He saw a look of disgust cross her face briefly. After a few minutes of perusing the photos, she stopped on one particular print, leaning forward toward Jimmy and showing him the photograph.

  “What’s that?” He recognised the photo straight away. It was from the first murder scene. It was a photograph that showed where the ring of flames had been on the warehouse floor. Loretta was pointing toward the back of the photo within the ring; there was a box with a digital clock sitting on top of it. He had to admit that that particular find had stumped him, too. Especially when he’d looked inside the box. It had contained the keys to the handcuffs that had been used on the man’s ankles. It had been a very odd find.

  “It’s a box with a clock on top of it,” he answered, not sure if he should mention anything else. The fact that it had had keys in it had not been released to the press, and he wasn’t sure if he should tell her about that.

  “Did the box contain anything?”

  Why did this woman always seem to know what was going on in his head before he did?

  After a pause, Loretta spoke again.

  “If you’re serious about me helping you with this case, don’t you think a good place to start would be for you to be straight with me? I know there was something in the box, Jimmy.”

  “Why would you assume that?” Jimmy’s voice was high and strained all of a sudden; he was alarmed that she’d seen through him once more.

  “Well, two reasons, really. The first is that you took too long answering me when I asked a direct question that you should have already known the answer to, indicating you were thinking about your answer, a little inner conflict, maybe?” She paused then, looking at him sideways, eyebrows arched and a small smile on her lips.

  “And secondly, when you finally did respond, your voice was all squeaky and defensive. My God, it’s a good job you joined the police force—you’d make a terrible crook.”

  Jimmy laughed.

  “Ok, you caught me. Yes, there was something in the box.”

  “May I hazard a guess as to what you found?”

  “By all means.”

  “A key?”

  Jimmy’s jaw dropped open.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Well, it was just an educated guess, really.”

  “Educated guess? Where did you get the information to make this guess?”

  “These photos.” She picked them up and handed them back to him.

  “What do you notice about the pattern of scorched ground?”

  “It’s a circle, and…?”

  “And the victim, we all agree, started out in the middle of the circle and lost his life trying to escape it.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the victim must have been soaked in petrol.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the circle was made with petrol.”

  “Yes, what’s your point?”

  “Think about it: put yourself in the deceased’s position. You’re in a warehouse, in a circle of flames, soaked to the skin in petrol, you’ve managed to cut through the binds on your hands, but your ankles are handcuffed. What are your options?”

  “I’d
look around the area to see if there was anything that could help me escape—the keys for the handcuffs for example. And being in a warehouse would mean a flat concrete floor, so the petrol must have been the source of the flames surrounding you.”

  "Yes, and what do we know about petrol?”

  “It’s highly combustible.”

  “Exactly, which means it will burn out quickly, so…”

  “Why didn’t he just wait until after the flames had burnt out to make his escape?”

  “Now, all these photos show the scene as it was found, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the box was unopened when it was found?”

  “And?”

  “If you’re in that predicament, where you can’t wait for the flames to burn out, you’d look around first to see if there was anything around to help aid your escape, but he didn’t look in the box, which was the only thing in the ring with him. If that had been me, the box would have been the first place I would have looked, personally.”

  “Yes, but when you find yourself in a ring of flames, I’m sure you probably aren’t thinking straight.”

  “Good point, however, it wouldn’t take long for the survival instinct to kick in. You’d be surprised how resilient and resourceful the mind can be under the extreme pressure to carry on living.”

  Jimmy took a large drink of his tea and winced. Coffee. Drinking it down quickly, he put his cup back down and turned back to Loretta.

  “Ok, so why didn’t he look inside the box?”

  “Well, why wouldn’t you look inside the box in his position?”

  “I don’t know. I guess if I thought opening it would make my situation worse.”

  “Exactly. Now consider what was found on top of the box.”

  “A clock.’”

  “Yes, now, considering everything else, why do you suppose he didn’t open the box?”

  Reassessing all the new ideas, it didn’t take Jimmy long to work it out.

  “He believed there was a bomb in it? That’s the reason he didn’t wait for the flames to die down or open the box? But why leave the keys in the box? Did the killer want him to escape?” Jimmy’s face was agog.

  “I wouldn’t think so. Maybe they wanted you to believe the victim had a chance, but in reality, he didn’t. It’s an incredibly elaborate plot; I don’t think these two murders are going to be isolated.”

  “Meaning?” Holt was almost afraid to ask.

  “Meaning, given the amount of time taken to execute them and how close together they were…”

  Loretta paused for a moment and looked Holt in the eye.

  “You are looking for a serial killer, a highly organised individual. The only thing you can be completely sure of, Inspector Holt, is that there will be more bodies. How many more is up to the killer.”

  “And us,” Holt amended.

  Loretta got up and went to pick up Holt’s cup.

  “I’ll get you a refill” Holt, still lost in thought, brought his hand down on top of Loretta’s to stop her.

  “No, it’s ok, thank you. I’ve got to get going now anyway.”

  Realising his hand was still covering Loretta’s, he quickly removed it and gathered up all the photos that now littered the table. Getting up, he turned to Loretta.

  “Well, thank you for your time, but I really ought to get back to the station.”

  Holt wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt embarrassed. His need to leave the confines of Loretta’s apartment made him suddenly clumsy. As he reached the living room doorway, his jacket caught on the door handle. Acutely aware of his faux pas, he started quickly down the hall toward the front door when his foot found the underside of the hall runner rug. He fell face first, and the photos spewed across the floor. He heard Loretta coming up behind him, and he quickly started gathering the photos up. She knelt down next to him to help. As she did, she paused to look over the photos of the second murder scene. She stared at them for a moment before handing them back to him.

  “Did you want to leave those photos here so I can look over the second murder properly?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t, I’m afraid; they shouldn’t really have left the station.”

  “Ok, then.” Getting up with him, Loretta walked him to the door.

  “Well, thanks again. Would it be ok to come round again at some point?”

  “Of course, glad to be of service.” She grinned then, and the act made her look childlike. She opened the door for him and he walked out.

  “Take care of yourself, Jimmy.”

  “Will do; you, too.” He smiled at her as she closed the door, and then he leant back against outside wall of the apartment.

  What the hell was that?

  He hadn’t behaved like that in female company since he was fifteen. There was no denying Loretta was an attractive woman, but to lose his nerve so quickly? All he’d done was touch her hand. He could see why strangers would find themselves opening up to her. She had the rarest of qualities; an authoritative presence coupled with a gentle manner. And her eyes, she had the eyes of a long lost friend, someone you may not have seen in a lifetime but you feel entirely comfortable pouring your soul out to.

  Putting his behaviour down to lack of food and rest, he turned and made his way to the lifts.

  Chapter 10

  Clare woke up feeling terrible; she knew she’d thrown up at some point, as she still had an acrid taste in her mouth. In the dim light she stared around her, nothing was familiar. Sitting bolt upright in the bed she felt something moving next to her and grabbing the duvet she pulled it back to reveal a half-naked Hannah

  “Hannah, wake up.” Clare’s voice was hushed, but the urgency in it roused Hannah.

  “What the hell?” Hannah was stirring, and her mind was clearly going through the same questions Clare’s had not minutes before.

  “What happened last night?”

  “I’m not sure; we were at the pub with those guys, we went round to Adam’s flat… I don’t know, it all goes hazy after the pub.”

  “Oh God, Hannah, where are we? Where are they? Why can’t I remember anything?”

  “I don’t know—let’s just get dressed and go.”

  “We can’t leave yet; I need to know what happened.”

  Hannah swung around to face her friend.

  “Clare, we are half-naked in a bed, in a place we don’t know, not able to remember anything. What do you think went on?”

  Clare’s face was confused and then the confusion was replaced with horror.

  Don’t say anything, Clare. Please, let’s just go.”

  “Go where? The police?”

  “The police? Are you kidding?”

  “Hannah, we’ve been drugged and assaulted—we have to report it.”

  “Why, do you really want everyone knowing about this? Even if by some miracle it went to court, what then? Nearly all rape cases get thrown out.”

  “We have to do something.”

  “We will.”

  “What?”

  “Go home and never speak of this again.”

  Hannah finished dressing herself and made for the bedroom door.

  “Wait for me.” Clare was hurriedly putting her shoes on.

  Both girls were silent the entire walk back to Clare’s apartment.

  Once they were inside Clare’s flat, something seemed to snap in Hannah.

  “I don’t want to think or speak of this ever again. I’m going to make us a cup of tea.”

  Clare sat down. She’d never felt so low before. She started thinking back to all the times in her life when she’d believed things couldn’t possibly have been worse None came even remotely close to how she was feeling now. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach, and all she wanted to do was fill the bath with bleach and submerge herself in it until she felt clean again. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she held them back.

  Hannah returned to the living room with two cups of tea.

  C
lare took one from her.

  “Do you want something to eat?’

  “No thanks.”

  The two sat in silence, both in their own hells, both wishing there was some way they could turn back the clock.

  Chapter 11

  Henson bowled up to Holt’s desk.

  “How’d it go with Loretta the other evening, then?”

  “Dr. Armstrong had some insightful thoughts on the case, actually, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t announce it to the whole station, thanks.”

  “Ok, ok, sorry. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

  Holt looked up briefly, eyebrows raised.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you were going to share any of these glimmering insights with me?”

  “Of course, but not now, I’m meeting someone for lunch.” Gathering up his papers, he shoved them unceremoniously into his briefcase.

  “Oh yes? Anyone I know?” Henson ventured.

  “I doubt it. Now, while I’m out, I want you to find out everything there is to know about Matt Reynolds, family, friends, ex-girlfriends—anything. Somebody must know something.”

  Holt strode up the corridor in the direction of Loretta’s apartment. Damn that bloody idiot Henson; he was such a cocky little sod. He seemed to be constantly surrounded by reporters and didn’t seem to have learnt the standard police reply for such situations: ‘No comment.’

  He was thriving on his newfound celebrity status, and it hadn’t yet dawned on him that the sooner this case was solved, which Henson himself wanted to happen, his enraptured audience would disappear, along with any ‘glory’ that had accompanied it. Henson would be back at the bottom of the pecking order, but this time instead of being disliked by his peers, he would be ridiculed. Henson was starting to act as if he was the star in his very own detective show. Well, he was going to have to start realising sooner rather than later that television dramas were not a mirror to the real world. As far as Holt was concerned, this story was going to end, and it wasn’t going to get a second season.