Cruel Justice

by M A Comley

  “You’re acting as though you know one of your drivers is guilty of something. We told you we’re simply making enquiries.”

  “None of my drivers are murderers, I can assure you of that.” Toni poured boiling water in a cup.

  “Are you with these guys 24-7?” Pete asked, with a note of sarcasm.

  “Of course not, but I know my staff.”

  “You wouldn’t know a killer if he came at you with an axe. They don’t wear stickers on their foreheads advertising the fact, you know.”

  “That’s enough, Pete.” Lorne noticed the way Toni was scowling at him. “I apologise. We’re anxious to get the killer off the streets before he kills anyone else.”

  “You mean you’re looking at more than one murder? Hey, wait a minute…‌Weren’t you the one on the TV the other day? I remember now—you were after information about the body found in the forest.”

  “Yes, that’s right. At the moment, we have no way of knowing if the two murders are connected, hence our enquiries. Now, are you willing to let us have a copy of the drivers’ application forms, or do I have to come back here with a search warrant?”

  Toni sighed and moved towards the battered filing cabinet.

  The door from the street swung open, and in stepped a six-foot man in his mid to late thirties who was in desperate need of both a haircut and a shave.

  “Wacko, this is DI Simpkins and DS Childs. They’d like to have a word with you,” Toni said, as he threw himself into one of the vacant chairs.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  Lorne pinched her nose, the putrid smell of the office filling her nostrils. “Not that we know of. Last Thursday, you were supposed to pick up a Miss Charlton at eleven PM from her friend’s house on Hill Bank Rd. Why didn’t you turn up?”

  “You expect me to remember every job I have? I’ve probably picked up about five hundred punters between then and now. Let me think for a minute.”

  Toni gave the driver the dockets. He flicked through them, frowning as he tried to recall what happened that night. “That’s right. I had a drunken bum in the car that I couldn’t get rid of. I was about to pull him out when he puked. Had to clean up the bloody mess before another punter got in.”

  “Did you tell anyone what was going on?” Lorne scrutinized the controller, who seemed to be pretending to be busy while listening to their conversation.

  “Yeah, I radioed in, but the other drivers were too busy to cover the job.”

  “Where did you clean up your car?” Pete had his notebook and pen at the ready.

  “There’s a garage in Rossyard Street. I got there at around ten fifty-five PM. I cleaned the inside up and dropped by the girl’s friend’s house at about eleven thirty PM. Her friend said my pickup got tired of waiting and decided to walk. I was annoyed at the time, but I suppose I would’ve done the same thing, if I was in her shoes,” Wacko told them, placing his ankle across his other knee.

  Lorne cast a critical eye over him and decided he appeared harmless enough. He hadn’t seemed anxious or nervous at all during their questions. “Did you look for her?”

  “Should I have?”

  “You bothered to turn up for the job even though you were over half an hour late. You could’ve kept an eye open for her on your way back,” Lorne challenged.

  “As it happens, I did look out for her in the roads near her mate’s house, but I soon gave up. I figured she would’ve made it home by the time I turned up. It’s only a few miles to her house. So I radioed in a no-show, and they gave me another job.”

  “Who was on control that night?”

  “It was you, wasn’t it, Mary?” Wacko called over to the controller.

  Mary blushed before answering, “It was me, what?” as if she hadn’t heard.

  Lorne knew differently, and she studied the woman through fresh eyes.

  “You were on control last Thursday evening.” Wacko blew out a frustrated breath.

  “Yeah, I was on duty. What’s it to you?”

  Lorne sensed an underlying hatred between the two of them. “Did you send another cab to pick up the girl?”

  “He just told you all the other drivers were busy. I didn’t have anyone else to send.” Mary fiddled with a pile of paper clips on the desk.

  So, she had been listening to their conversation, after all.

  “That can’t be good for business, to leave a regular punter waiting around like that,” Pete commented, frowning.

  “It ain’t my fault if she orders a taxi at kicking out time. We’re always busy when the pubs shut. All firms are.”

  “How long does the average trip take?” Lorne asked Wacko.

  “How long’s a piece of string? Generally, they’re shorter trips around that time of night. The maximum trip would be about twenty minutes.”

  Toni handed Lorne the copies of the application forms, and Lorne decided to leave the questions there. “Thanks. We’ll return these as soon as possible.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Wacko called after them as they headed for the door. “I don’t get what all this has been about.”

  “Sorry, my mistake. The girl you should have picked up on Thursday was found dead yesterday. She never arrived home that night. Even if her house was only ‘a few miles’ away.”

  “Jesus, she was a nice kid. I’ve picked her up a few times before. Told me she wanted to be a model. We used to have a laugh. She used to pose in the back of my car. She always sat in the middle. Wanted to make sure that she was the centre of attention in my rear view mirror. She used to pout and pose. I laughed but never thought anything of it. She was just a kid, after all.”

  Lorne and Pete left. When they reached the car, Pete asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know, really. There’s something not quite right about that controller. What did you make of her?”

  “Apart from her being the size of a rhinoceros, you mean? I got the impression she doesn’t get along too well with Wacko. That aside, she seemed okay.”

  “Let’s get back and go over these applications, see what we can dig up.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “This guy’s been in and out of prison for years. I reckon he knows the system inside out, because he commits minor crimes that carry minimal custodial sentences,” Pete said as they went through the application forms Toni had given them.

  “It’s either a cry for help, or he prefers prison food to his own culinary skills.”

  “That’s no excuse. He could get a take-away every night like I do.”

  “Perhaps his desire to remain slim is greater than yours. Tell me, Pete, does a vegetable ever make it past your lips?”

  “You heard of saag aloo?”

  In mock concern, she gasped, “Is it contagious?”

  “Have you heard of it?”

  “No, I can’t say I have.” Lorne’s left eyebrow tilted upwards.

  “It’s spinach and potatoes. They’re veggies, ain’t they? I have a side order of that every time I have a chicken korma.”

  “I meant wholesome vegetables, not ones that have the goodness fried out of them and end up floating in fat.”

  “Veggies are veggies, no matter how you prepare them.”

  “Whatever. I think we’ll agree to disagree on that one. Toni employs ten drivers. A quick gander at these forms tells us eight of them are ex-cons. Not a ratio I’d be happy with, if I was an employer.”

  “Yeah, we got all sorts here, ranging from burglary to sex offenders. Anything over three to ten years, and they’re clear. I know I wouldn’t want a sex offender driving my kid around, no matter when they committed the crime. How do you want to play this?”

  “What is it now? Five thirty. I bet most of these guys will be on duty, so there’s no point calling on them now. We’ll leave it until morning.”

  “What about the missing woman?” Pete closed the file and placed it on the desk.

  “I really don’t know what more we can do, this evening. I’ve g
ot Tracy and Mitch covering the allotment overnight. We don’t know where else he’s likely to take her, do we?”

  A knock on the door interrupted them, and Tracy popped her head round it. “Sorry to interrupt, ma’am.”

  “Come in, Tracy. Take a seat.”

  “I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of taking the tape of your call from the killer down to a friend of mine. He analyses background noises and can tell a lot from voice recognition.”

  “How?” Pete asked.

  “It’s all done by computer. He can pick up the slightest sound—if someone dropped a pin in a room, he’d recognise it. Anyway, he played the tape as it was, with the voices, then cut the voices out and came up with some interesting data. There was some sort of echo, as though the conversation was taking place in an uncarpeted room. He compared the data with other tapes he had and believes the walls to the room were bare, no wallpaper or plasterboard on them.”

  Pete’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus, how the hell can he tell that?”

  Tracy grinned, obviously in her element as she continued, “If the walls are bare, the noise rebounds off them; but if there is paper or some kind of covering on the walls, then the sound would be dulled by the covering. He believed the walls contained a certain amount of moisture, too.”

  It was Lorne’s turn to be astounded by what Tracy was telling them. “He can tell that just by listening to a tape?”

  “My friend is a bit of a geek. He compared our tape to hundreds he has access to. He believes the call came from a cellar. That’s not all—something else cropped up on the tape, too. In the background, he heard a train, the rumble of it travelling on a track; and a few items in the cellar sounded like they rattled with the vibration, so the track must be relatively close to the house.”

  “Get me a map of the area, Tracy, will you?”

  Moments later, Tracy returned with the map and spread it out on the desk.

  “The forest is here. There’s no hint of a railway line near there,” Lorne said.

  “And the allotment is over here. A track runs alongside that, but they can’t be there, because uniform are down there at the moment, and forensics have been in and out of there all day,” said Pete, pointing at the map.

  “Get the others in here, will you, Tracy?”

  Seconds later, six of them gathered around the table leaning over the map. “Does anyone know of any houses with cellars around this area?” Lorne asked.

  “My mum has one. She lives on the outskirts of town.” Molly pointed out a road on the right-hand side of the map.

  “No good. The railway isn’t in the vicinity. Anybody else?”

  “A friend of mine lives here. The house has a small cellar, but they keep it blocked up. Not sure what size it actually is.” John pointed at a different road, one where the track ran directly along the back of the houses.

  “Bingo!” shouted Pete.

  “Not so fast,” Lorne said. “We need to study the map in detail, carefully. We can’t bank on that being the right road. We’ll leave it tonight. First thing, I want Molly and John to visit the council and see how many houses there are in the area that fit the bill? Some of them might have been renovated recently.”

  “We’ll go there first and then shoot over to the agency, see what we can dig up about the Halls,” Molly said.

  Lorne nodded and turned her attention to Tracy and Mitch. “Are you sure you two will be okay on the stakeout tonight? Keep the car tucked away out of sight. Anything at all suspicious, you call for backup immediately, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. What time shall we report in tomorrow?” Mitch asked.

  “I’ll be here from about seven. As soon as it gets light, report back here and fill me in before you go home to get some sleep.”

  The group dispersed, leaving Lorne and Pete surveying the map.

  “With all the leads we’ve got now, boss, don’t you think we should get some extra staff in on the investigation?”

  “Cutbacks, Pete. They won’t let us have any. We’ll just have to do the best we can. Why don’t you get off home? You look done in. A night in your own bed will do you the world of good. I know what kind of state I’d be in, if I’d spent two consecutive nights on my couch.”

  Pete arched his back and stretched, as if he’d just remembered how much he’d suffered the last few nights. “I’ll take you up on that one. Are you calling it a day, too?”

  “I’m going to make a few calls and then head off home.”

  After Pete left, Lorne called home. “Hi, Tom. It’s me.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ll be working late tonight!”

  “Tom, please don’t be like that. Is Charlie there?”

  “No.”

  “Oh. Where is she?”

  “Her grandmother came to pick her up for the night, so we could have some time together. Guess she needn’t have bothered.”

  “I’m sorry, darling. There’s no way I can leave now. I’ve far too much work to do.”

  “Delegate.”

  She could just imagine him shouting that through clenched teeth, and rather than admit she’d dismissed her staff for the evening, she said, “The team’s busy chasing up leads. I’ll be home as soon as I can, I promise.”

  “Don’t bother on my account. I’ll go out with the lads. Expect me when you see me.” He hung up.

  She replaced the phone and sat for a few minutes with her head in her hands. Her marriage was a mess, and she didn’t have a clue how to rectify that.

  The phone startled her, and she almost jumped out of her seat. “Hello, DI Simpkins. How can I help you?”

  “Inspector, comment ça va?”

  The French accent was unmistakable and sent shivers dancing along her spine. “Doctor Arnaud. What can I do for you?”

  “Jacques,” he reminded her. “I have a print from the letter. It matches that found at Doreen Nicholls’ house. Unfortunately, I cannot identify the person for you.”

  “Is it possible for me to pop by and see you?”

  “Now?”

  “If that’s okay?”

  “Why not? I have nothing better to do. Have you eaten?”

  “There’s no way I want to eat in the mortuary. I’ll grab something afterwards.”

  “Whatever you like, Inspector. I’ll see you soon.”

  After ending the call, Lorne found the file of sex offenders and paedophiles. She wedged the file in her handbag and headed off to the mortuary.

  When she pulled into the car park, Jacques Arnaud was waiting at the entrance.

  Lorne felt uneasy as his gaze took in her every move. When she was a few feet from him, his gaze settled on her face. She tried to hold his stare, but her nerve abandoned her. She laughed self-consciously. “I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee.”

  “I wanted some fresh air. Besides, the doors are locked at six, so I would have had to come down and open up for you. You look tired, Inspector.” He relieved her of the files and briefcase. The unexpected gallant gesture took her by surprise.

  “It’s been a hell of a day. My second wind’s due to arrive at any moment.”

  “I am unfamiliar with that saying. Would you care to tell me what you mean?”

  “I’m sorry. It means: After a short rest, I’ll summon up enough strength to see me through the rest of the day. At least, I’m hoping that’ll be the case.” They reached Arnaud’s office.

  He pointed to a soft leather chair he’d placed alongside his own. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  They were inches apart, and the churning she’d felt earlier that day, when she watched him drive away from her, had returned with a vengeance. Lorne picked up the file, and her shaking hand annoyed her. She dropped the file again before Jacques noticed.

  She kept her gaze fixed on the file. “You said you found a print on the note. I’ve brought a file of suspects with me. Perhaps we can go through them together to see if any of them match.”

  Jacques smiled. “Why are
you scared of me, Inspector?”

  The colour rose in her cheeks, and for a moment, words failed her. She stood and walked to the window. She could feel his eyes boring into her. Feeling like a teenager, she struggled to find the right words. Her head was pounding, and she wanted to run. But to where, and why did she feel the need to?

  Lorne sucked in a few deep breaths and slowly turned to face him. Focusing on the shelves behind him, she asked, “Why should I be scared of you, Doctor?”

  “Ah, that is a typical response by a detective, to answer a question with a question. I asked my question first.” His grin never wavered.

  “I’m not scared of you, just the surroundings.” She returned to her seat.

  “I find that hard to believe, Inspector. You are usually strong and at ease in the mortuary, unlike your partner.”

  “Perhaps I’m feeling a bit jumpy at the moment. I’ve already told you it’s been a day from hell for me.”

  His smile faded, and his tone became understanding. “It must’ve been awful to have been confronted with first the head this morning and then the call from the killer this afternoon.”

  “Actually, I’ve had two calls this afternoon. On both occasions I spoke to a woman whose life is in jeopardy, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”

  “I see. I was only aware of one call. What did the woman say?” He placed his elbows on the desk and watched her.

  “Her abductor was telling her what to say. When I asked what all this was about, he said—via the woman—that he wanted retribution. For what, I have no idea. The woman let it slip that there were other people behind her abduction, for which she received a slap.”

  “Why have you taken this case to heart, Inspector?”

  “I don’t know. I feel I owe Doreen Nicholls something. She touched my heart; we built an instant bond. She was a very perceptive woman, and I can’t help feeling I’ve somehow let her down. Does that sound strange?” She made full eye contact with him for the first time since arriving.

  “Not at all. As a pathologist, I am supposed to distance myself from the people who lie on the table before me. But once I cut them open, I feel responsible for them. I owe them the right to be heard in death. We call them the ‘silent witnesses’, and it is true. I believe a higher council has blessed me with a skill to look beyond what others see. To fight hard to bring justice to the silent witness, and sometimes—though not very often—I fail and feel as you do now. But I reprimand myself and force myself to continue fighting even harder for the victims.”