Foul Justice

by MA Comley

  “Patti Fletcher. She took over from that French guy…‌Jacques Arnaud, dreadful situation.” Wallis’ expression was pained.

  Unfortunately, Lorne knew all too well whom he was talking about and the case he was referring to. Baldwin, otherwise known as The Unicorn, had blighted her life for almost nine years before she had resigned from the force. Not only had he killed her partner, Pete, and abducted and raped her daughter, Charlie—he’d also put an end to the relationship she had considered leaving her then-husband for.

  “Inspector, are you all right? You’ve gone very pale.” Wallis pulled her out of her reverie.

  “I’m sorry. Jacques Arnaud was a dear friend of mine. As for the bastard who—let’s just say I got my revenge, and he got what was coming to him.”

  Wallis chuckled and slammed the heel of his gloved hand against his forehead. “Of course. I should’ve recognised your name. It’s an honour to meet someone as famous as yourself, Inspector.”

  “Ha! I hardly think fame comes into it, Joe. At the end of the day, I was just doing what I was paid to do. Let me correct that—actually I wasn’t on the payroll then, but it was still a pleasure to track the bastard down. Can you let me have the results as soon as you get them back?”

  “Of course, Inspector. Right away. I’ll be on my way now, glad to know that London is safe in your hands once again.”

  “I doubt that’s true, Joe. There will always be some lunatic out there trying to outsmart the police.” She looked around her and swept her arm over the scene. “See what I mean?”

  “You’re right about that. Speak soon, Inspector.” Wallis turned and marched out the front door.

  Lorne spotted Katy’s expression. “What’s the puzzled look for?”

  “What did he mean?” Katy asked quietly.

  “About what exactly?”

  “About you being famous. Are you some kind of celebrity?”

  Lorne couldn’t help laughing, but her face straightened when the images of Baldwin’s contorted, vile face shot through her mind. Then she jumped on the chance to pull the moody sergeant into line.

  “Let’s just say when people double-cross me, they live to regret it.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lorne and Katy returned to their vehicle an hour or so later, after they had walked the crime scene, which hadn’t told them much apart from where and how the victims had died or—in the mother’s case—been beaten.

  “What are we going to do now?” Katy asked as Lorne eased the car out of the Dobbses’ long drive and through the gates.

  “You tell me.”

  Katy sharply turned to face her. “What?”

  “Come on. If you were lead investigator on the case, where and what would you do next?” Lorne asked, her eyes locked on the road ahead of her.

  Katy shifted uncomfortably in her seat for a few seconds, then sat bolt upright. Out of the corner of her eye, Lorne saw the younger woman extract something from her jacket pocket: a black notebook.

  “Well, I think our next stop should be the mortuary.”

  It was the longest sentence Katy had strung together since they’d met, and although going to the mortuary was the wrong course of action, Lorne was pleased that Katy seemed at least to be taking her role seriously and thinking about the case, despite her moodiness.

  “Why?”

  “Excuse me?” Katy retorted.

  “You heard, Sergeant. Why?”

  After another couple of minutes shuffling in her seat, Katy mumbled, “Because I thought it would make sense to get the post results first.”

  Lorne could tell Katy was downhearted, so at the earliest opportunity she pulled the Vectra into the nearest lay-by. She pivoted in her seat to face Katy. “It really wasn’t a trick question, Sergeant. If we’re going to be partners, I’ll be expecting you to contribute to the partnership. Yes, I’m your superior; but as the saying goes, two heads are better than one.

  “There’ll be times during a case where your knowledge will be greater than mine. Don’t forget I’ve been out of the force for nearly two years. Things change, procedures change. I’ll be expecting you to voice your opinions, however daft they may seem. In my experience, it’s normally the daftest ideas that prove to be the most important part of solving the case. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Katy’s voice was subdued, and her eyes never left the road in front of her.

  That lack of reaction frustrated Lorne. “Another thing: I don’t do moods. Yes, I might throw the odd hissy fit now and again, but I don’t put up with moods from my colleagues. Got that?”

  Katy shot her a look that said ‘I don’t give a damn what you say; I’ve got Superintendent Greenfall behind me.’

  And in that instant, Lorne knew she would have more than a few problems ahead of her until she managed to turn the new recruit’s way of thinking around.

  “I said, ‘Have you got that?’”

  “Yes, ma’am. Message received.”

  “Right. Oh, and while we’re having this little discussion, I’d also like to say that my door is always open. I don’t expect any member of my team to go through problems alone, but I draw a line at personal problems affecting the workplace and the equilibrium of the team. You got a problem inside or outside of work, I want to hear about it first, not second-hand, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” came Katy’s usual toneless response.

  Seething inside, Lorne started the car again and kept her voice buoyant. “Next stop is the hospital, but not the mortuary. If ever there are live victims found at the scene, they need to be interviewed first and foremost. Then we continue on to the post-mortem.

  “You were almost right, though. Six months under my wing, and you’ll be set for another promotion.” Lorne laughed, trying to cut through the chilly air circulating the interior of the car, but the stubborn sergeant was having none of her attempts to be friendly.

  The rest of the journey to Bart’s Hospital remained silent, at least on Katy’s end. Lorne however, turned on the CD player and started humming and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to an old Motown CD someone had left in the machine. She was determined not to get sucked into the sergeant’s moody silence.

  • • •

  The car park at the hospital was heaving, and spaces were virtually non-existent. After driving around the perimeter a few times, Lorne collared a security man, flashed her warrant card, and asked him where she could leave the car. He pointed to a spot in view of his little hut and promised to keep an eye on the car while they went inside.

  Their heels clip-clopped along the corridor of the hospital as they made their way to the Intensive Care Unit. Lorne shuddered when she thought of how much time she’d spent either visiting or recovering in hospital over the past few years. It wasn’t her favourite place to be, given the choice.

  The blonde petite nurse behind reception welcomed them with a broad smile and pointed out the room where Mr. and Mrs. Dobbs could be found.

  “Can you tell me how Mrs. Dobbs is doing?”

  Her smile vanished and was replaced by sadness. “She’s stable for the moment. I’m afraid it could go either way, Inspector.”

  “Let’s hope she pulls through.”

  Lorne eased the door open to a private room off to the left. The room smelt like a beautiful summer garden when the two detectives walked into it. At least twenty bouquets of flowers of all shapes and sizes were dotted around the room.

  Mr. Dobbs looked up when they entered. He sat in an easy chair next to the bed, his wife’s hand clutched between both of his.

  Lorne introduced herself quietly and showed her warrant card. “Sorry for your loss…‌Do you mind answering some questions, Mr. Dobbs?”

  The man was in his late twenties, with a slim build and a pretty boy face. His eyes were bloodshot and had red rings around them from where he’d been crying.

  “Not sure I can tell you much, Inspector. Who would kill my babies like that? Or do this to my wife? We’ve never harmed a
nyone. Why?”

  Lorne clasped her hands in front of her. “That’s what I intend to find out, Mr. Dobbs. What time did you get home last night?”

  “Just after eleven. After the match, I always go straight home.”

  “When you arrived home, did you see anyone at or near your house?”

  “No. I knew something was wrong as soon as I saw the gates open.”

  “And they were definitely shut when you left the house?”

  Dobbs nodded and bent to kiss his wife’s hand.

  “What time was that?”

  “I left home about five thirty.”

  “Where were you playing this evening?” Lorne asked, her throat clogging up. The man obviously loved his wife. He could barely take his eyes off the battered and bruised body lying in the bed in front of him.

  “At Greenbank. We were playing Chelsea in a reserve game.”

  “Was your wife conscious when you got home?”

  “No. I called the ambulance straight away. Her breathing was ragged. I rang the ambulance, and they told me what to do to keep her alive.”

  “I see. So you saved her life. That’s commendable. Tell me: Are you contracted to a security firm?”

  “What do you mean?” Dobbs asked, puzzled.

  “Sorry, I meant the house. I noticed you have security cameras, et cetera. Do you have a contract with a firm?”

  “Yes. God, my mind’s all over the place—I can’t think what they’re called.”

  “Never mind. Is there someone else we can call to find out that information? Would your club know, or your manager, perhaps?”

  “Yes, my manager, Stuart Russell. He’ll know. Here…”

  He handed Lorne his mobile, and she scrolled through his contact list until she found Russell’s number. “Jot this number down, will you, Sergeant?” Lorne read the number aloud.

  Katy wrote the number in her notebook and then cleared her throat. Lorne glanced at her, sensing she wanted to ask a question. Lorne nodded for her to go ahead.

  “Mr. Dobbs, who knows about your security other than your manager?”

  The man stared long and hard at Katy and frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Katy hesitated, and Lorne jumped in to clarify what her partner had asked. “Is it common knowledge at the club what security measures you have in place?”

  “Oh, I see. I don’t make a habit of discussing my personal life with the other players. I don’t suppose it would be too difficult to work out what type of security I had, though.”

  “One final question, and then we can begin our investigation. It’s a sensitive question, but a necessary one all the same. Last night, did you identify your children?”

  “Sorry, I don’t understand. You don’t think they were my children at the house?” Dobbs asked, confusion written across his face.

  “Sorry, I’m trying to make sure you don’t suffer any more than necessary, Mr. Dobbs. When the police arrived at your house, did you make a positive ID of your children? If not, then I’ll have to ask you to accompany us to the mortuary at some point in the near future to do it.”

  Tears spilled from the man’s eyes, and he nodded slowly. “Yes, unfortunately they were my little angels that were slaughtered in my home.”

  Lorne reached out and touched his forearm gently. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me; I had to ask. We’ll leave you in peace now. Here’s my card. As soon as your wife wakes up, can you call me? The sooner we track down the culprit or culprits the better. It won’t bring your children back, but it’ll go some way towards healing your wounds.”

  She knew that to be the case from experience.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Next stop was the mortuary, and Lorne really wasn’t looking forward to that. During the lift ride down to the basement, her insides had started churning to the point of her wanting to throw up. Get a grip, girl. Hold it together. Once or twice, she caught her new partner eyeing her suspiciously. She shrugged and explained, “I don’t feel comfortable in tight spaces.”

  Lorne headed for the pathologist’s office. She knew it well from her relationship with Jacques Arnaud.

  The office was empty, so Lorne headed up the narrow corridor to the suite where the post-mortems were carried out. Looking through the porthole, she saw a woman pathologist leaning over a child’s body on the examination table. Lorne tapped the door quietly and held up her warrant card at the window. The woman looked up, waved a bloody hand at her, then indicated that they should get changed into their protective clothing and join her.

  “You all right with this?” Lorne asked Katy as they slipped into their surgeon green trousers and top.

  Katy looked a little unnerved, from what Lorne could tell. The reddish usual tint to her cheeks had diminished.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure,” Katy replied, stiffly.

  Oh, great. Not another wimp like Pete! Before his demise, Pete always remained near the door. He had his own designated chair ready to catch his fall when his knees buckled beneath him after the smell of death reached him.

  “If you’d rather not go in, I’d understand. I wouldn’t like it, but I can’t make you go in there.”

  They’d taken off their heels and put on the flat disposable shoes provided before Katy spoke again. “It’ll be my first post. I can’t really say how I’ll react in there, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

  “That’s all I can ask. Any problems, give me the nod, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Come on, then,” Lorne said, leading the way.

  They both walked into the suite and approached the table in the centre of the room. Lorne introduced them to the pathologist and gave a brief nod of acknowledgement to Bones, the assistant who used to work alongside Jacques.

  Lorne noticed that Katy looked anywhere but at the cadaver.

  “Good to meet you, Inspector. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Patti Fletcher spoke with a smile in her voice—something hard to do, given the circumstances.

  “Is this one of the Dobbs children, umm…‌Miss Fletcher?”

  “It’s Mrs. Fletcher, but I insist on being called Patti at work. No airs or graces on my watch. And yes, this is Rebecca Dobbs, poor child.”

  “Terrible case. What do you have so far?” Lorne’s gaze drifted down to the child’s body, which had been opened and exposed under the pathologist’s knife.

  “She had her throat cut like her brother. I also found some contusions on both upper arms. She was roughly treated by the perpetrator. It’s inconceivable any human being would treat an innocent child so badly.”

  “Was she sexually assaulted?”

  The woman shook her head and let out a sigh. “Thankfully not.”

  Lorne felt relieved. “What about the boy, Jacob? Have you carried out the exam on him yet?”

  She had a good feeling about the new pathologist. Lorne liked her easy manner. She wasn’t stuffy like so many of her other colleagues; even Jacques had needed taming when Lorne first met him. It had taken several months before she was able to hold any kind of proper conversation with the Frenchman. After that, things had developed into a deep friendship, before…

  Patti’s voice drew her back to the present. “Yes, he had his throat slit, but I didn’t find any other marks on his body.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Indeed. I hear their mother was fortunate to escape with her life, although rumour has it that it remains touch and go, whether she’ll make it or not. It must have been torturous for her, seeing her children manhandled and their lives ended in such a cruel way.”

  “I agree. The thought of it doesn’t bear thinking about. Let’s hope she was unconscious before she witnessed their murders. I’ll wait to hear from you with regard to the reports then. Any idea how long?”

  Patti glanced up from the child’s body. “Should have the report ready by the end of the day, Inspector. Like I say, it should be an open-and-shut case on the two children.”

 
“Very well. Nice to meet you, Patti. I’d say I’ll look forward to working with you in the future, but…‌well, you know what I mean.”

  “Indeed. I’m sure our paths will cross soon enough. Be in touch later.”

  Lorne and Katy stripped off their greens in the locker room and left the building. On the drive back to the station, Lorne asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Actually, better than I expected. Couldn’t handle posts all day, though. Even the feel of the post-mortem suite made me shudder.”

  “Yeah, it’s not the warmest place on the planet, granted. You did well.”

  Lorne glanced out the corner of her eye and saw Katy smile and puff out her chest. Maybe things aren’t going to be so bad between us after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I managed to drop the gear off this morning.”

  He eyed the younger member of the gang, Carl, thoughtfully. “Did Stan say he could shift it?”

  Carl shrugged and threw himself into the easy chair in the corner of the room. “No problem. He said he’d ring you when he’d found a safe home for it.”

  The other two gang members laughed and high-fived each other, but he glared at them and shook his head. “This ain’t a game, you tossers!”

  He stormed out of the messy lounge and headed up the hallway to the kitchen. He hated the shithole, but it was a convenient place to meet up after a job. He preferred to be tucked up in his own swanky surroundings out in the sticks.

  He’d be back there soon enough. One more job that night, and they’d need to back off for a bit anyway. Too many ‘convenient’ jobs taking place, and the cops would start making some connections. Nope, he’d make sure that didn’t happen on his watch.

  Taking a can of lager from the fridge that was stacked with four-packs instead of food, he headed to look out the back door, checking the jungle of a garden attached to the tiny two-bed terraced house that belonged to Carl.

  He contemplated what lay ahead of them that evening, running through the plans he’d spent the morning going over with the other members. Everyone had been issued their specific jobs. The other two men were still upset at how the previous evening had turned out, but what the heck. To get anywhere in life, you have to take chances—if that includes people getting hurt, then so be it.