Cruel Justice

by M A Comley

  “Thanks, Oliver. We’ll talk later.”

  Once they were seated, Lorne and Pete started people watching. “Those two look totally out of place,” Pete whispered. He nodded towards a couple in their fifties, sitting in the second row at the front—the wife was the only woman on the ‘posh’ side not wearing a hat. The other women in the congregation looked as if they were trying to win first prize on Ladies’ Day at Ascot.

  “They must be the Halls. Keep an eye on them. We’ll have a word with them after the service.”

  During the service, friends of each twin read several touching eulogies before Oliver stood to make his speech. After thanking everyone for coming, he turned his attention to the investigation. Lorne thought he was about to slag off the police for not coming up with any significant clues yet, but to her surprise, he praised her team for doing their best with their enquiries. He finished his speech with a plea from the heart, urging all those gathered to help the police find the culprit who’d killed his relatives and bring them to justice.

  Lorne even spotted Pete wiping away a small tear when the coffins were lowered into the family plot alongside Oliver’s father.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hall, can we have a quick word?” The pair clung to each other as the detectives walked towards them.

  “Who are you?” Mr. Hall demanded defensively.

  Lorne flashed her ID. “We’d like a few words about your roles within the Greenaways’ household, if you don’t mind?”

  “I see. I told a colleague of yours we don’t know anything about Mrs. Greenaway’s murder.” Mr. Hall threw a protective arm around his wife’s shoulder.

  “Yes, but you neglected to tell her you’d had problems with a previous employer, didn’t you, Mr. Hall?” Pete said.

  “Can we talk about this somewhere else?” the man said, nervously glancing around.

  Lorne nodded, and the couple followed the detectives to their car.

  “So?” Pete asked.

  “We were forced to leave our previous employers because Mrs. Mountbatten, the lady of the house, became neurotic. She was prescribed some new tablets for her nerves, and her mind started to play tricks on her. Her husband was an explorer and went away on expeditions for months at a time.”

  “What sort of things did she start imagining?” Lorne watched the colour drain from Mrs. Hall’s gaunt face.

  “It was a large house, and one night, just after midnight—we’d gone to bed hadn’t we, love?” The woman nodded but her gaze remained lowered and focused on her lap. “Mrs. Mountbatten thought there was an intruder in the grounds. She’d seen a shadow from her bedroom window. I went outside to take a look but couldn’t find anything. A couple of Dobermans roam the grounds, so if there’d been an intruder they’d have let us know. The dogs didn’t even stir.”

  “What happened next?”

  “When I went back inside, she offered me a glass of whisky, which I gladly took. It was a cold, frosty night in December. She was a bit agitated about something and told me she and her husband were experiencing…‌difficulties in the bedroom.”

  He gulped, then went on with his story. “Well, she started coming on to me. Playing with the hair on my chest, that kind of thing. I was uncomfortable and told her to stop. She took it as a come-on and started tearing at my dressing gown, trying to remove it. That’s when Margaret came into the room. I think her scream startled Mrs. Mountbatten, and she tried to make out that I was coming on to her. It was a lie, and I told her so. She was ashamed, although she wouldn’t admit it and ordered us out of her house. We left the next morning. We told the agency straight away. They queried it with the woman and called her bluff. They told her that if she wanted to press charges she would have to do it within seven days. She refused to get the police involved; the agency took that to mean she’d been lying and that we were telling the truth. That’s why they kept us on their books. Then the Greenaway job came up, and we’ve worked there for over ten years. With no bother, I hasten to add.”

  “That must’ve been an awkward time for you both.” Lorne suspected Mr. Hall was telling the truth, so her questioning went in another direction. “I wonder—did Mrs. Greenaway ever receive any strange phone calls or suspicious visitors that you can remember?”

  “Not that I can recall. She was a nice lady, never uttered a bad word about anyone. Why would anyone want to kill a woman like that or her twin sister? They must be sick.”

  “That’s what we intend to find out. Have you found another job yet?”

  “The agency told us yesterday they’ve got another post for us. It’s about ten miles from here. We start next week.” The man sounded relieved as he squeezed his wife’s shoulder. Mrs. Hall rested her head on her husband’s chest and smiled at Lorne for the first time during their conversation.

  “Keep us informed of your new address, won’t you? You may be called as witnesses, if and when we catch the killer.”

  The Halls left the detectives at their car.

  “They seem a nice couple,” Lorne said, watching them walk away.

  “I’ll have to admit they do. They’re damn lucky the agency stood by them. Usually, when toffs talk, people listen.”

  “Come on. I’ll stop at the bakers in town and treat you to a baguette and a cream cake.”

  His eyes lit up. “Thought you were putting me on a diet?”

  “Well, I need cheering up, and a chocolate éclair usually hits the right spot. What sort of boss would I be if I didn’t get you one as well?”

  The clock on the nearby church struck one as they arrived back at the station. Lorne noticed a note lying on her desk when she walked into her office. It was from the psychic, Carol Lang. It read: Inspector, forgive me. Ring me if I can be of any further help with the case? The women ended the note with her phone number.

  “What’s that?” Pete entered the room with two cups of coffee. He kicked the door shut behind him.

  “A note from Carol Lang. I must give her a ring after lunch to see how she is.”

  “It galls me to admit it. But she was bang on with what she told us. A rabbit and a hat come to mind.”

  “Actually, I reckon she pulled the whole cast of Watership Down out of it. She was amazing. Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about mediums?”

  “Small, medium, or large, it would take a darn sight more than that to alter my views entirely. There’s always the possibility of her working with the criminals.” Pete smirked.

  “Ever the cynic, Pete. I think we should continue hunting down the rest of the drivers this afternoon.”

  “Fine by me. I’ll pull the file after lunch.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Lorne shouted.

  Tracy peeked in. “Sorry to disturb your lunch, ma’am. The chief would like to see you ASAP.”

  “Thanks, Tracy. How far did you get with the list of sex offenders?”

  “About a third of the way through the list. Looks like the word has got around, though. Every time we knock on a door, the bloke seems to be expecting us. We’re checking through some alibis, but so far, they’re coming up smelling of summer blooms rather than shit. We’ll keep on the trail until it goes cold.”

  “Keep me informed. By the way, tell Molly we’ve questioned the Halls and I’m satisfied we can scrub them off the list, too.”

  Lorne took a bite out of her éclair as she rang Carol Lang. “Hi, Carol. Sorry we had to run off the way we did. How are you feeling?”

  “Inspector, how nice of you to call. Please tell me what you found?”

  “I have some bad news. We found the woman we were after. Unfortunately, we couldn’t save her. Carol, I was wondering if you’ve ever helped the police out on an investigation before?”

  “No, never. I haven’t had my skills for that long, you see. I was involved in a near-fatal car crash about three years ago. That’s when I got the calling from God. When I was lying in my hospital bed, I saw a bright light. At one point I was levitating over
my body. Obviously it wasn’t my time to go because I was sent back. After that, I discovered my gift.”

  The psychic’s tale fascinated Lorne. “Were you religious before the accident?”

  “Not in the slightest.” She laughed softly. “Never stepped foot in a church, apart from the odd wedding and funeral that is. They give me the creeps. It would mean a great deal for me to help on the investigation, especially as I’m having these visions. It would be good to make sense of them, Inspector.”

  “I’ll have to find out what the correct procedures are. Obviously there’s the matter of confidentiality to consider. The last thing we want or need is the media knowing details about the cases. It would be far too upsetting for the families of the victims. Give me a few days to do some digging, and I’ll get back to you. Saying that, if you have another vision in the meantime, please contact me or a member of my team straight away.”

  “I will. Please pass on my condolences to the family of the victim. And sorry I wasn’t able to help sooner.”

  “I’ll be in touch.” Lorne hung up the phone.

  “Christ, I hope the new chief is okay with that.” Pete shoved the last mouthful of cake in his mouth and swilled it down with a swig of strong coffee.

  “That reminds me: I’ve been summoned by the old one.” She brushed the crumbs off her face and lap, tidied her hair, then set off.

  She heard the mumble of voices coming from the chief’s office as she approached. His secretary opened the door to announce her.

  “Ah, here she is. Lorne, come in; join us. I’d like you to meet your new chief inspector…”

  The chief continued talking, but his words drifted past her. Lorne’s mouth fell open. The man rose from his seat, his athletic frame blocking out the light filtering through the chief’s window. His jet-black hair had wisps of grey running through it. His suit was obviously designer—proof, if any were needed, of how far he had climbed up the police ladder.

  As he stretched out his hand to shake hers, she caught a glimpse of his immaculate white cuffs, fastened with gold cufflinks that glinted in the glare from the overhead light.

  She felt anchored to the spot. Her reaction amused him, evident in the twinkle of his smoky-grey eyes. He cleared his throat, and she glanced down at his outstretched hand. Lorne wiped her sweaty palm down the front of her skirt before slotting her hand into his. He squeezed it, crushing her fingers so they overlapped. He smirked, but she was determined not to wince or cry out in pain.

  “…‌Sean will be taking over from me on Monday. Sorry, do you two know each other?” the chief asked, watching the sparks fly between them.

  “Let’s just say our paths have crossed once or twice before—haven’t they, Lorne?” He winked, and an ominous shiver shot up her spine.

  She was relieved when he didn’t let on to the chief just how well acquainted they’d been in the past. “It’s been a while, Sean,” she said.

  “Ah, times have certainly moved on. I’m afraid you’ll have to call me ‘boss’ or ‘Chief Inspector’ now, Lorne. It’s a little less familiar, don’t you agree?” His smirk deepened as her cheeks turned pink.

  “Of course. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  “We’ve just been discussing you, Lorne,” the chief said as they all sat down.

  Lorne focused on her current chief and raised an eyebrow. “You have?”

  “Yes, I’ve been filling Sean in on your latest case. Told him how the killer has been contacting you and that you believe he’s watching you. We’ve decided it’d be best if you took the weekend off. Have some ‘R&R’, and then start afresh on Monday. Let’s be fair: It’s been a while since you had any time off; you’d certainly benefit from it. What do you think?”

  “With respect, sir, I think I’d rather stay on the case over the weekend. Try and catch the killer before he targets someone else. Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’d be extremely difficult to achieve if I’m sat on my backside at home.”

  Roberts broke in before his counterpart could speak. “I’m afraid it isn’t open to discussion, Lorne. I need my best DI in top form when I take over on Monday. I heard on the grapevine that you did an excellent job on the Gripper Jones case. When did you last have a day off?”

  “I can’t remember.” Lorne’s heart raced in annoyance.

  “I’m sure—Tom, is it?—would be happy to spend a weekend with you for a change?” His eyes challenged her, and Lorne’s gaze dropped to the floor. How dare he mention Tom!

  A forgotten hatred she’d successfully kept buried for the past thirteen years bubbled to the surface. Is this Sean’s chance to get revenge? Was he about to make her life a misery, the way she and Tom had once made his? She could feel the thumbscrews turning already. Maybe she should throw in the towel now, before she gave Sean the opportunity of sacking her?

  “When you know me better, Chief, you’ll realise I’m a workaholic. I tend to do my best police work when I’m under pressure. Tom accepts that my career comes first,” she said, trying to disguise her temper.

  “I’ve heard all I need to hear about you, Lorne. I’ve followed your career closely over the years. I insist you take the weekend off to replenish your resources, then we can tackle the case on Monday, together.”

  Lorne backed down, realising it would be pointless to argue further.

  “I know when I’m outnumbered. You win. I’ll knock off at five tomorrow and return for duty at eight on Monday morning.” She exhaled a deep, irritated breath and got to her feet.

  Roberts’ voice followed her to the door. “Have a long weekend, Inspector. Finish at five tonight and report back at nine on Monday, not eight. I look forward to working with you, Inspector.”

  Lorne was seething but determined not to show it. Turning, she smiled at the man who’d been her mentor over the years. “Are you having a farewell drink, sir?”

  “I’ll come back after you’ve solved the case. I know that won’t be long. Take care, Lorne. Regards to Tom and Charlie.” His smile was full of regret. Is he sad he’s going or guilty about leaving me in Sean’s tyrannical hands? It was an absurd thought, because he didn’t have a clue what Sean was like. She, unfortunately, knew Sean Roberts very well.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Lorne slammed the door to her office behind her. Pete entered moments later and found her sitting at the desk, her head buried in her hands.

  “What’s up?” he asked, dropping into the chair opposite.

  “I need time to cool down, Pete, if you don’t mind.” She picked up some files, stomped over to the filing cabinet, thrust the files away and closed the drawer with a force that made the cabinet rock.

  “I take it all this aggression is because you just met the new chief?”

  “How do you know that? Have you been spying on me, too?”

  “Don’t take it out on me, boss. Hey, Molly and Tracy are in a right dither over him. Told me he’s really good-looking. I can see Mitch’s nose being put out of joint.”

  Her frustration grew. “You know what they say—never judge a book…‌I’ve got to get out of this place. Come on. Grab the taxi driver’s file. I’ll just nip to the ladies’ and meet you at the car.”

  “Are you stupid? Why take unnecessary risks? You were an idiot to burn the body in daylight like that, do you want to get caught?” The woman nervously shuffled her feet.

  “I wanted to show that Inspector I was angry with her. I’m sick of her not taking me seriously.” The man rifled through the newspaper, agitated he couldn’t find the story about him and his handiwork.

  “She’s just slow, that’s all. I’m sure she’s taking you seriously; she’d be foolish not to.”

  “Maybe we’ll help things speed up a bit, then. What do you say?”

  “How?” the woman asked.

  “I’m gonna snatch that Sedark woman in broad daylight. Let’s see what Simpkins thinks of that. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll make the inspector take us seriously.”

&nbs
p; “She’s bound to make the connection soon, take things easy.”

  “I like playing with the woman.” The corner of the man’s mouth lifted.

  “And if she catches you, where will that leave me?”

  “I’ll never leave you, love. A few more days, and it’ll be over. Then we’ll get our lives back. Time to start afresh.”

  The two hugged, and the woman sighed contentedly as the man kissed her forehead.

  “Who’s first on the list?” Lorne’s foul mood lingered.

  “Do you want to continue with the ones who were sent down on sexual assault charges, or do you wanna start at the top?”

  “Sexual deviants first.”

  “Tommy Adams. Lives ten minutes from here on Dune Street, another rough area.”

  “Nice to see they stick to the same parts of town. Just like sewer rats, they seem to know their place.”

  “Forty-nine—here it is, boss.”

  The windows of the house were boarded up, and the front wall was crumbling. As they walked up the three steps to the door, Pete pointed to the drainpipe coming away from the wall, probably because someone had climbed up it to reach the first-floor flat.

  A man in his mid-fifties, wearing a stained vest and jogging pants opened the door.

  “Yeah, what d’ya want?” He took a drag from his cigarette and spluttered as he inhaled.

  “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Kim Charlton.” Lorne and Pete flashed their warrant cards.

  “Who? Don’t know anyone by that name.”

  The man tried to shut the door, but Pete thrust his foot in the way. “Listen, buster, it’s your choice—either you answer our questions here, or we do it down the cop shop. What’s it to be?” Pete sneered, pushed the door back, and burst into the hallway.

  “Hey, you can’t come bursting in here like some maniac. I got rights.”

  “Boss, have you got your cuffs handy? Guess we’ll have to take this prick in after all.”