Cold Justice
Page 1
COLD JUSTICE
Lee Weeks was born in Devon. She left school at seventeen and, armed with a notebook and very little cash, spent seven years working her way around Europe and South East Asia. She returned to settle in London, marry and raise two children. She has worked as an English teacher and personal fitness trainer. Her books have been Sunday Times bestsellers. She now lives in Devon.
ALSO BY LEE WEEKS
Dead of Winter
Cold as Ice
Frozen Grave
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2015
A CBS company
Copyright © Lee Weeks 2015
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved.
The right of Lee Weeks to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
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Paperback ISBN: 978-1-47113-363-3
eBook ISBN: 978-1-47113-362-6
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For Darley Anderson. He knows what my dreams are, and he believes in them too.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Grand Hotel, Park Lane, London
Thursday 2 January 2014
As the bath was running, Jeremy Forbes-Wright laid out his toiletries on the bathroom shelf. The room was in the art deco style that he loved, the tiles on the floor were black and white and the wall lights above the shelves were mounted with elaborate chrome fittings: sleek, shiny and with a touch of the ostentatious.
He had chosen to come back to this hotel because it was one of his favourites. It had an old-fashioned class and service about it that made him feel at home and there was a comforting solidness about its dark curtains, dark wood, its quiet corridors and the fact that it didn’t object to him bringing his dog – there was no way he was leaving him home tonight.
He caught a glimpse of himself but didn’t linger on his reflection. Instead, he went across to the bath and poured in some orange-blossom bath oil and breathed it in deeply – a little smell of heaven as it turned the water an apricot colour. He turned off the water and left it to steam gently while he went back into the bedroom. The television was on. The 24-hour news channel had moved on to world affairs, wars and massacres, and typhoons; but along the bottom of the screen ran the words:
Former senior politician drops out of race for top Tory seat.
He went back into the bathroom and sat on the side of the bath, dangling his hand in the water, checking that it wasn’t too hot. As he did so, he looked back into the lounge. He had placed the dog basket where he could see it from the bathroom, and now Russell, the Jack Russell terrier, rested his head on the side of his basket and looked at his master with worried eyes as he gave a tentative whine.
‘Hush now, Russell, you’ll be all right.’ Jeremy looked at his reflection in the misting mirror and could see only half of his face. ‘I’m dammed if I’m going to just fade away, Russell, that’s for sure.’
The dog seemed to contemplate a reply as it opened its mouth but then closed it again with a sigh.
‘Exactly, Russell, no one to blame but myself. That’s the trouble – all I ever had was myself and I turned out to be so bloody unreliable.’ He laughed and his laughter echoed in the bathroom.
He smiled at the dog as he stood and pushed the bathroom door to. Then he hung the thick white cotton dressing gown neatly on the back of the door. He stepped into the bath and lay back with a sigh into the warm scented water; closing his eyes he breathed deeply, felt the sting of a tear as the scented steam filled the bathroom, misting the black and white tiles on the wall, steaming up the cold mirror completely.
He reached for the razor blade and positioned it on the inside of his wrist where he could see his pulse beneath the skin. He pushed and dragged into the vein and pressed his hand beneath the water as a ribbon of blood snaked from the wound and turned the bathwater the colour of blood oranges.
Chapter 1
Greenwich apartment
Monday 3 February
‘Are you okay, baby?’
Lauren Forbes-Wright came up behind her husband Toby and slipped her hands around his waist to hug him; she looked over his shoulder out of the French windows down towards the Thames. He’d taken off his jacket but was still wearing the crisp white shirt they’d had to buy him especially for the funeral.
‘Yes.’
She felt his body resist her touch as she tightened her arms around him, her chin resting on his shoulder. He stayed where he was, hands in his trouser pockets, gazing out of the window. Visibility was down to twenty feet. It was all a mass of grey with the rain sleeting against the window. She knew he wasn’t really looking at the view. She knew he was thinking of a million things, none of which brought him peace. They had been married three years but she felt she knew less about him than ever. Now, when he had something monumental like the death of his father to cope with, was the time she realized how distant they truly were.
‘Sure?’ she asked.
‘Of course – why shouldn’t I be?’ He sighed again, shook his head. ‘Sorry, Lauren, that came out wrong.’ He placed a hand on her arms wrapped around him and gave them a dismissive squeeze. She didn’t let go.
>
Lauren closed her eyes. ‘You don’t have to say sorry,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘It’s a big thing.’
She felt Toby shift his weight. She felt his body prepare to move, long to move, but she fought to hold on to it a moment longer. She wouldn’t let him run from her and find his cave.
But Toby managed to unhook himself from her arms and Lauren accepted defeat as she watched him walk away from her and into the kitchen, passing their son Samuel on the way.
She watched her husband’s back disappear out of sight and picked up Samuel, who had started grizzling; then she followed Toby.
‘Shhhh.’ She kissed her son’s blond curls as she stood rocking him on her hip.
From inside a metal cage in the corner of the kitchen, Russell observed the world with the fixed, worried expression he’d had ever since they’d brought him home from the hotel.
‘Shall we go down to your dad’s apartment tomorrow – we need to go through his things?’ she asked.
Toby picked up his wine and walked past her as he went back into the lounge and sat, elbows on knees, on the sofa. ‘Maybe.’
She followed him. ‘It has to be done.’ He didn’t answer. Lauren put Samuel back down on the floor with his toys and walked towards the window as the sun came out. The glare bounced around the room, ricocheted off the glass table, the mirror, the stark white walls. The day outside transformed itself in seconds. She sighed as she stood looking out across the Thames. In the distance, the sun hit the sides of the Shard.
‘Shall we go to Cornwall instead?’ She softened her American tones. ‘Now that the sun has come out? What do you think, baby?’ She had loved calling him ‘baby’ when they first fell in love. He was ten years younger than her. He had been fresh-faced and innocent and so nerdy and earnest. So absolutely shy that it amazed Lauren that he had ever lost his virginity. He worked in the Royal Observatory and was a genius when it came to understanding the universe. But he didn’t understand other people. He definitely didn’t understand women or what made a relationship work. He was twenty-nine, she was forty-one. She was fast realizing that Toby really was a baby.
‘Thought you had work to finish?’ He was irritated, anxious to the point that she thought he looked ready to cry or scream or down the bottle of wine he’d already had two large glasses from since they’d got back from the funeral.
‘Yes, I have. But I’ll take it with me.’ Lauren worked for an American drugs company. She was writing up her research project on dementia drugs. ‘We could all do with a change of scenery – even the dog,’ she said. ‘It’s funny how he left instructions about the dog, about the funeral, about what he wanted doing with his bloody ashes, but not about his estate.’
She looked at Toby’s face – so pale in the low winter sun that was making him squint. He looked like a lost boy. She hated to see him in such misery.
‘You’ll never get it done there,’ he said, more to himself than Lauren.
Lauren watched Samuel playing with his toys on the floor. He was a quiet boy, sensitive, anxious and very bright; a lot like his father. He was so bright but he rarely smiled.
‘We should let the dog out; it can’t do any harm,’ said Lauren.
‘We’re not allowed dogs in the flat. Anyway, we don’t know if it will turn on Samuel,’ he replied.
‘It’s a tiny dog – not exactly a Rottweiler.’ Lauren smiled. ‘I feel sorry for it.’
‘It’s a terrier – they can be really snappy when they’re old,’ Toby retorted.
‘But it’s only four. We have all its papers from the hotel. Anyway, it’s been with us a month and it still barely comes out of its cage. There we go – the dog needs a holiday. It’s more stressed than the rest of us . . . Settled! Samuel? Shall we go on vacation?’ Samuel looked up at his mother and nodded. She got a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped his runny nose. ‘Shall we build sandcastles? See some little fishes in the sea? Throw a ball for Russell? Have some fun?’
He nodded as he watched her facial expressions and tried to mimic them. She kissed him and reached behind her head to unpin her hair. She rubbed her scalp as her hair unwound itself into a bob, short fringe. She didn’t wear make-up as a rule. She had one colour lipstick and it was the one she’d worn on their wedding day. It was pink. She was wearing it today. Toby didn’t look at her; he had a frown on his face. Lauren watched his face contort as he grew more anxious. He was chewing the inside of his cheek.
‘Toby, shall we just go to Cornwall now? I mean, why wait till tomorrow? What do you think? We only need to pack a few things. We’ll wash stuff down there.’
‘Can we think about it tomorrow, please?’ There was an exasperated, persecuted edge to his voice.
‘Yes . . . of course.’ Lauren accepted the setback, walked across to her desk and opened her laptop, but changed her mind as Toby walked back into the kitchen. She followed him and stood watching as he poured another glass of wine. ‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ Toby finished pouring himself the large glass of red and took a swig.
She smiled but her eyes remained watchful. ‘Did you know many people at the service?’ Toby answered with a shake of the head. ‘I recognized one of the names at the end when people came past and paid their respects. I saw that man, Stokes, who’s been bothering us about your father’s house. You’d think he’d leave us alone at a time like this.’
She went to find the letter from her desk in the corner of the lounge. ‘Yeah, here it is – Martin Stokes. He wants to know whether we’ve changed our mind about letting it out. He has to return a lot of deposits, he says. He implies that we’ll have to meet the cost if we do that. I don’t see why, unless your dad kept the deposits. I suppose that’s possible.’ She sighed. ‘Christ . . .’ She looked to Toby for a reaction but he didn’t speak. ‘He also says that a private purchaser from the village would like to make us an offer for the house of five hundred thousand – contents not included.’ Lauren shook her head incredulously. ‘They must be joking; we know it’s worth a million? What do they want with it?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Let’s tell Stokes we want it left empty,’ she said. ‘We need to go and have a proper look at it. The quicker we sort out your dad’s estate the better. I have no worries about getting rid of the house in Cornwall but we may not be able to afford to keep it, if we have to pay death duties.’
Toby looked her way briefly then turned away as he said, ‘We will have to; it doesn’t look like he had any money at all.’ He gazed out of the kitchen window down the three storeys towards the street and the parking spaces below them. A woman was struggling past with a buggy. The wind whipped through the new tower blocks and the ones under construction. There were tastefully designed walkways and children’s playgrounds, even a new Waitrose store at the entrance to the complex. It was all very new.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t look good; I mean, it doesn’t look like he had any money. I went to his flat . . . he doesn’t have much antique-wise. I saw nothing we can hope to sell.’
Lauren knew her husband didn’t want to make eye contact with her. He busied himself setting his iPad up.
‘We said we’d go together.’
‘I didn’t want to bother you.’ He glanced up as she heard the familiar jingle of the iPad starting. ‘You were at work.’
‘I think I should be involved. Two heads better than one and all that?’ Her mouth formed a half-smile. Her eyes stayed cold.
He shrugged dismissively. ‘The solicitor has all the papers now, he’s handling it, not me, so we needn’t be concerned. Whatever has to be done, he will do it.’
‘What did you find there? What’s his place like?’
Toby stopped tapping on the keyboard and looked at her, irritated. ‘It’s a plush flat with a hot tub and a sauna. It’s the same sort of place as this, a riverside apartment with a view, but a hell of a lot more rent than this and a lot more view.’
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘What? You are kidding me? Those are things that Samuel can inherit. Even if they aren’t worth anything – they have sentimental value.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about Samuel at the time. I certainly wasn’t feeling sentimental.’
‘I understand. Of course; but we are a family and one day Samuel might want to know about his granddad.’ She took a step towards Toby, almost reached out a hand to touch him, but stopped when she saw the look of hostility in his eyes.
‘Can you just leave it, for fuck’s sake. I told you I would handle it all. My problem, my fucking father. I’ll deal with it, all right? This is not about you or Samuel.’
Lauren looked stunned. She nodded meekly and retreated to the lounge.
Toby’s phone rang; he looked at the screen and went into the bedroom to answer it. Lauren heard him moving about the bedroom and talking on the phone. After ten minutes he came back into the lounge with his coat on. Lauren was back at her desk, Samuel was playing with some Duplo pieces.
‘Where are you going? Who was that on the phone?’
‘It was work. They wanted to tell me my new exhibits are up and running. I thought I’d go and have a look. I’ll take Samuel out and give you some peace. We’ll have a wander and come back in time for his tea. Samuel will like it up there in the Observatory.’
‘Really? Okay, if you feel like it, that would be great. You better take him a biscuit. He usually needs feeding after a nap. He’ll probably fall asleep for an hour in the buggy.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get him something. There’s plenty in the café to eat and plenty of people to make a fuss of him.’
‘Okay, but he’s getting a cold, I think. His face looks flushed,’ said Lauren.
‘The fresh air will do him good. He could do with hardening up.’
‘Fresh? In the middle of London?’ As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. Toby turned away. Lauren swivelled back round. ‘I’ve just emailed the man, Stokes, about the house in Cornwall, confirming that we need it left empty for now. Let’s go down tomorrow, like I said. I need to finish this piece today then maybe we can have a stress-free evening. Are you sure you’re happy to go out? I must admit it would help me concentrate enough to get this work done.’