Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one))

by Comley, Mel; Tirraoro, Tania

  She'd never seen this side of him before and was unsure how to react. Lorne's sudden discomfort baffled her. Jesus, get a grip woman.

  She cleared her throat before saying, "I know it's early days, but do you think we could be looking at the same killer?"

  "You know how much I dislike conjecture, Inspector. However, yes I believe there is a connection."

  "Oh, fuck," Pete cursed, peering at the girl's naked body over Lorne's shoulder.

  She turned and pushed Pete back outside the shed. "What did the owner of the shed have to say?" Relieved to be outside, she didn't have a clue why.

  "The paramedics are giving him the once over, he's in shock. Keeps saying that's his favourite fork sticking out of her vagina. Poor sod."

  "Was the shed locked?"

  "Yeah, he said he found the broken lock on the floor outside."

  "Did he touch anything?" Lorne surveyed their surroundings for possible access and getaway routes. She could only see one from where she stood.

  "No, he saw the body and rushed out shouting for help. One of his gardening buddies came over, saw the girl's body and called 999 straight away. Our boys and the ambulance arrived within minutes."

  "What's his name?"

  "The guy who owns the shed is Jim Wilkinson and his mate is Frank Gee."

  Wilkinson was sitting on the steps of the ambulance, shaking uncontrollably despite the paramedics wrapping a fleece blanket around his shoulders. Gee was leaning against the vehicle's door. Both men looked stricken with shock and the colour had drained from their ageing faces.

  "Mr Wilkinson, I'm Detective Inspector Simpkins. I understand what a shock this must've been for you, but are you up to answering a few questions?"

  The poor man's hand shook as he placed the oxygen mask that had been lying in his lap over his nose. His eyes nervously darted in every direction. Finally, he nodded and looked up at his friend for reassurance.

  "It'll be all right, Jim, just tell the Inspector what you know," Gee said, patting his shaking friend on the shoulder.

  "What time did you arrive?" Lorne asked, as Pete took out his notebook.

  "Sometime around four, I suppose. I came down to pick some veggies for my dinner," he said, removing the mask.

  "When did you last come down here?"

  "That'd be yesterday afternoon."

  "What time?"

  He took another long pull on the oxygen before answering, "I suppose it was earlier than usual because I wanted to see the match. Must've been about three, a few of us left at the same time. We watched the match together down the pub same as usual."

  "And you didn't return at all yesterday?"

  "No, it would've been too dark after the match. I never come down here in the dark, miss."

  "Did you see anyone hanging around when you left?"

  "No one who shouldn't be down here, no. A few of the guys who weren't interested in the game stayed here, I'll give you their names if you like."

  "Thanks that'd be helpful. Is there someone in charge around here?"

  "No, there's usually no need. Nothing untoward usually happens around here. Zac McKinlay and Walter Moore are the guys we left down here. They come down in the afternoons, more or less every day, but I'm afraid I don't know where they live."

  "That's okay, we'll find them. What about you, Mr Gee, what time did you arrive today?"

  "It was probably about two o'clock. I was the first one down here."

  "What about yesterday?"

  "Nope, family commitments. I rarely come here on a Sunday."

  "You say no one is actually in charge? Does that mean the gates are always open, that anyone can get in here if they wanted to?"

  Frank Gee took over the explanations as his friend sucked in more oxygen from the mask. "That's right, we're pretty much left to our own devices. Every now and then a man from the council comes round, you know, to see if we have any problems."

  "How many people have plots down here?" Pete asked.

  "Fifteen at the last count. I suppose you'll be needing all their names and numbers?"

  "That would help us out considerably. Here's my card. Are you feeling any better, Mr Wilkinson?"

  "A little, they want to take me off to hospital but I'm not sure about that." The old man pulled the blanket tighter around his sloping shoulders.

  "It wouldn't hurt to get checked out. I'm afraid your shed will be out of bounds for a couple of days," Lorne apologised, her eyes scouring the area.

  "That's okay, I don't intend going in there for a while anyway. Jim said that if I need to, I can borrow his tools. I can't believe this has happened to me, again."

  "Again? What do you mean again? Have you been broken into before?" Pete exchanged glances with Lorne.

  "Yeah, two, maybe three weeks ago."

  Pete asked, "Was anything taken?"

  "No, but something was left behind."

  "Oh? What was that?" Lorne asked.

  "I was away for two weeks, went to Benidorm with the wife. I came down here on the Sunday after we got back and found the lock lying on the floor, just like this time and there was a patch of blood on the floor of the shed."

  "Did you report it to the police?"

  "Yeah, they came down, showed no interest whatsoever, said they would log it as a break-in. When I asked them about the blood they said the burglar must have cut himself and that I should clean it up."

  "You're kidding, what station was this?" Pete asked incensed.

  "I don't know, the young copper was only here five minutes." Wilkinson gulped down more oxygen.

  They thanked the two men and wandered round the plots.

  "Look into that when we get back, Pete, that's shoddy policing."

  "Righto, boss. You know, one more murder and he'll be a serial killer, according to the experts."

  "Thanks, Pete, that's just what I needed to hear. Always looking on the bright side of things, aren't you? With any luck we'll catch the bastard before he kills someone else. I can't seem to get my head round this one. What the hell are we missing? What's the bloody connection? Apart from the victims all being women, that is." She wildly kicked at a lump of earth lying in her path.

  "If it's the same killer the crimes are getting worse and he's getting braver."

  "We don't know how the girl died yet, so how can you possibly know he's getting worse?"

  "Where has she been holed up for the last couple of days? You can't tell me the killer didn't have some fun with her before he finished her off."

  "Ssh, keep your voice down. Let's get back to the station, see what we can come up with. We'll have to oversee another midnight post-mortem later. I spend more bloody evenings at that damn place than with my own family at the moment."

  "Talking of which, what's with you and the Doc?" He nudged her arm with his and gave her a knowing wink.

  "What the hell are you on about?" Her foul mood quickly returned.

  "You seemed pretty pally in there when I came in. Usually you do everything you can to keep a safe distance from him, but there you were side by side, all nice and cosy."

  "We were in a damn five-foot garden shed. I'm afraid it's your warped mind playing tricks on you again, Pete."

  "Whatever you say, boss, whatever you say. By the way, are you gonna tell me what the chief said?"

  "He gave me a bollocking for not getting anywhere with the case, and he was furious when he heard about the latest murder on his patch. He told me to start pulling suspects in. He's given us another ten days to get the case solved."

  "How come?"

  Regretting her slip of the tongue, she had to come up with a plausible excuse. "Er budget, we went way over on our last case. He wants this one wrapped up within two weeks."

  "Shit. Does he think we're supercops or something?"

  Lorne shrugged innocently.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "Gather around ladies and gents," Pete shouted, when they walked into the incident room.

  Chairs scraped
and the noise of rustling notebooks filled the room.

  Lorne took up her position beside the white-board and Pete sat on the edge of the desk nearest to her.

  "I know that you're all doing your best but we have to dig deeper, think harder. Look outside the box. Feel free to throw any ideas at me as we recap."

  "Victim number one: Belinda Greenaway, a sixty-five year old widow. By all accounts she had no known enemies. Victim number two: Doreen Nicholls, sister of Belinda Greenaway."

  "Twin sister of victim one," piped up Molly, in her usual bored tone.

  "Meaning?"

  "And not just twins, but identical twins. We could be looking at a case of mistaken identity," Molly told the group matter-of-factly.

  "It's a possibility, but Doreen Nicholls was a very inoffensive old dear. Can't see what the motive would be there," Pete pointed out.

  "Okay, it's a start. What else have we got?"

  "There is one thing, boss," Mitch told her, hesitantly. "While you were out a courier brought over a package, it's in your office. Um … It's from Arnaud's office."

  "Get it for me, Pete, will you? I should've been told about this straight away."

  Pete returned with the large brown envelope in his chubby hand and gave it to her.

  She quickly scanned the post-mortem report on Doreen Nicholls and jotted down snippets of information on the board beneath the woman's name. Three hairs found on the body which hadn't belonged to the victim. Minute green fibres found in the clasp of her watch had been sent for further analysis. The skin under her fingernails belonged to someone other than the victim and traces of blood also found under her nails, came up as O Positive. Great, that accounts for at least fifty-five per cent of the population of the UK.

  Forensics managed to find two decent fingerprints, experts were searching through the database for a match. The soil samples from the shoeprint was similar to that found on the body of Belinda, further analysis was being carried out on both samples. All results were due back at the end of the week.

  "What about the sexual aspect to the crimes?" Tracy asked quietly.

  "Good thinking. Mitch, check the Sex Offenders Register, see if it highlights any offenders living in that area? You might as well check the paedophile list while you're at it because Kim Charlton, the third victim, is only sixteen."

  "That brings me nicely onto Kim Charlton, victim number three. She called a taxi the night she went missing, but it didn't show. Does anybody know what firm she used?"

  "I'll get on to it straight away, ma'am," John said.

  "Tracy, I'd like you to chase up a crime number for me. The allotment shed where Kim's body was found had been broken into a couple of weeks back. I'd like a word with the idiot who attended the scene ASAP."

  "Yes, ma'am. By the way, the incident van has been withdrawn from the forest. Their leads didn't amount to much, I'm afraid."

  "Okay, Tracy. I might want them to set up shop at the allotment, I've got to think about that one. I'll get back to you on that."

  Lorne took refuge in her office after the meeting concluded, en-route she grabbed a coffee from the vending machine.

  "Make mine a coffee, milk, two sugars," Pete said, creeping up behind her.

  "Sugar is bad for the waistline, Pete. I'm cutting you back to one sugar, no arguments." Placing the coins in the slot, she hit the white coffee button, bent down to retrieve the steaming cup and handed it to her disgruntled partner.

  "Sorry, boss, I'm having trouble working somethin' out."

  "What's that, chunky?"

  "How is cutting my sugar intake down gonna benefit my waistline, when you've already thrust a full-English down my neck this morning?"

  "That was purely medicinal. It's a well-known fact a greasy fry-up is the best cure for a hangover," she said, smirking.

  "One rule for one and one for another. I ain't ever gonna win an argument with you, am I?"

  "Nope. I've only got your best interest at heart."

  After their drink, Pete helped Lorne with some paperwork. An hour later, a knock on the door disturbed them.

  Tracy poked her head in. "I've got the constable outside who you wanted to see, ma'am."

  "What's his name?" Lorne mouthed, to the younger woman.

  "P.C. Bulmer, ma'am," Tracy whispered back.

  "Show him in, Tracy, and good work by the way." Lorne smiled as Tracy thrust the door open wide and stood back to let the young constable past her.

  "Ma'am. You wanted to see me?"

  The Constable, in his early twenties, looked worried.

  "Indeed I did, I'd invite you to sit down but I'm afraid my partner here's got the only available seat."

  "That's okay, ma'am, I prefer to stand."

  "P.C. Bulmer. How long have you been with the force?"

  The young officer proudly thrust his shoulders back and chest out. "I'm just beginning my second year, ma'am."

  "Are you enjoying your role as a police constable?"

  "Why yes, ma'am, most definitely, ma'am." He appeared more relaxed.

  "I have a few hypothetical scenarios to put to you, if you don't mind. It'll give me an insight into the type of training you've been getting."

  "Fire away, ma'am."

  "You're on the beat, in the middle of town at one o'clock in the morning. Suddenly you see a rowdy group of youngsters attacking innocent bystanders, what would you do?"

  "I'd call for back-up via the walkie-talkie, ma'am. Arrange for a paddy wagon to come and aid me at the scene. If I was by myself, I wouldn't approach the crowd until back-up arrived. But if I was with a colleague then I would try and calm things down the best I could." He brimmed with confidence.

  "Excellent, excellent, Bulmer. Okay, what would you do if you saw a young lady being sexually assaulted and her attacker took off as soon as he spotted you?"

  "Ah, now that's a bit more difficult. Obviously the girl would need urgent attention and shouldn't be left alone. On the other hand, if her attacker is close by, should I leave her and chase after him?"

  He pondered for a moment before Lorne urged him for an answer.

  "So?"

  "Right, I'd call for immediate back-up, giving them details of where to find the girl, ask the girl if she was okay and run after the assailant straight away. Once I caught him, I'd return to the scene and wait for assistance."

  Lorne and Pete glanced at each other but showed no emotion. Then Pete said, "So the girl's lying there, bleeding, feeling ashamed and demoralised, and you, first of all, leave her alone, vulnerable to another attack. Then, once you've caught the suspect you bring him back, presumably cuffed, you forgot to mention that part, and hold him there in the same vicinity as his victim until you receive back-up. Which could take anything up to twenty minutes to arrive."

  "Oh, I see what you mean. Maybe I would just stay with the victim and call for back-up, wait for them to arrive before giving chase," he nodded, approving his revised answer.

  "So, when does the ambulance arrive at the scene to aid the girl?" Lorne asked mischievously.

  "I suppose I forgot that part." Bulmer coloured up with embarrassment.

  "The trouble with policing, Bulmer, is that what we do at the scene is crucial, we don't get second chances. Last scenario, a burglary has been committed, the window is broken and there is a pool of blood on the floor. What would be your initial course of action?"

  "I'd ensure nothing was moved, question the proprietor about what they thought had been taken. Let the station know what was going on and possibly think about calling in the forensic team."

  "Good, why do we call forensics in? What can they do that we can't?"

  "Well, they can analyse the blood for DNA and dust everywhere for fingerprints, to help ascertain who the burglar might be. If he or she has a previous record, their fingerprints would be on the register." Bulmer smiled again.

  "Supposing there is blood at the scene but no proof that a window has been broken, what then?"

  "I don't under
stand, ma'am."

  "No shit, Sherlock. Does the scenario sound familiar at all to you, Bulmer?" Pete piped up, bored.

  "Should it?" He forgot the protocol when speaking to a superior officer.

  "Should it, sir, to you, sonny!" Pete corrected the bemused constable.