[Lorne Simpkins 01.0] Cruel Justice

by M A Comley

  “Boss, have you got your cuffs handy? Guess we’ll have to take this prick in after all.”

  “What the…‌There’s no need for that. I told ya, I don’t know any Kate Charlton.”

  “Kim Charlton. Her name’s Kim Charlton. She’s a regular punter with your firm,” Lorne corrected him. She looked over her shoulder at the small crowd gathering in the street.

  “I ain’t never picked her up, I swear. Check with the friggin’ firm; they’ll tell ya.”

  “Last Thursday, one of your colleagues was supposed to pick her up, he couldn’t make it. Did you pick her up?”

  “What time last Thursday?”

  “Sometime between eleven and half past, at night.”

  “Nope, I was one of the drivers that was told to stay in town. We usually stay outside the Rose and Crown pub. They start kicking out early down there ’cause they’ve had a lot of problems with customers getting rowdy after hours.”

  “How many of you were down there? Who were the others with you?” Lorne asked.

  “Let me see. Len was there, and young Aiden,” the man said, eyeing Pete warily.

  Lorne consulted her list and verified the names in full with Adams. “Len Dixon and Aiden Cole?”

  “That’s them. I can vouch they were with me about that time.”

  “Did any of them pick up a fare from the pub around then?” Pete asked.

  “Maybe. I can’t be that definite.”

  “But they could’ve?” Lorne asked, and the man nodded. “If they had, maybe one of the fares wanted to go near the girl’s address. They might’ve dropped by and picked the girl up—is that possible?”

  “Not really. The boss tells us to drop off quick and get straight back to the pub.”

  “Okay, thanks for your help, Mr. Adams. If you remember anything else, will you give me a ring?” Lorne handed him a business card, and she and Pete left.

  “Guess that just made the list smaller by three names.” Pete grumbled to himself.

  “Who’s next?” Lorne checked her watch. Four o’clock. One more visit, then they’d call it a day. She had no intention of working a single minute past five, as instructed by her new boss.

  Fred Falconer was next on the list. He lived in a better suburb and had a wife and two kids. He openly answered their questions in front of his wife. Lorne knew if he’d had anything to hide, he wouldn’t have done that. They headed back to the station.

  “It’s time for me to knock off,” Lorne told Pete as they pulled into the car park.

  “Huh. It’s only five o’clock. You never knock off at five. You feeling okay, boss?”

  “Fine. I’ve been ordered to take a long weekend off. I won’t be in again until Monday.”

  “Hmm…‌So that’s why you’ve been grumpy all afternoon.” Pete nodded slowly.

  “I have not,” Lorne bit back.

  “Have too. What’s going on? What’s the story with you and the new chief then? Got a past together, have ya?”

  “Yes, Sean Roberts and I have come across each other before.”

  “What’s he like? You gonna tell me about him?”

  “No, I think it’s best if you make your own mind up about him. He’ll show his true colours soon enough; I’m confident of that.”

  “You can be so bloody frustrating at times. What about the investigation?”

  “I’m leaving things in your capable hands.”

  “Gee, thanks. Does that mean I have to deal with Arnaud?”

  “Yup, you’re the leading investigator, for the weekend at least. He’s a softie once you get to know him.”

  “I’ll take your word on that. One thing’s for sure, though: I don’t intend to spend the night with him like you did, just to get in his good books.”

  She refused to rise to the bait and issued him a warning glance. From Pete’s expression, he knew he’d overstepped the mark.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  On her way home, Lorne stopped at the local off-licence. Her mood had already improved since saying goodbye to her partner. During the drive she’d been thinking how she, Tom, and Charlie could spend the weekend together. Maybe she’d take Charlie swimming or perhaps all three of them could go away on a spur-of-the-moment camping trip. Hmm…‌wrong time of the year for that!

  The silence hit her as soon as she opened the front door. Maybe Tom had taken Charlie shopping or to the arcades as a treat. It wasn’t as if he was expecting her home early. She wandered through to the kitchen and shivered at the coolness of the tiles on her bare feet. When she put the bottles of white wine in the fridge she noticed how bare it was. That’s strange. Tom always goes to the supermarket on Thursdays; complains the huge queues are hard to handle on Fridays.

  Opening the kitchen cupboards, she found them nearly empty, too. What was Tom playing at?

  It wasn’t until she placed the bottle of whisky she’d bought for Tom in its usual place that she spotted the note.

  Lorne, I’ve taken Charlie to Mum’s for a few days. Maybe the break will do us good. It’ll give us the time we need to reflect on our marriage. I need to consider if it’s worth the time and trouble anymore! Don’t bother ringing; I need to see if I miss you. At the moment, I can’t bear to be near you. I’ve told Charlie you’re going away on a course for a couple of days, so she won’t be expecting to hear from you either. Tom.

  He must be joking. This can’t be happening. For God’s sake, Tom, don’t abandon me now. Her hands trembled as she read the note five or six more times. Opening the whisky, she said aloud, “Oh my God. He’s left me.” She poured a large glassful.

  What the hell was happening to her life? She felt as though she’d been dumped in the middle of an ocean, not knowing if she was going to drown or be able to stay afloat. Her chances of survival lay ominously in the hands of the people around her.

  Why was life being so harsh to her? Why now? She didn’t deserve this.

  She needed a lifeline to reach out for. Taking a leaf out of her husband’s book, she turned to the whisky for comfort, and collapsed into bed about ten.

  Friday morning was a non-event. Eventually, Lorne stirred at one in the afternoon to the distant sound of the phone ringing. The answerphone kicked in, but the person calling didn’t leave a message. Her head pounded as she struggled to the bathroom, then, standing under the cold water, she showered for a couple of minutes.

  She couldn’t face the thought of eating. What was she going to do for the next three days without her family around? She hated shopping at the best of times and couldn’t stand the thought of traipsing round the supermarket by herself. What about doing some gardening? That was pointless, too. It was bucketing down outside, adding to her misery.

  After tidying the house, she picked up a book and read for a few hours, only to give up on the latest blockbuster when she found the plot confusing.

  During the afternoon, the phone rang continually, but she was in no great rush to answer it, and the caller stubbornly refused to leave a message on the machine.

  She was in the kitchen deciding what to cook for dinner when the doorbell chimed. Before she’d shut the fridge door, the bell rang again.

  “Give me a bloody chance!” She walked up her long narrow hallway.

  Her scowl turned to surprise when she opened the door.

  “I’ve been calling you all day, ma chérie.”

  She felt a mess and hid behind the door. “Jacques! How did you get my address?”

  “Ah, that is for me to know. Is there any chance of you inviting me in out of this rain?” His hair was plastered to his face, but it didn’t detract from his boyish good looks.

  “I’m not really up to receiving visitors,” Lorne said, still shielding herself with the door.

  “Would you like me to go?”

  When she saw how hurt he looked, she relented, pulled the door open and walked back up the hall.

  “Where do I put my coat?” He stood in the puddle he made on the Minton tiles.

&
nbsp; “On the rack at the end of the hall. Come on through when you’ve done that.” She pointed at the rack and disappeared into the kitchen.

  “This is fantastic. Have you been here long?”

  “A few years. It wasn’t like this when we bought it. We’ve been busy renovating it—or, rather, Tom has. I was just about to make dinner. Would you like to join me?”

  “Are you eating alone?” His right eyebrow shot up.

  “Not if you join me. Yes or no? I can’t promise a gourmet meal. It’ll just be something quick and easy,” she told him, mulling over the contents of the fridge.

  “I would love to, merci. Can I do something to help?”

  “Open the wine for me. I can manage the preparation. Anyway you’ve been at work, today.” She handed him a bottle of Chablis and a corkscrew.

  “And why haven’t you been at work today? Are you ill?”

  “I had a few days holiday owed me.” She opened a tin of tomatoes and poured them in a pan. “Pasta and tomato sauce okay? I’m afraid the cupboards are a little bare. I planned on going shopping today but never got around to it.” She watched him take in her dreary appearance and felt the colour rise in her cheeks.

  “I love pasta. It will be good for my waistline. I’m afraid I eat far too many take-aways.”

  “You’d get on well sharing a place with Pete.” Lorne laughed, surprising herself.

  “I like it when you smile.”

  The colour in her cheeks deepened.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  She peeled and chopped a couple of onions and threw them in a pan, then sliced up half a dozen mushrooms, adding them to the onions. Her eyes watered, and she reached for a tea towel to wipe them. It only made them worse. After removing the pan from the stove, she sat on the stool beside Jacques and sniffed, trying hard not to cry.

  His arm draped around her shoulder, and she could no longer hold back her tears. “Forgive me, Jacques. I don’t usually cry like a baby in front of strangers.”

  “Is that what I am? A stranger, Lorne?” His arm slipped from her shoulder.

  Her eyes met his, and she could see the hurt her thoughtless words had caused. “No…‌I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Forget I said it. I’ll get on with dinner; you must be starving.”

  She attempted to get off her stool but he stopped her. “Lorne, please tell me what is wrong. I might be able to help.”

  She felt soothed by the mellow, comforting tone of his voice. What is it about his French accent that makes my heart race? “My life’s a mess. There’s nothing you can do to help.”

  “At least let me try. Let me in to your confused world. My dear mother used to say it is far harder to help if a problem remains hidden.”

  Lorne smiled as she studied his face. She was tempted to run her hands through his soaking wet hair but managed to resist. “We have a similar saying in this country, too. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

  “There you go, then. So share with me.”

  “If I took the trouble to sit down and analyse my problems, they probably wouldn’t seem half as bad.”

  “You’re wasting time. Tell me.”

  His persistence paid off, and she told him what was troubling her, glad that she didn’t break down again.

  “So this Sean Roberts—you say you know him, but I don’t understand why it should upset you so much. The old chief departing and the fact that the killer keeps ringing you—I can understand how those things might upset you. But why Roberts? What did he do to you?” One hand remained on his thigh and the other rubbed her arm, coaxing the troubles from her.

  “It’s not so much what he did to me. It’s more what I did to him. We used to be an item, then I met Tom.” Jacques looked puzzled, so she enlightened him. “An item—we were together, boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Ah, I think I know where this is going to now.”

  “We were together for two years—he wanted us to share a flat, but I couldn’t. I told him I wasn’t ready for commitment. He grudgingly accepted that, but soon after, we started drifting apart. One day, my car broke down, Tom was a mechanic at the local garage. We hit it off straight away. I dumped Sean that night, and within two weeks, I was living with Tom. That’s why he was so angry. He’d found out about our living together from a mutual friend. He caused a stink at work, calling me all sorts. He was hurt and annoyed. I’d told him I wasn’t ready to commit and yet…”

  “So how was the matter solved?”

  “The chief inspector at the time summoned us to his office, reprimanded us, and insisted that one of us would have to be transferred. Sean jumped at the chance to move on. It took me a while to get back in the hierarchy’s good books. Eventually my hard work paid off, and I got my long-awaited promotion a few months ago. That’s when the problems started with Tom.” Her voice was tinged with sadness.

  “Talking of which, why is Tom not here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “That’s why I’m so upset. When I got home last night, I found this note.” She flattened the balled-up note lying on the counter and handed it to him.

  “It’s personal. Are you sure?”

  She nodded, and Jacques read the note. When he looked up, she had tears trickling down her face. He jumped off his stool, closed the gap between them, and gathered her in his arms.

  “I’m so sorry, chérie. Now I understand why you feel so devastated. A good cry will get it out of your system.”

  Yes, but will it bring Charlie and my husband back? She rested her head on Jacques’ shoulder. The smell of his aftershave made something stir inside. Slowly she pulled away from him, their faces a few inches apart. Her mind raced along with her pulse. His eyes glanced down at her lips. Oh my God. He’s going to kiss me. Their lips met in the gentlest of kisses. But no sooner had it begun than did it end.

  “Lorne, I’m sorry. That was selfish of me. I fear I have made your troubles worse.”

  “It’s okay, Jacques. It’s not like you forced me to kiss you. We’ll forget it ever happened. I wouldn’t want it to spoil our friendship.”

  He gave her a smile. “I thought you were in the middle of cooking a meal?”

  She jumped off the stool and pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks, Jacques.”

  They consumed the two bottles of wine she’d purchased the previous night and sat on the sofa chatting and laughing like a couple of long-lost friends who hadn’t seen each other in decades. She laughed outrageously at the tales of disastrous dates he’d had since living in England. He told her how most women were repulsed and scared off once he revealed his profession to them. Lorne told him how she regretted not spending more time with her daughter. The one subject they sidestepped was her marriage.

  They were interrupted at ten thirty when the phone rang. Lorne answered it on the fourth ring. “Hello?” The silence troubled her. “Hello? Tom, is that you?”

  “Inspector, you were absent from work today,” her accuser said.

  Lorne clicked her fingers at Jacques. Covering the receiver, she whispered, “It’s him.” Jacques joined her, and she held the phone away so they could both hear. “I’ve taken a few days off.”

  “So you’re not bothered about catching me, then?” the muffled voice asked.

  “Why are you killing these women? What have they done that’s so wrong?”

  “You have a good reputation, Inspector. Surely if it’s that good, you’d have worked it out by now?”

  “You said you want retribution, for what?”

  “It was time for them to suffer, the way we suffered.”

  “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Does promotion suit you, Inspector? Perhaps too much paperwork has affected your crime-solving abilities.” He laughed, goading her. “Have you lost your killer instinct, Inspector?”

  “Who is the last person on your list?” she asked, trying to outmanoeuvre him.

  “I have no idea how you know about that, Inspector, but yes, it’s true.
There is one more person on my ‘hit list’, if you like.”

  “Meet me. We’ll discuss things.” Jacques pulled at her arm and angrily shook his head.

  “When the last victim is out of the way, then we’ll meet, Inspector. You can be certain of that. Enjoy the rest of your evening with the doctor. Answer me this—did you intend to drive your family away?”

  The killer hung up before she had a chance to respond to his cruel accusation.

  Tyres squealed outside, and Jacques ran to the window. “Merde,” he uttered under his breath.

  “What did you see?”

  “A car disappeared round the corner before I could see the number plate.”

  She slumped down on the sofa and buried her head in her trembling hands. He rushed to comfort her. “Why is he doing this to me, Jacques? How did he get my phone number? How did he know my address?”

  “Lorne, does Tom know the killer has been contacting you?”

  “No, I didn’t get the chance to tell him. I’d better ring him in case he’s in danger.” Her hands shook as she looked up her mother-in-law’s phone number in the small telephone notebook on the shelf next to the phone.

  “Hi, Janet. It’s Lorne. Is Tom there, please?”

  “Hello, Lorne. Do you have any idea what time it is?” her mother-in-law snapped.

  “I know. I’m sorry to be calling so late, but it’s really important I speak with him.”

  “Well I’m sorry, Lorne, but he doesn’t want to talk to you. Did you get the note he left for you?”

  “Yes I did, but something has happened that he should be made aware of.”

  “Oh really, Lorne. Tom said you would try every trick in the book to talk to him and Charlie. He’ll ring you when he’s ready, and by the looks of it, I wouldn’t waste your time standing by the phone.”

  “He can’t keep Charlie from me. I’ll take him to court if necessary.” Lorne felt crushed. Her mother-in-law appeared to be revelling in her family’s disruption. She’d never approved of Lorne anyway.

  “Do what you have to do. As far as I can see, you and my son are finished, I’m sure of that.”

  “Just tell Tom I called, will you?” she told the vindictive woman before hanging up.