Pure Justice

by Alan Richards

  “They?” asked Sam.

  “Yes one thing all the witnesses can agree on is that she was sitting having her meal with another woman but the descriptions of the other woman are just as bad.”

  “So a wash out on descriptions,” said Wendy.

  “Yes,” replied Michael.

  “So do we have anything?”

  “Yes, it’s a tenuous link but worth following up. I trawled through all her cases, documented threats and one stood out. Not because of violence or threats but because so far two people associated with the case are now dead... murdered.”

  “That is bizarre,” said Wendy.

  “That’s what I thought,” replied Michael. “It’s a drunk driver who killed a man. The driver was sent down but within a week of him being granted early release he was found with his throat cut. At the time the widow campaigned for a longer sentence but got nowhere. Judge Einhald wouldn’t even hear from her in court, told her she was too emotional. You can imagine how that went down.”

  “If he was a drunk he could have got into a pub brawl,” interjected Wendy.

  “No. If you look at the crime scene photos you can see it was clinical. Whoever did this made him suffer first but the final slicing of the throat was neat and without any hesitation.”

  “So what are you saying?” asked Sam.

  “I think someone connected with this case is killing off or having killed the people involved.”

  “Any suspects,” asked Wendy.

  “The wife, Amelia Johnson.”

  “You can’t be serious,” said Wendy. “She’s a mother, a successful business woman. For Christ sake she catered for Prince what’s his names wedding. No I don’t see it.”

  “I think he has a point Ma’am,” said Sam.

  “Okay, interview her, but tread vey carefully,” said Wendy reluctantly.

  “Yes Ma’am. I will.”

  Michael gathered up the papers and left the meeting room. He was finally getting somewhere. He had no intention of being nice to Amelia bloody Johnson. This case could get him back on track to DI and even DCI. He was going to find the evidence and nail the woman.

  * * *

  Michael had been sat at his desk for less than two minutes when Sam approached.

  “Your with me, they found a body in a house on Genas Close,” said Sam.

  “Okay.”

  Michael grabbed his jacket and followed Sam out of the detectives room and to the car park. The address sounded familiar. He had been to so many house that most streets in and around London sounded familiar. Stabbings, shootings, scooter thefts. The capital was turning to shit. They got in Sam’s car and drove out of the station car park. As he hit the traffic Sam turned on the lights and sound show.

  “You worked it out yet?” Sam asked.

  “Worked what out?”

  “The street.”

  “No, sounds familiar but have been doing this a while now so lots of streets sound familiar.”

  “The house belongs to a Mr Andrew Timmons.”

  “What?”

  “You remember Mr Timmons.”

  “Yes, he’s the sick bastard that killed his daughter and ruined my career.”

  “You ruined your career all on your own by planting evidence. And your the reason he walked free.”

  “I suppose.”

  “No fucking suppose about it. Now let’s pray it’s him.”

  Sam pulled up outside the house. There were already two police cars, an ambulance and a couple of cars from the scenes of crime techs. It was like a convention. They both left the vehicle, flashed their ID cards at the constable guarding the gate and walked up the path to the front door.

  They were met by a scenes of crime officer who passed them their shoe covers and paper thin white overall. They both dressed and entered the front door. There was a body on the floor.

  Michael surveyed the scene. The body was definitely Andrew Timmons and at first glance what had been done to him struck of personal or vengeful. He stooped down to take a closer look. There were single bullet holes in each knee cap and his left shoulder.

  “This is professional Sam,” said Michael.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “One shot to each knee cap and one to the shoulder, they’re precise not over the top.”

  “Okay I buy that much. But the rest... that’s personal and a lot to do with his past would be my guess.”

  “No, it’s a level of hatred for him yes. But look... the cut removing his penis is clean, a single cut no hesitation marks.”

  “It just seem really personal.”

  “If it was personal where’s the frenzy. Even the fact whoever it was brought something to put in his mouth to muffle his screams. And then the final slicing of his neck is the same as the other more personal cut. Neat, a single cut, no hesitation.”

  “Okay, but we still need to interview the wife. She has the biggest motive.”

  “I agree.”

  They left by the same door they entered, removed their shoe protectors and overalls and headed for the the car so they could pay Mrs Timmons a visit.

  * * *

  Michael and Sam knocked on the front door of the house and waited for Mrs Timmons to answer. After a few minutes a lady answered the door. Michael recognises her immediately. He had spent so much time with her when her daughter had been murdered. They had grown close. That closeness had evaporated when he had to tell her that her husband, the prime suspect, would walk free because he had planted evidence. He still remembers that moment. Wendy had made him tell her, it wasn’t normal procedure but Wendy had been adamant that he should front up for his mistake. Mrs Timmons had responded with violence. Violence he couldn’t respond to, that he just had to take.

  “Mrs Timmons, you may remember me. My name is...”

  “Of course I remember you. You’re the reason Polly’s killer is free,” Mrs Timmons interrupted.

  “Yes Mrs Timmons, I am sorry about that. This is DI Sam Forster, could we come in please.”

  “Is it important.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “You had better come in then.”

  They followed Mrs Timmons to the front room and sat down.

  “Mrs Timmons. I have to inform you that this morning the body of Andrew Timmons was found in his home,” Michael said.

  “How did he die?”

  “He was murdered.”

  “Did he suffer.”

  “I can’t give you any details I’m afraid. Could you tell me where you were last night.”

  “I was at a celebration of my daughters life.”

  “Where was this please?”

  “It was at the town hall, Ilford.”

  “Thank you. Is there anyone that can confirm you were there?”

  “Seriously, you suspect me of killing him.”

  “You would have a very strong motive.”

  “I suppose I would but I haven’t spoken to him since you arrested him.”

  “Please Mrs Timmons did people see you at the celebration.”

  “Yes, lots of people. Family of course. There were old family friends. Polly’s teachers. Parents of Polly’s friends. So yes.”

  “Thank you. Do you have contact details for everyone there?”

  “Not everyone. You are probably best asking the person that arranged everything.”

  “Who was that Mrs Timmons?”

  “I can’t remember the company name but I dealt with a lady called Helen Johnson and her sister Amelia. They were really nice given how big their company is.”

  “Thank you. If you could get the details to us please.”

  “Oh wait, I have an invite somewhere. That will have all the details on it.”

  Mrs Timmons ushered them from their seats and led them to the front door. She fumbled around inside a bag that was hanging from the coat hooks. Eventually she pulled out a white card that had been bent at the edges.

  “There you go. I knew I had one somewhere. Top Hat Cateri
ng that was it,” Mrs Timmons said as she handed the invite to Michael. “If you could let me have it back please when you have finished with it.”

  “Of course, thank you.”

  Michael and Sam left and headed back to their car.

  “This can’t be a coincidence,” said Michael.

  “What?” replied Sam.

  “Remember we talked about Judge Einhald and how someone was killing off people associated with a case she presided over.”

  “Yes, wild theory but possible.”

  “Amelia Johnson... that’s the wife of the person killed by the drunk driver who ended up with his throat slit. Andrew Timmons has his throat slit.”

  “So what are you saying?” asked Sam. “You can’t seriously think it was the same person.”

  “I think it is and I think either Amelia Johnson knows who it is or... it is Amelia Johnson.”

  Sam just stared at him, shook his head and got in the car. Michael was sure his theory would hold water. It made perfect sense to him. All he had to do now was prove it.

  Seven

  Wendy didn’t like french artistic cinema. Give her a good weepy or chick flick any day of the week. A full cinema didn’t do well for clandestine meetings though, whereas a half empty cinema worked perfectly. Wednesday afternoon would mean they would be noticed. She bought her ticket, went through to the screen and took her seat next to Amelia and Helen on the back row.

  “It’s a good job this screening isn’t full, three women on the back row would get everyone talking,” she said as she took her seat.

  “Trust you to think in the gutter,” replied Helen.

  “If you could concentrate,” said Amelia. “We can get started.”

  “She gets tetchy after a late night,” joked Helen.

  “Anyway... last night went to plan. The target was extinguished,” said Amelia.

  “And no one missed her at the event,” added Helen. “Another clean one.”

  “Not quite,” said Wendy.

  “What do you mean?” asked Amelia.

  Wendy explained to both of them about Michael and Sam. The fact that Michael already had his suspicions about the deaths of Judge Einhald and Amelia’s husband’s killer. How he already planned to interview Amelia.

  “I told you, you were sloppy,” said Wendy.

  “I wasn’t sloppy,” argued Amelia. “Anyway he has no proof. Okay so he knows the judge was murdered, he doesn’t have anything concrete to tie her to me.”

  “It gets worse.”

  “How?”

  Wendy carried on with her explanations. She told them how this morning Michael and Sam came to her with evidence that the murderer of the drunk driver and Andrew Timmons were the same person. How the knife wounds to the neck had been made by the same knife. That the pathologist could prove that the wound had been made by someone about five feet six inches tall and left handed.

  “He can tie the two knife killings together. They are going through all past cases on the computer for the last five years that fit the same method of killing and then checking to see if there is a possible description of the killers possible height and hand usage.”

  “Fuck,” said Helen under her breath.

  “Yes fuck, if he digs really deep we are all fucked,” said Wendy.

  “Then we have to make sure they don’t join all the dots. At the moment they have theory. If they find more then they have a contract killer. Still doesn’t lead back to me,” explained Amelia.

  “It does lead to you if they find that all the killings happened to certain types of people while their victims are at events catered by your company,” said Wendy.

  “You have to kill both of them,” said Helen.

  “No fucking way,” shouted Wendy.

  “Calm down, I’m not killing police, we only kill criminals. That’s always been the rules and we stick to them,” said Amelia. “Let them keep going. Wendy, you keep us up to date with what they find. Anyway if they get too close we just disappear. We own that island off the coast of Cuba. No one will find us there if we have to escape justice.”

  “Fine, I will keep you up to date,” said Wendy.

  They stayed for another ten minutes before leaving the cinema at intervals through different exits. Wendy couldn’t help but feel this might be getting out of control. She couldn’t try to reign Michael and Sam in without them becoming suspicious. She just hoped Amelia knew what she was doing.

  * * *

  Michael had spent the night going over the papers he had brought home from the office. Even a visit from Tina couldn’t tear him away. The papers were making a compelling argument for what he suspected. They showed financial records for the catering business. There were a lot of high end customers but at regular intervals there were payments from a Cayman Islands account. The payments couldn’t be traced and the company associated with the account was so far hidden behind shell companies that he was never going to find the actual owners of the companies or the money. What he found even more intriguing was the fact that the payments normally coincided with the death of someone with a criminal background. Just like Andrew Timmons.

  “Did you get any sleep?” asked Tina.

  “Not really. I have to be ready for this interview this morning,” he replied. “I think I’ve found a contract killer hiding in plain sight.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Now go get a shower. You look like shit and even worse you smell like it as well.”

  Michael showered, grabbed some toast and left for the office of Amelia Johnson.

  * * *

  Amelia had arrived at the office in plenty of time this morning. DC Michael Moran was paying her a visit this morning. She had already been updated by Wendy on everything he had so far. Wendy was worried the evidence made for a good argument that the business was taking money and then somehow criminals were being killed. Amelia had pointed out to her that it was all circumstantial and nothing to be worried about.

  “Are we ready for this dick head then?” said Helen as she walked in and sat at the side of Amelia.

  “I am, your not stopping in here. He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “Tough shit. I’m the calm and organised one remember. You just kill people.”

  “I’m organised. You have to be to kill people. So don’t be so bloody cheeky.”

  “I’m still staying. We don’t need you killing a policeman.”

  “Fine. I won’t. Anyway, I’ve heard he’s quite fit. So maybe I’ll play with him... and then kill him.”

  Amelia couldn’t stop laughing. She loved winding her sister up. The door opened and the secretary led in a man.

  “Michael Moran, Mrs Johnson.”

  “Thank you Patricia,” said Amelia. “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wendy was right, he was fit alright. Amelia was struck by his dark skin tones and his square jaw. He was wearing the designer stubble very well along with a slightly unkempt hair style. He was about six foot two she thought, his body wasn’t toned it was more lived in. There was a sense of vulnerability about him. It distracted her completely. She pulled herself together.

  “How can I help you Mr Moran,” Amelia said.

  “I just have a few questions about the death of Andrew Timmons. Do you mind if I record this by the way.”

  “Of course not a problem,” said Amelia.

  “Thank you,” Michael said. “I suppose my first question would be why did you kill Andrew Timmons.”

  “That’s very straight forward Mr Moran,” Amelia replied calmly. “I didn’t. I was at an event the night that Mr Timmons died.”

  “Oh yes of course, an event paid for by a shell company in the Cayman Islands for a celebration of Polly Timmon’s life. An event that Mrs Timmons attended.”

  “You have certainly done your homework and you know more than me. We really don’t care who pays for our events. We just provide the best service possible.”

  “Do you not find it all a bit too coincidental
.”

  “I don’t think anything Mr Moran. From what I hear he wasn’t a nice man. Maybe if you had done your job in the first place he wouldn’t still be at large for someone to kill.”

  Amelia could see that her last comment had struck a nerve. She had done her homework as well, with a little help from Wendy.

  “That has no bearing on the case,” replied a flustered Michael.

  “Also Mr Moran,” butted in Helen. “Given that you were reduced to a DC after falsifying evidence shouldn’t you have a colleague with you when interviewing people.”

  “That’s why I asked to record the interview... can we get back to my questions.”

  “Would the recording be admissible in court?” asked Amelia.

  “Not according to our solicitor,” said Helen.

  They were working as a team now. Putting Michael off his stride.

  “And you haven’t cautioned us,” said Amelia.

  “Please, I just have a few...”

  “I think we are done here Mr Moran,” said Helen.

  “What about all the other killings?” asked Michael.

  “Like my sister said. We are done here Mr Moran. If you want to speak to us again. Call our legal team,” said Amelia as she stood from her chair. “Goodbye.”

  Amelia held out her hand. Michael stood, shook it and picked up his voice recorder. He turned it off.

  “Don’t take it personal Mr Moran. As contract killers we have to be careful. We need to know how close you are to finding evidence on what we do so we can decide whether you need to be removed from the equation.”

  Amelia could see the look in his eyes. It was a mixture of shock, surprise and elation. Shock at what she had just said, surprise that she had admitted it and elation that he was right.

  “Only joking Mr Moran. We just cater for the living. Let me show you out.”

  Amelia beckoned Michael from the office and followed him through the reception to the door that led out into the street.

  “Goodbye Mr Moran,” she said as she opened the door for him.

  “Goodbye Mrs Johnson.”

  Amelia watched as he stood in the middle of the pavement. The sense of shock he was feeling was palpable, even from inside the building.

  “What did you go and say that for?” said Helen.