Pure Justice

by Alan Richards

  Amelia walked into the office with five minutes spare. Her drive in hadn’t been pleasant. The usual London traffic had only been made worse by the scorching late July heat, it seemed to increase the usual impatience of your standard London road user one hundred fold.

  “Bloody London traffic.”

  “Bad drive in sis. I don’t know why you don’t use the underground.”

  “Because I don’t like being that close to people. It’s weird touching people you don’t know.”

  “Your a strange person.”

  “Fine, is our new client here.”

  “Yes waiting in reception.”

  “Okay, let’s get her in then.”

  Amelia sat behind her desk and waited for Helen to bring the client in. She had started the catering business with her sister twenty five years ago. It had started out as a sandwich delivery business to offices at lunch times and had grown into a multimillion pound business that catered to large corporations and even royal functions. She often got nostalgic about the old days.

  “Amelia, this is Mrs Timmons.”

  “Welcome Mrs Timmons, please take a seat.”

  “Janet, please call me Janet.”

  “Of course. Now Janet how can we help you.”

  “I am sure it’s all a mistake but I’ve received a donation for a celebration of my daughters life that I have to spend with you.”

  “No mistake Mrs Timmons. It’s happened before, we have no idea where the money comes from but rest assured we will make sure it’s spent well,” replied Amelia. “Now tell me as much information as you can about your daughter, her life and how you would like to celebrate it .”

  Amelia listened intently as Janet explained that her daughter had died twelve months ago and how she wanted to celebrate her life.

  * * *

  Michael sat at his desk in the corner of the room, no one in the office went out of their way to engage with him and they avoided working with him at all cost. That was fine with him, he preferred to work alone.

  “Michael, how was your dead old lady this morning,” asked Detective Inspector Sam Forster with a snigger.

  “Piss off twat.”

  “Watch your tone detective constable Moran.”

  Michael and Sam had come through training together and he was the only one that had stood by him during his fall from grace. Michael knew he was the only one who looked out for him.

  “It was Judge Einhald.”

  “Fuck, I appeared in front of her a few times. Too soft for my liking,” he replied in a more somber tone. “She was old though, heart attack.”

  “No, murder.”

  “Your taking the piss.”

  “No. Pathologist found a puncture wound on her neck. He suspects an injection of something to make it look like a heart attack. He’ll know more when he’s done the toxicology.”

  “We had better brief the DCI. You be on your best behaviour and eat some gum to get rid of the smell of the booze before we get in there.”

  The two of them knocked and entered the office of Detective Chief Inspector Wendy Holme.

  “What can I do for you two?” she asked.

  “It looks like the old lady from last night that we all thought was a heart attack was in fact murder.” said Sam.

  “Who wants to murder some old lady in a restaurant. You had better give me what we know.”

  Michael related all the information he had so far and waited for the DCI to decide the next steps.

  Four

  Amelia paid the driver and exited the black cab. Russell square was a hidden gem in the centre of London plus it was one of a handful of places that had a quaint coffee stand. It was a converted wooden cabbies stop. They were used in the days before all the coffee chain stores and expensive designer coffee shops started popping up all over London. Even worse they now had drive through ones. Little wooden shacks where cabbies would stop during their shift and grab a cup of tea.

  This one was lovingly restored and she made a point of visiting it whenever she was in the area. She ordered her latte, paid the man and took it to sit in the gardens. Despite all the traffic bustling around the edges of the gardens picking people up and dropping them off at the University or the British Museum, the gardens were quiet, tranquil even. It gave her a time for reflection, for some peace. You didn’t get that often in her line of work.

  She sat on a bench that skirted the fountains taking sips of coffee from her take away cup... watching the birds wash in the fountains. Every so often flying away in a noisy bustle of flapping wings as dog walkers passed by the fountains and then returning when they felt it was safe to do so.

  “Hello Amelia,” said DCI Holme as she sat next to her.

  “Hello Wendy, your looking well.”

  “Thank you, you don’t look too bad yourself. Especially given the fact you must have been busy last night.”

  “Busy. Nope, just a meal out with my sister to celebrate my birthday.”

  “Well maybe you had too much to drink.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because you were sloppy. They found a bruise at the injection point and when they run toxicology no doubt they will find whatever it was you used to kill her.”

  “I’m never sloppy. I’ve been doing this for ten years... sloppy, no way. A bit over zealous maybe. Anyway, so what if they find anything. I’m always careful, I’ve never been caught yet.”

  “There’s always...”

  “And don’t forget, I go down so do you. You feed me most of my London based catering clients remember.”

  Amelia looked Wendy directly in the eyes. They may be friends but she had to make her point that she was in charge.

  “Fine, our arrangement is mutually beneficial. We may have a problem though. The DC that has this case is good, in fact if he hadn’t fucked up the investigation of your next client he would probably be in my job. There is a real risk he could figure it out.”

  “Don’t worry, he won’t find anything that ties me to any of the murders.”

  Amelia took the final mouthful from her latte and threw the cup in the bin at the side of the bench.

  “Keep me up to date with anything from the DC and I’ll let you know when the catering job is done.”

  Amelia lent in and kissed Wendy on the cheek, turned and left.

  As she walked away, Amelia couldn’t help but think about how they had first met. It had been when Amelia had been at her lowest. The days after her husband had been killed by a drunk driver. Wendy had been the DCI in charge of the case. She had helped her and the children through it all and they had become friends. It hadn’t been until months later that Wendy had confronted her about a string of unsolved murders over the previous ten years that all seemed to have a link to the catering business she ran with her sister. For some reason Amelia had just blurted out the truth. She had feared she would end up having to silence her friend but instead Wendy had decided to help identify targets.

  Amelia was a contract killer with a small difference. All of her contract work was arranged through the catering business. Wendy would identify individuals that deserved the special attention that only Amelia could provide them with. Helen would arrange anonymously for the victim or victims parents to receive a donation towards a celebration that could be redeemed at Amelia’s and Helen’s catering company. All the donations ran through shell companies registered in the Cayman Islands so if anyone investigated, they could never be traced back to the three of them. The only rule all three of them stuck to was that their targets deserved to die. Their targets had to be murderers, child killers, rapists, they had to be the scum of the earth. If they met that criteria, they would end up with a much shorter life than they expected.

  It helped of course that the catering business had grown into a worldwide business with a reputation for excellence. The fact it made millions every year also made handing out donations easier. The international status of the business meant Amelia and Helen could travel the world
without ever being noticed. Their celebration side line was truly international. The business even had it’s own private jet.

  * * *

  Michael was sat at his desk pawing over the pathologist’s report. It confirmed what the pathologist had first thought. The small bruise was the site of an injection point and the toxicology had also found very small traces of potassium chloride. As bruising had developed the pathologist had also found a bruise on the judge’s neck. The conclusion of the report was that the victim had been incapacitated with a blow to the throat and then injected with a high dosage of potassium chloride which had induced a heart attack.

  “Any luck?” asked Sam as he perched on Michael’s desk.

  “The judge was definitely murdered.”

  “Any suspects?”

  Michael reached for the witness statements taken at the restaurant. He fumbled through a few before finding the one he wanted.

  “This statement from her husband says that the judge went to the ladies room and within five minutes a lady came out and started screaming that someone was having a heart attack.”

  “And...”

  “Five minutes, don’t you see,” he grabbed the pathologist report. “The pathologist’s report says that potassium chloride acts fast, within minutes.”

  “So the woman who came out screaming must have seen the killer.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought. But there’s no witness statement. So I checked... she disappeared. From what I can make out she just walked out.”

  “Description... name on the reservation.”

  “Either no one remembers them or the ones that did have different descriptions... blonde hair, brown hair. Long, short. Fucking useless.”

  “Reservation?”

  “False name and paid cash. So no way of tracing them.”

  “Very professional.”

  “Exactly what I thought.”

  “You need to go through her cases and find out who had it in for her or if anyone made threats.”

  Sam sprang off the desk and walked off. Michael knew he was right, this case was going to be solved using good old fashioned detective work. If he was lucky and did a good job he could find a professional killer and solve the murder of a judge. He may even manage to get his career back on track.

  Five

  Amelia had made her excuses once the celebration had started. The guests had sat down to a meal surrounded by reminders of Jessica Timmons. Her mother had made a heart felt speech about her daughters life followed by a short hatred filled tirade about her killer and the incompetent police that let him slip through their fingers. That part of the speech only fuelled Amelia’s desire to get her one task completed.

  Helen had chosen the venue for the celebration not only for it’s proximity to Jessica’s family home but also because it was close enough to the home of Andrew Timmons for Amelia to walk the distance in thirty minutes.

  She had changed at the venue into a black one piece outfit and slipped out a rear door so no one saw her. She threw her rucksack over her back and started the walk. She’d walked the route a few times since they had chosen their next target, she needed to make sure she memorised it. Wendy had provided an outline plan of Andrew’s house from when it had been raided. It had no alarm.

  It was eight-thirty PM by the time Amelia had arrived at the detached house, a single light was on in the front room. The curtains weren’t drawn so Amelia could see from her position across the road straight into the front room. Andrew was sitting on the sofa watching the TV. The changing picture of the TV changing the colouring of his face as he sat transfixed to what ever it was he was watching. She had hoped the curtains would be drawn. She would have to decide what to do once she got in the house. She couldn’t carry out what she had come here to do in full view of anyone walking past his house.

  She scanned up and down the street. It was empty. She took the rucksack from her back, took out a pistol with a silencer already screwed to the end and a knife. She flung the rucksack over her back and made her way across the road, down the driveway of Andrew’s house and into the back garden.

  * * *

  Once inside the house Amelia moved through the kitchen into the hallway. She could hear the noise from the TV in the front room. It was loud enough to mask any noise she might make. She was professional enough to not make any noise. She passed a mirror hanging on the wall in the passage. It was on the wall opposite the front room door. She angled herself so she could use the mirror to look into the front room. It didn’t afford her any more information, all she could see was the room windows and the TV sat in the bay window. She needed to decide her next step.

  If she waited she ran the risk of not getting back to the celebration before everyone started to leave. She needed to be there as people left to ensure their minds would play tricks on them and they would swear she had been there all night. She could just shoot him from the doorway, the silenced pistol wouldn’t make any sound and she would be out of the house really quickly. That sort of clinical job didn’t excite her though. She needed to see the faces of the people she killed. She needed them to know why she was killing them. She had no option but to draw him out. She decided on her next step, it was a bit unorthodox but it should work.

  She moved back to the kitchen, quietly went through the cupboard and found a large plate. She took the plate, stood in the doorway to the front room and threw the plate at the TV. It hit in the centre of the screen, shattering it. The colour on the flat screen started to bleed across the cracks that started to appear like a snowflake pattern from the epicentre of the blow from the plate. She stepped back quickly into the kitchen and waited for her victim to appear.

  It took him a few minutes but eventually Andrew poked his head around the door and with a little trepidation stepped into the passage. Amelia knew he wouldn’t be able to see her in the darkness of the kitchen. She waited for him to turn on the passage light.

  As soon as the light came on she saw the look of shock on his face. She raised her pistol and fired a single shot to his left knee cap. He fell to the floor screaming.

  “Andrew Timmons?” asked Amelia.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Answer my question or I will shoot you again. Are you Andrew Timmons?”

  “Yes... fuck, yes.”

  “The same Andrew Timmons that sexually and physically abused Polly Timmons.”

  “Did my whore of an ex-wife put you up to this?”

  Amelia looked him in the eye and fired a shot into his right knee cap. He screamed even more. She could see the pool of blood from his left knee on the floor beneath him. Blood from his right would soon join it.

  “Mr Timmons, did you kill your daughter... and before you answer, if I think your lying I will shoot you in the shoulder and I will keep shooting you until I think your telling me the truth.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “One more go Mr Timmons, are you a perverted, sick peadophile who murdered his own daughter.”

  “No.”

  Amelia didn’t hesitate, she fired a shot into his left shoulder. She knew he would now be in excruciating pain. If he lied this time and she had to shoot him again he might pass out from the pain.

  “Last chance to live Mr Timmons. Did you murder your daughter.”

  “Yes... yes I killed her. She was going to tell her mother about what I did to her. She was my special girl, I loved her.”

  “Funny way of showing it.”

  “She asked for it. She enjoyed it. And then she turned on me when I wouldn’t give into her. A new bike, a new horse. I gave that girl everything. Including my love. Ungrateful bitch.”

  Amelia looked at the man in front of her. He was on the floor, blood pooling around his legs. His T-Shirt covered in blood from his shoulder wound. He would be feeling weak with the amount of blood he had lost. If she left him he would likely bleed out, but that would be too easy for him. She tucked the pistol in her waist band and took the knife from her pocket.


  “Mr Timmons, Andrew. I’d like you to know that your wife didn’t send me, she is too nice a woman. My colleagues and myself are not though and so I will be killing you tonight but not before I relieve you of the one thing you old dear.”

  Amelia walked towards the now cowering wreck of a man. She knew by his whimpering that he knew exactly what was about to happen to him and that it would be extremely painful. She didn’t care, she took the rolled up cloth from her pocket and shoved it into his mouth. It would deaden his screaming. She took her knife and flashed it in front of his face. He was sobbing, but she didn’t care. It was this part of the job she enjoyed.

  Six

  Michael had made an effort this morning. He had spent yesterday combing through Judge Einhald’s cases, reports of threats against her and any connections he could find. There was the usual bunch of suspects that she had sent down but one in particular stood out. It didn’t seem likely but it warranted looking into a bit more. He gathered all his paper work and took it into the meeting room.

  “Michael, what have you got then?” asked Wendy.

  Michael passed copies of the relevant papers around the table. He hadn’t had to present like this for a long time, he was fine talking to Sam but his DCI was an altogether different matter. She was a formidable woman.

  “Come on then, I haven’t got all day,” Wendy urged.

  “Yes, right...” Michael stuttered.

  “Michael just calm down and give us the facts,” said Sam.

  “As you know Judge Einhald was murdered using an injection of poison to the neck that brought on a heart attack. If you look at the summary of witness statements they describe a woman following the judge into the bathroom and then coming out screaming that she was having a heart attack.”

  “Any descriptions, details, credit card receipts for this woman,” asked Wendy.

  “Witnesses all describe a different woman so they are useless. The name she gave doesn’t show up in any databases so is more than likely fake and they just left. The receptionist remembers one of the them paid cash on the way out.”