[Lorne Simpkins 01.0] Cruel Justice

by M A Comley

  “If you’d rather we did, that’s fine. I’ll sort it out. Let’s leave things as they are for now. As soon as the results are back, I’ll contact you first, then give him a call. We have his number at the office.”

  They shook hands, and the detectives left the grief-filled bungalow. As they walked down the path, the blood red roses edging it bowed a graceful farewell in the breeze. In the distance, a dog barked at its elderly owner, who was teasing it with a gushing hosepipe. It was a relief to hear the hum of normal healthy lives being led.

  “How come you never told me you had a kid brother who died?” Pete asked as they got in the car.

  “It was no concern of yours, Pete. It still isn’t.” Lorne promptly changed the subject. “We’ll drop by the doc’s office on the way back, see if the report’s ready.”

  One thing her father had taught her long ago was never to mix work with your personal life.

  Pete threw her a thunderous look, but thankfully he thought twice about challenging her.

  CHAPTER TEN

  They picked up the report and returned to the station. When they arrived, the incident room was a hive of activity. Even Molly was busy tapping away on her computer.

  Lorne said, “Give me five minutes to go over this report, and I’ll summarise it for you. Then, before we call it a day, we’ll recap what we have or haven’t achieved today, okay?”

  The team shouted, “Yes, ma’am,” in unison. Work had been non-stop lately for all of them, and their spirits rose at the thought of knocking off early.

  The report did little to raise Lorne’s spirits. In fact, it proved to be a total disappointment, full of conjecture and uncertainties. It emphasised the need and urgency to recover the missing limbs before the cause of death could be ascertained.

  Doctor Arnaud suggested there was a distinct possibility the body might have been placed in a freezer for a week or two before they’d discovered it. He also stated that, although the torso had suffered many blows with a blunt instrument, none of the sustained injuries would have been fatal.

  The skin around the neck was jagged in some areas and torn in others, a sign that it had been removed impatiently by the perpetrator with some kind of saw. It appeared that the decapitation had been carried out around the time of death, as the extent of blood loss incurred had been maximum, from what he could gather. The fingertips of the left hand appeared to have been removed in the same way.

  The victim had suffered four broken ribs, and during the assault, the sternum had also sustained several fractures.

  Lorne read on and was horrified to find that a piece of wood five inches long and three inches in diameter had been discovered wedged deep inside the victim’s vagina. That find suggested that the crime had been a sexually motivated one, although no semen had been found in, on, or near the corpse.

  The doctor had finalised his report by saying: “If—and it’s a big if—the victim had lived, the internal injuries she suffered would have meant she would have had to endure months of recuperation and numerous corrective operations. Putting it bluntly, the victim’s death proved to be a blessing in disguise.”

  Stunned and disgusted, Lorne slammed the report shut. If the victim was verified to be Belinda Greenaway, what kind of sick animal were they dealing with? The woman was sixty-five years old, for Christ’s sake. No one in their right mind would subject a woman of that age—or any age—to such a horrendous ordeal, would they?

  She had to concur with Arnaud’s view, that death had been the better option for the poor defenceless woman.

  A sudden urge to call home and hear a friendly voice overtook her. She dialled.

  “Hello?” the young voice of her daughter answered.

  “Hello, darling. Did you enjoy your sleepover?”

  “It was all right. Susie had another fight with her mum, and…”

  “And?”

  “And I love you, Mum.”

  Her eyes misted up instantly, and her throat felt restricted. She cleared it with a slight cough. “Oh, Charlie. I love you too. Did you have a good day at school?”

  “Not especially. One of the teachers was off sick, and the deputy head stepped in for Maths. A bummer, really.”

  “Charlie, you mind your language,” Lorne chastised, holding back a laugh. “Is your father there?”

  “Yeah, where else would he be?”

  Where, indeed, but for how much longer?

  Tom picked up the phone and said light-heartedly, “I hear Charlie just gave you a sample of the latest word she’s picked up at school.”

  “God knows where she’s getting it from. Anyway, I’m just about to wind things up here. Fingers crossed I should be home within the hour. Shall I pop by the off-licence on the way?”

  “Nope. I took care of that earlier. Just hurry home. I’ve made lasagne.”

  Lorne didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d eaten pasta for lunch. He’d obviously made an effort; any fears she had of her marriage coming to an abrupt end diminished rapidly during the call. He’d spent time preparing her favourite meal. Perhaps he’d had time to think about their circumstances and decided to forgive her for not being around much lately. Or is that purely wishful thinking?

  She quickly tidied her desk. Then, with the report tucked under her arm, she stepped back into the incident room. The team listened without interruption as she read out the report, every gruesome detail.

  Despite their best efforts, the group had come up with nothing further at the end of the day. Without a positive identification of the body, it was impossible for them to identify any kind of motive for the crime. Lorne was sure now that they were on the way to making a formal ID, things would start falling into place soon. “Okay, we might as well call it a day. John, can you do one final job for me before you head off?”

  “Sure. What’s that, boss?” he asked, delighted to be singled out for the task.

  “Organise a press conference for the morning: TV, newspapers, and radio. We should have an ID on the body by mid-morning, so around eleven would be ideal.”

  “What about an incident van at the scene?” Tracy said, poised with phone in hand, ready for action.

  “Good idea. I’ll leave that with you, Tracy.”

  The young officer nodded, already dialling a number.

  Lorne dismissed the team and made her way out to her car with Pete tagging along beside her.

  “It’s been a helluva day, boss.”

  “That it has, Pete. Hopefully, things will look a little clearer, tomorrow.”

  “Ah…‌Hum…‌You don’t think you’re getting a bit too involved in this one, do you?”

  She stopped abruptly and frowned at him. “What gives you that idea?”

  They had reached the outside of the building. There was still a lot of activity around the station, with fewer officers clocking on than coming off shift.

  Pete leaned forwards and said, voice hushed, “It’s just that, well, when you were giving us the low-down on the PM report…‌um…‌you seemed a tad emotional. I was there today, remember—you know, when you told Doreen about your little brother…”

  “You’re reading things into it, Pete. I’d say I was seething about the case rather than upset. Every case touches us in some way. You know that. Be honest. Hasn’t this one affected you?”

  “Not really, boss.”

  Flabbergasted by his admission, she asked, “Is that because the victim is a woman and not a man?”

  “I can’t believe you said that, boss. You know damn well, I treat every victim the same, no matter what gender they are.”

  “I apologise. I was out of line. There’s a lot going on around me at the moment, Pete, things I can’t go into—but let me assure you, I’m not ‘getting too involved’, as you put it. This is the worst case we’ve had to deal with in a long time, even you have to admit that.”

  He nodded in agreement but didn’t interrupt her.

  “I have a feeling we haven’t seen the last of this bastard
. Call it women’s intuition, if you like. That, my dear chap, is why maybe I’m a little bit more emotional about this case than I should be.”

  He held his hands up. “I was just making sure, boss. I guess I’ve never seen you like this before. It’s bound to make me wonder what’s going on.”

  “Wonder away, Pete, but remember: I didn’t get to be an inspector without some professionalism under my belt. Now if you don’t mind, I have a husband and daughter I’m eager to get home to.”

  “You and Tom have made peace then?” he asked, nodding at the plaster still sitting above her eye.

  “I believe so. What have you got planned for tonight? Anything?”

  “The usual—a few cans in front of the telly, a microwave meal I overheat at an extremely high temperature, in case of salmonella, that ends up going crusty round the edges.”

  She knew he was fishing for an invite to dinner. Her heart went out to him. Any other time, she would have felt sorry enough to invite him back for a meal with the family. But not that night. She really wasn’t in the mood to socialise. Besides, she had a lot of making up to do with Tom, and she wouldn’t be able to do that with Pete there.

  Lorne bade him a guilty, “Have a good evening,” and headed off home.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was dark when Lorne arrived home at seven. The night sky was clear, and the air had an autumn chill to it.

  She crept into the house. It felt like stepping into a library. Then she heard the faint sound of voices coming from upstairs. She climbed the stairs and tiptoed along the hallway, avoiding the floorboards she knew creaked and stood outside her daughter’s room. She could hear Tom and Charlie laughing and keys tapping on the computer keyboard as they played a game.

  Eyes closed, Lorne leaned against the wall outside Charlie’s room. She heard Charlie’s door open and close, then felt his lips lightly touch hers. Her arms slithered around his neck as he seductively placed tiny kisses over her face and neck.

  Sensations she feared had gone forever suddenly sprang to life. Tom brushed his groin against hers. She gasped at his firmness as he began grinding his hips urgently against hers. She moaned softly in his ear, giving him the encouragement he needed to continue.

  He swung her slight frame into his arms with ease and headed for their bedroom. Charlie was caught up in a computer game, and they knew she would be occupied for hours. Tom dropped her gently on the bed, and she watched him eagerly tear off his T-shirt and jeans before he turned his attention to her again. Reaching behind her, he unfastened her skirt, giving it the merest of tugs as he eased it down over her round hips, and tossed it to the floor. Next he removed the matching blue blazer and threw it in the same direction. Then, one by one, he undid every button on her white blouse, placing a kiss on each bare patch of skin revealed. Finally, impatience getting the better of him, he ripped off her bra and panties. His boxer shorts completed the pile of eagerly discarded garments.

  Tom hesitated; Lorne reached for him. His animal instincts took over, and he stalked her like a tiger and pounced as if she was his prey in the jungle. It had been a long time since they had touched each other like this and it took an immense effort to keep control.

  Her hands stroked his back with feather-light touches, and he groaned. His lips found her taut nipples and sucked at them. She writhed with desire as her hands travelled down to grasp his buttocks. She moulded them with her hands, roughly digging her nails into his flesh, his groans intensifying with every touch.

  His impatience reached its summit. Tom guided himself into her wet crevice, and they both cried out with joy as he thrust deeper—he was back where he belonged. They clawed, bit, and sucked at each other as he plunged into her again and again. He flipped her over, positioning her on top. Together, they erupted, and she crumpled in a heap on top of him.

  He settled her down beside him, and the sound of their irregular breathing filled the room, words seemingly inadequate at such a euphoric moment. Their erratic breathing finally slowed, and they both drifted blissfully off to sleep.

  They awoke in the same position the next morning.

  “Are you ready for an encore?” Tom snuggled closer, then got on top of her.

  “Sounds tempting,” Lorne purred.

  He began kissing her but stopped abruptly. “I hear the patter of tiny feet. Quick—pretend you’re asleep.”

  They both managed to shut their eyes before Charlie pushed open the door.

  “Get up, you two. It’s half-past seven,” she shouted, before exiting their room and banging the door shut behind her.

  Tom chuckled, seeing the pile of discarded clothes littering the floor on his side of the bed. He bent over and kissed Lorne hard on the lips. She responded enthusiastically, but he pushed her gently away from him. “We’ll have to continue this at a more convenient time, sweetheart. I have a starving daughter to feed, and you’ve got a job to go to.”

  “Life just isn’t fair, is it?” She threw back the duvet, revealing her naked body, letting him know clearly what he was turning down. She seductively opened and closed her legs and immediately noticed the bulge developing beneath his robe.

  He threw her bathrobe at her in mock disgust and ran around the bed to pull on his boxer shorts, no doubt hoping that their bagginess would disguise his growing manhood before he went downstairs. “You can be positively evil at times, Mrs. Simpkins.”

  “Don’t you know it, baby.” She quickly reached over, tugged one leg of his boxers down, then ran from the bedroom, along the hall, and into the bathroom.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Lorne arrived at work sporting a wide grin.

  Pete noticed the change in her demeanour immediately. “You look like the cat that got the canary.”

  “Anything new to report?” Blushing, she ignored his wisecrack.

  “Nope.”

  The phone in her office rang. Perfect timing. Lorne answered it on the fifth ring.

  “Finally. I was just about to hang up,” admonished a grumpy voice she recognised.

  “Doctor Arnaud. I take it you have the results of the DNA?”

  “Indeed. The body in the mortuary is a perfect match to the DNA we took from Mrs. Nicholls. Will you inform the relatives?”

  “I’ll do it straight away. Thanks for the call, Doc.” Her heart sank with the news they’d been expecting. So much for starting the day off in a good mood.

  She took a few deep breaths before making the calls she needed to make. The first was to Doreen, although it was Colleen who took the call, as her mother was still in bed after having a sleepless night. She relayed the information they’d all been dreading. Understandably, Colleen broke down. Lorne informed her that a press conference had been called for later that morning.

  The second call she made was to Colleen’s cousin. She introduced herself to Belinda’s son, gave him her condolences and told him of their findings. She also let him know that a conference was taking place that morning.

  “Thank you for calling, Inspector. I’d like to attend the conference, if that’s okay?”

  “I think that’d make a lot of sense, Mr. Greenaway. The conference has been arranged for eleven o’clock. Can you make it up here by then?” Lorne remembered that Pete had told her he lived almost two hundred miles away.

  “No problem. I’ll fly up in the company helicopter. Perhaps I can see Mum before the conference?”

  The question floored Lorne. “Do you think that’s a good idea? I’ve just explained the extent of her injuries.”

  “It would help me put into perspective what the bastard did to her.”

  The more Lorne tried to deter him, the more insistent he became. She decided to leave it to Arnaud and his staff to talk Oliver out of it.

  Pete popped his head round the door after she’d finished her final call. “Coffee?”

  “I’d love one, thanks.”

  When he returned with a cup of steaming liquid that only he could describe as coffee, he asked, “What’s up
?”

  “The DNA’s back. It confirms that the body is that of Belinda Greenaway. Her son’s on his way. He wants to be involved in the press conference, and he’s requested to see his mother’s body.”

  “You’re kidding! You told him the injuries she sustained?” Pete shook his head in disbelief.

  “Does this face look as if I’m joking? I’m hoping the doc can put him off the idea.”

  “Beats me why anyone would want to put themselves through that. Leave it to the doc; he’ll get Greenaway to change his mind. Did you have a good evening?”

  Her face flushed deeper than a ripe cherry. “Lovely, thanks. What about you?”

  “Same old thing, nothing to write home to granny about,” he said, staring into his murky-coloured coffee.

  “Sorry I didn’t invite you back for dinner. Umm…‌Tom and I had a lot of sorting out to do.” She busied herself with some paperwork, letting Pete know that if he valued their friendship, the questions needed to stop there.

  “I understand, boss.” Pete tapped his nose with his forefinger. “By the size of the grin you were wearing when you came in this morning, I’d say you were pretty successful in your mission.”

  She groaned inwardly. Was she really that easy to read? Or had Tom secretly placed a sticker on her head that read ‘Had the shag of my life last night’? Drastic evasive action was called for. “What time is the conference today?”

  “Eleven o’clock on the dot,” Pete replied with a smirk.

  “Thanks for the coffee, Pete. I’ll be another thirty minutes here, then we’ll bounce some ideas around with the rest of the team, see what we can come up with.”

  “I’ll take that as my cue to leave, then.”

  She ignored him and set about reducing the pile of paperwork on her desk.

  The team was ready and waiting for her thirty minutes—and the beginning of a headache—later. “Right, now we know who the victim is, we can finally get down to solving this crime.”

  “So it was Belinda Greenaway?” Mitch asked.