by M A Comley
“Hurt? You don’t know the meaning of the word,” he said through gritted teeth, refusing to loosen his grip.
Oh God, he’s lost it.
Lorne tried to shrug his hands off, but his grip tightened. Despite her crying out for him to stop, he refused to let go. He was like a crazed man, and she knew only one way to stop him. Her knee made contact with his groin, a slight nudge—or so she’d thought, just enough force to make him let go. To her amazement, he dropped to the floor and writhed in agony.
“Tom, I didn’t mean to do it so hard. Please, let me help you up.” She bent down to try to comfort him.
“Get away from me you, crazy bitch.” He flung out an arm, and his clenched fist caught her just above the eye.
She flew across the room and landed in a heap on the cushions. Henry ran to her and licked the blood trickling from her brow.
“It’s okay, boy. Go back to your bed,” she told him, stroking his head, but the dog seemed to sense more trouble ahead and refused to leave her side. He sat down beside her and eyed Tom warily. Lorne feared what would happen if Tom laid another hand on her.
She noticed her mobile vibrating on the coffee table by the sofa.
Here we go. Lorne struggled against the softness of the cushions to retrieve her phone. She felt bone tired, weary beyond words, and it showed in her voice when she answered the phone. “Hello. DI Simpkins.”
The girl on the switchboard said, “Um, sorry to disturb you, ma’am. A body’s been discovered on your patch, and we wondered if—”
“Give me the details,” Lorne said, as Tom staggered to his feet and headed towards the kitchen. Henry growled as Tom passed, but Lorne tugged his collar to chastise him.
“The details are a bit sketchy at the moment, ma’am. The body was found in Chelling Forest. It appears to be a few weeks old.”
“Great. Protective masks at the ready when I get there, then,” she muttered drolly.
“I’ll take that as an affirmative then, ma’am?”
“Yes, I’ll attend. Have you contacted Detective Sergeant Childs yet?”
“My colleague’s on the other line with him now. She’s giving me the thumbs up, ma’am. He’s en route.”
“Bang goes yet another romantic evening,” Lorne complained half-heartedly, pretending everything was as it should’ve been at home.
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am,” the controller sympathised.
Lorne wasn’t sorry, though; anything but. “I’ll be there ASAP.” She flipped her phone shut, sighed heavily, and ruffled Henry’s head. Then she told him to stay while she went in search of her pissed off and pissed up husband.
Tom was sitting at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a glass and a half-empty bottle of whisky.
Leaning against the doorframe, anger making her blood boil, she tucked her hair behind her ears. “Tom, I’ve got to go to work. We’ll have to finish our discussion later.”
He ignored her and continued to stare at his glass.
At that moment, she hated him for the damage he was causing their marriage. After a quick change of clothes, she gathered her phone, coat, and handbag and left the house, her heart heavy.
CHAPTER TWO
Chelling Forest was around half an hour’s drive from Lorne’s home. The vile weather meant that thankfully, the roads were quiet.
The storm had dispersed, but the rain was less considerate and still came down in torrents. Lorne tutted, fearing the elements would hamper their investigation. Any possible footprints would be washed away long before she got there.
Arriving at the location at ten twenty PM, Lorne saw several emergency vehicles already at the scene. A Sky News cameraman and reporter were set up, broadcasting a live report. Experience told Lorne that before long the area would be flooded with other reporters, both print and TV, hungrier for the grisly story than a pack of starving wolves would have been for road kill. Mercifully, the area had been cordoned off with blue and white crime tape.
She opened the glove compartment and hunted for a plaster. After wetting her finger with spittle, she wiped the trickle of blood from her brow, then applied the plaster. She moved to the trunk and swapped her low-heeled court shoes for Wellies. Pulling on her light waterproof jacket to protect her navy pinstriped suit, she set off in search of her team.
“Inspector Simpson, can you tell us what you’ve found?” the reporter shouted.
“Evening, Bill. See you’re first on the scene, as usual. When I’m less pressed for time, perhaps we can have a chat about how you manage to get your information so quickly. And, just so you get your facts straight this time, the name is DI Simpkins, okay?”
The reporter had the decency to look embarrassed, if only for a few seconds “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to cause offence. Are we looking at a murder enquiry?”
“Give me a break, Bill. I’ve only just arrived. As soon as we have any information, you’ll be the first to know. You and the other gathering news teams, that is,” she added with a wry smile.
The small rivers of mud squelched underfoot as she plodded through the forest. She’d already spotted her partner’s car amongst the parked vehicles, which made her feel a little easier. Pete Childs would be asking all the right questions.
“Evening, ma’am. Foul evening in more ways than one.” A uniformed officer, halfway up the track, acknowledged her.
She nodded in agreement and continued along the muddy pathway.
Her head pounded with every step she took. How has my marriage got in such a state? She knew Tom hadn’t meant to strike her, but there was no getting away from the fury she’d seen in his eyes. Is that my fault too?
As Lorne dodged another puddle, her thoughts turned to a few years before, when she would bring Charlie and Henry to that very wood. The pair ran innocently, playing hide-and-seek among the huge oak trees.
After the night’s discovery, she’d think twice before coming anywhere near that place again, even in broad daylight. Christ, what if Henry had dug up the body, and Charlie had been the first to discover it? She shuddered at the thought; it didn’t bear thinking about.
After a few more minutes of trudging through mud and sopping wet leaves, she finally reached the scene.
The Scene of Crime Officers had erected a marquee, protecting the body from the rain seeping through the gaps in the branches overhead.
Pete Childs approached her. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you I walked into a door, would you?”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” he said incredulously.
“It was an accident. Your concern is duly noted, but leave it alone, Pete.”
“You’re kidding me? Some bloody accident when a man’s fist connects with his wife’s face. When we’ve finished here, I’m going round to sort out your old man.”
Lorne stepped forwards and rubbed her hand up his arm. “That’s sweet of you, Pete, but I’m afraid I provoked him. I can handle Tom. In fact, if it hadn’t been for my police combat training, it wouldn’t have happened in the first place.
“Right, what have we got here?” She swiftly changed the subject as she pulled on a pair of white throwaway overalls and put plastic shoes over her feet.
With a defeated shake of the head, Pete apprised her of the situation and informed her that the two teenagers, who’d literally stumbled across the headless corpse, were being questioned down at the station.
The only significant conclusion the team had managed to gather so far was that the corpse was that of a woman.
The putrid smell of rotting flesh hit them as soon as they entered the tent. Pete coughed and gagged. It still amazed Lorne how, after seventeen years on the force, her partner hadn’t grown accustomed to the fetid odour emitted from dead bodies.
Lorne groaned when she saw who the attending pathologist was. They’d had more than a few unsavoury contretemps in the past. Jacques Arnaud had a bigger ego than Mont Blanc. Lorne and Pete stood al
ongside the Home Office Pathologist, who appeared to be transfixed by the body lying on the ground at his feet. His thumb and forefinger were placed studiously on either side of his chin.
“What’ve we got, Doc?” Lorne asked the greying forty-year-old, who was rumoured to be a descendant of the French aristocracy. His sexy French accent and good looks had most of her colleagues drooling over him. Lorne, however, remained unimpressed, as she’d been on the receiving end of his sharp tongue and French arrogance far too often.
She waited patiently for his reply.
After a while, the doctor needlessly informed her, “I’m thinking, if you don’t mind, Inspector.”
“About what, exactly, Doctor?” Lorne persisted sardonically, her blood boiling at his tone.
“The case, of course. It’s a strange one,” he said.
“In what way?” Lorne asked, fighting to keep the tedium from her voice. He’s such a bloody wind-up merchant, not at all like his predecessor, Dr Thomas, who always bent over backwards to help out the officer in charge. Word had it that no one at the station liked working with Arnaud. But his results more than made up for his crap attitude. Arnaud was considered the best in his field, with ground-breaking developments in DNA to his name.
“I suspect the victim has been dead for approximately one month,” he stated thoughtfully, circling the corpse.
“And?” Lorne prompted.
“The crime was not committed here. At some point, the body was moved.”
“Didn’t you say that the girl kicked the body as she stumbled over it?” Lorne asked Pete.
“Yeah, that’s right, she—”
Arnaud, his nostrils flaring, interrupted her partner. “I mean physically moved, not disturbed by a mere kick. The killer probably thought the body would likely be discovered at another site, therefore he or she decided to move it. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen that happen. A mistake that, in the end, will prove to be his or her downfall.”
“How can you tell?” Lorne asked, mystified by his assumption.
“I believe I’ve said too much already. It’s pure conjecture at this moment in time. I’ll let you know after the post-mortem,” Arnaud informed her offhandedly.
“Do you mind if I’m present at the post-mortem, Doctor?”
“It’s your prerogative as leading investigator on the case, is it not? Now, if you don’t mind, I still have quite a lot of work to do here.”
Lorne and Pete stepped outside the tent.
“God, he can be such a prick at times,” Pete complained.
“Yeah, a giant one, but he’s the best around. Unfortunately, the arrogant git is aware of that. I suspect that’s why he thinks he can treat everybody else at the scene as imbeciles. Come on. Let’s get back, see what the kids have to say?”
“We’ve just got to make a slight detour,” Pete reminded her.
“Oh no, you don’t, Pete. I can sort Tom out without any outside influences. Thanks all the same. What were you doing when you got the call?”
“Nothing much. Having a couple of beers and enjoying an episode of CSI on the box.”
“You’re pathetic, you know that? You watch CSI and all the blood and guts that entails, but when you’re faced with a real corpse you nearly pass out. You’re such an idiot,” she said, playfully punching his arm as they made their way back to their cars.
Pete had been blessed with a face only a mother could love, and a body most women shied away from, so girlfriends had been low down on his agenda for years. He’d recently confided in Lorne that his last date had been fifteen years before. The relationship had turned sour quickly, and he swore blind that he’d never be taken for a fool again. He had stopped short of telling her why his relationship had come to an abrupt end.
“Telly’s different to real life though, ain’t it?”
“You mean you can watch TV through your fingers!” She laughed at the image she’d conjured up. “You do know the cases portrayed in those programmes are all based on actual events, don’t you?”
“You’re pulling my wotsit. How do ya know that?”
“It’s at the end in the credits. It states that Michael Baden is an advisor on the show.” She didn’t have a clue if that was true on every episode, but the ones she’d managed to catch had shown his name.
“And who the hell might this ‘Michael Balden’ be?”
“Baden. That’s B A D E N. Doctor Michael Baden. He’s only one of the world’s leading forensic pathologists. But I wouldn’t expect you to know that. You just watch the damn programmes and don’t think about all the work and research that goes in to them.”
“All right, Mrs. Know-It-All. Sometimes you’re just too smart for words.”
“And that, my dear Pete, is why I’m DI, and you’re still a sergeant,” she joked, knowing that if he wanted to pursue promotion, he could achieve it standing on his head. He was the type of person who couldn’t be bothered to go for promotion; the force was full of them. That, plus the facts that he enjoyed being her partner and they were regarded as one of the best teams in the Met.
They left in their respective vehicles. Lorne, in her Vauxhall Vectra family car, watched and shook her head as Pete drove away in his beat-up old Lada that looked and sounded more like a Sherman tank. His pride and joy, the Lada was the best five hundred quid he’d ever spent, he told her daily. Lorne usually retaliated by saying the salesman must have laughed like a crazed man, the day Pete Childs drove that monstrosity off his forecourt.
As Lorne pulled away from the scene, her mobile rang. She glanced at the caller ID before answering it. Not Tom—if it had been him, she would have ignored it and thought up an excuse for not answering it by the time she got home. “Hi, Sis. What’s up?” she asked jovially.
“We’ve had Tom on the phone for the past fifteen minutes. What the hell have you done to him? The poor man’s distraught—”
“Take a breath, for Christ’s sake, Jade.”
She heard her sister take some heavy breaths before continuing. “Why did you do it, Lorne? How could you do such a thing, and to your husband of all people?” Her tone suggested she was straining to keep calm. Jade thought the world of Tom and tended to side with him whenever Lorne and Jade argued.
Exhaling a deep breath, Lorne indicated and flashed Pete’s car, letting him know she was pulling over. Pete slowed and pulled in a couple of hundred yards ahead.
“Jade, calm down. Look, I can’t deal with this right now. I’m on a case. We’ve just discovered a body in the woods.”
“Jesus, woman. Is that all that matters to you, your bloody work? What about your marriage? It’s falling apart at the seams. Can’t you see that?”
“Hardly, Jade. One argument, and you think we’re heading for the divorce courts. Tom and I are having a few problems at the moment, granted, but we’ll sort them out without any well-meaning interference from others.”
“So, now you’re telling me to keep my nose out. That it’s none of my business you physically attacked your child’s father.”
“Umm…Slight exaggeration. Is that on your part or Tom’s, I wonder?” Anger made Lorne’s pulse quicken. What the hell is Tom playing at? Involving Jade in our domestic dispute. What a truly selfish bastard he is.
“What do you mean by that? God, if that man only knew what you did behind his back last year—”
“That’s enough, Jade. You promised me you’d never bring that up again. No need to ask where your loyalties lie, is there? Oh, and by the way, I don’t suppose Tom happened to admit, when he was busy running me down, that he hit me and split my eyebrow open?”
Jade gasped. Then she was silent.
Lorne spoke softly. The last thing she wanted was to fall out with her sister, whom she’d always been really close to. “Listen, sweetie, I know you mean well, but this is something Tom and I have to sort out by ourselves. Oh, I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking. It was an accident,” she added and laughed gently.
“Oh, Lor
ne, can you ever forgive me?”
“What’s to forgive? It’s forgotten already. Just promise me that you’ll get both sides of the story next time, before having a go at me. And…don’t refer to that little misdemeanour again. Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“I promise. I’m sorry. Be careful out there.” Her family had picked up that saying from watching Hill Street Blues years ago. They’d said it every day their father left the house when they were kids. He had reached DCI during his time in the Met.
After her sister had hung up, Lorne was tempted to ring Tom and give him a piece of her mind, but she knew that would only do more damage. She’d deal with him in her own time. His selfishness was really starting to annoy her. At the moment, she got the impression she had more support from her five year old bra than the husband who had promised to love, honour, and cherish her.
She flashed her lights at Pete and pulled out.
Back at the station, the desk sergeant informed them that the kids who had discovered the body were in interview rooms one and two.
“The girl’s quite distraught, and she’s been seen by the police doctor. He’s given you the green light to question her for a few minutes,” the sergeant said. Lorne wondered if the doctor realised they were dealing with a murder enquiry.
Outside room one, she told Pete, “I’ll take the boy. You can have the girl.”
“Cheers, boss. That’s the thanks I bloody get for giving up my evening off?” he moaned under his breath.
“Stop whinging, and get on with it. Be gentle with her. And listen to what she has to say, don’t make any snap judgements.”
“That’s like telling my grandma how to suck eggs. I ain’t new to this game, ya know.”
“I know that. But your interviewing techniques lately haven’t exactly been by the book, have they, Pete?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Point taken. But I’m not likely to give a distraught female a clout round the ear, now am I?”
As Lorne stepped into the interview room, Todd Altman looked up. She pulled out the chair opposite him. “Hi, Todd. I’m DI Lorne Simpkins. Look, I know how difficult this must be, and I’d like to thank you for helping us with our enquiries. I’ve just got a few questions, and then you’ll be free to go.”
