Blind Justice

by M A Comley

  “That’s one word for him. How can a man that handsome be so damn arrogant?” Lorne complained, starting the engine.

  “My take is it’s because he’s handsome he thinks he can get away with it. How come you don’t slap him down in public like you do to me?”

  Lorne laughed. Her partner had a valid point which she clearly didn’t have the answer to. She shrugged. “Most people know what battles to pick with the inclination they’ll win them, I guess. How’s that for an answer off the top of my head?”

  “Hmm…” Pete replied, unmistakably dissatisfied by her reasoning.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lorne barely slept that night. Eager to get on with the case, she rang the mortuary the second she arrived at work the next day. To her horror, Arnaud answered the phone himself.

  Crap! What a way to start a bloody day! Clearing her throat, she conjured up her best professional voice. “Hello, Dr. Arnaud. It’s DI Lorne Simpkins.”

  “Ah, the Inspector calls.” He laughed at his own terrible joke. When Lorne didn’t join in, he asked, “I take it you didn’t approve of the movie When the Inspector Calls then?”

  “Nope. I hate movies,” she replied, putting an abrupt halt to his uncharacteristically friendly banter. He’d caused her so much angst over the past few months, she just couldn’t find it in herself to forgive him. “I’m ringing up to see if you’ve allocated an opening for the PM yet? You know, for the body recovered yesterday?” she added unnecessarily.

  A deep sigh escaped his lips. “I’m well aware of the body you’re referring to, Inspector. Be at the mortuary, suited and booted, at two this afternoon.”

  Lorne held the phone away from her ear to avoid listening to the dial tone. “You rude, cantankerous French—”

  “Now, now, boss. Use your words carefully when describing work colleagues,” Pete urged, entering the room with two cups of coffee and a couple of chunky Kit Kat bars.

  “I suppose you can loosely describe him as a work colleague. We have to be at the mortuary by two this afternoon. Until then, we’ll be left twiddling our fingers. Any other pathologist would have given us a slight lead to follow by now. He’s such an infuriating pain in the rear.”

  Pete unwrapped one of the chocolate bars and took a bite. “Yeah, but you’ll make excuses for him because he’s damn good at his job and gets results.”

  “Do you have to speak with your bloody mouth full? How many times do I have to tell you how rude that is?”

  Pete raised a hand. “Don’t take your bad mood out on me, boss.”

  Lorne picked up her post and ripped open a few of the brown envelopes while she cooled down. Pete was right—she shouldn’t have taken her foul mood out on him. His presence soon wore her down, and she found it difficult to concentrate with her partner slurping his drink and munching on his breakfast opposite her. “Do you mind taking that elsewhere, Pete? I’ve got an important call to make.”

  “Sure, give me a shout when you’re free.” Pete picked up his breakfast and left the office.

  • • •

  A few hours later, Lorne sent Pete into the baker’s while she waited in the car on double yellow lines. “I hope you manage to keep this down during the post. You know what you’re like when the pathologist starts carving open the corpse.”

  “Good grief. Did you have to mention that before I even take a bite?” Pete shoved the massive torpedo-shaped roll back into its paper bag.

  Chuckling, Lorne selected first gear and set off. After pulling into the hospital car park, she opened her lunch bag and chomped on her tuna and mayo roll while Pete stared ahead without touching his lunch, already looking very green around the gills. He hated attending post mortems and didn’t have the stomach for them at all. Lorne always insisted that he should avoid them, but he was obstinate, always maintaining that a copper achieved the most information from the body and that he would be foolish to miss out on the experience.

  He had a point, but where would she draw the line? Because of his pig-headedness, he’d passed out numerous times, which was yet another source of frustration to Lorne. She couldn’t give the PM her full attention if she always had one eye on her partner, ready to catch him if he fell.

  Once their lunch was finished, the two detectives made their way through the mortuary entrance and headed for the changing room, where they donned the proper uniform before entering the examination room. Arnaud looked up and nodded to acknowledge their arrival. Pete remained by the door in his usual spot next to the chair, just in case his legs buckled beneath him during the examination. Lorne approached the stainless table and stood opposite the doctor.

  “Now you’re both here, I shall begin.”

  Bones, Jacques Arnaud’s assistant, switched on the tape, and the PM began in earnest with Arnaud making the Y-section incision in the woman’s chest.

  Lorne coughed into her hand as the stench of rotting flesh surrounded them. Swallowing hard, she warned her tuna and mayo not to make a reappearance in front of the doctor.

  “We have bruising to the neck, which reaches from front to back. It’s clear that the victim was strangled.” He picked up his magnifying glass to examine the wound more thoroughly and nodded. “Yes, I see evidence of some kind of material in the wound. I’ll send a sample off to the lab for analysis.”

  “Can you tell what type of material?” Lorne peered at the wound, as close as she could get without being overcome by the putrid scent emanating from the flesh.

  “I’m not sure at present. They are coloured fibres, so from that, I assume that a piece of clothing was used.” He used tweezers to extract the fibres.

  “That’s a start, at least.” Lorne stepped back.

  Arnaud looked into the woman’s eyes and tutted. “Yes, there is petechial haemorrhaging there, too, backing up my first assumption that the victim was strangled.”

  “Okay, can you tell me when the victim died?”

  The doctor remained silent for a moment or two, then he said, “I’d say between six to eight weeks. That’s a rough guess at this time. And that’s also me being kind to you. As you know, I don’t usually give those details out lightly, Inspector.”

  Their gazes met, and Lorne smiled briefly at him. “I appreciate that. Pete, I hope you’re making notes back there?”

  “I am.”

  She heard rustling as her partner turned the pages of the notebook he’d quickly taken out of his pocket.

  “Was there any form of ID found by your people?”

  “No. The murderer was very astute in getting rid of any evidence. Criminals underestimate our ability—my ability. Foolish mistake on their part, non?”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  After another thirty minutes, Arnaud snapped off his plastic gloves and threw them in the bin. “And that, Inspector, concludes the post mortem. I’ll get my people to carry out the necessary tests on the organs, plus the fibres I found, and I’ll get back to you within the next day or two.”

  “Thanks, that’ll be great. Now all we have to figure out is where to start with the case. I guess we’ll have to reach out to the public on this one through the media from the outset. I don’t suppose your specialist made a sketch of the victim?”

  “Of course she did. Don’t we always in cases such as this?” Arnaud retorted sharply.

  “I’m sorry, no offence. We can present the sketch to the TV station and go from there.”

  Arnaud waved a hand and walked out of the room. “Just do your job and find justice for the victim, Inspector. I’ve concluded my part in the case. Good day to you both. Pick up the sketch on your way out.”

  “Thank you, we will. If you discover anything else, can you ring me right away?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The sketch and the facts about where the victim’s body was discovered were presented to the media that evening, and within an hour, Lorne had a name for the victim.

  The next morning, she and Pete collected all the inf
ormation they had on the victim and left the station. Their first stop was the woman’s address, in a high-rise block of flats on a relatively nice estate. Lorne knocked on the door of the flat but received no answer. She wrote a quick message on the back of one of her business cards, instructing any other possible inhabitants of the flat to contact her at the station, and posted it through the letterbox. The detectives were just about to make their way back down the stairs when the door to the neighbouring flat opened.

  A lady in her late sixties peered at them with a firm frown in place. “She hasn’t been there for weeks.”

  Lorne showed the woman her ID. “Can you be a little more specific than that, Mrs…‌?”

  “Mrs. Goulder. Not really, dear. Is something wrong? Jenny is a very quiet lady. Never given me any bother since she moved in a few years back.”

  Lorne produced the sketch. “Is this Jenny, Mrs. Goulder?”

  The woman picked up the glasses dangling around her neck and perched them on the tip of her nose. “Yes, that’s her. Is Jenny all right?” The woman leaned against the wall as if to prepare herself for bad news.

  “I’m sorry, no. Jenny’s body was found yesterday in a wooded area. We think she’s been dead for a while.”

  The woman swept a shaking hand over her face. “My God. I knew there must have been something wrong. Oh dear, I should’ve rung you myself—well, the police anyway—when I thought all was not well. It’s unusual for Jenny to take off like that without telling me where she was going or when she’d be back. I’ve not been well lately, you see. I had a hip operation a couple of months ago, and I stayed with my daughter whilst I recuperated.”

  “When was that, Mrs. Goulder?”

  “My operation was on April fifteenth. Thinking about it now, that’s probably around the last time I saw Jenny.” Her hand slipped from her face and slapped against her thigh. “Why, oh why, didn’t I ring the police?”

  “Please don’t punish yourself like this, Mrs. Goulder. You had a lot to contend with over the past few months. It’s hardly your fault,” Lorne assured the woman.

  “But we’re such good friends. I feel as though I’ve let her down. That poor child.” Tears welled up in the woman’s green eyes.

  “Do you mind if we come in and ask a few questions? My partner here will even make you one of his speciality strong cuppas.”

  “Sorry, of course. You’ll find all you need on the tray in the kitchen.”

  Lorne and an unhappy-looking Pete followed the woman into the lounge of the flat filled with furniture from a bygone era and an old tube TV set to a news channel. “Didn’t you see the news last night? We asked the local stations to put out the sketch.”

  “No, I usually do, but I went out with my daughter yesterday and didn’t get back home until about eight. Did you get many calls about Jenny? She was well-liked, I believe.”

  “A few. We’re going around today to chase up the people who gave us information. We just thought we’d call at Jenny’s home first in case she shared it with anyone. Was Jenny married?”

  “No. I think she’s been close a few times, but the girl has never actually taken the plunge.”

  Pete came back into the room and placed a mug on the side table next to the woman’s chair.

  “Thank you, that looks perfect.”

  “Did she have a regular boyfriend?”

  “No. She had quite a few friends she used to go out with—female friends, I mean, not men. She told me about six months ago that she was hoping to rekindle a relationship with a former boyfriend, but nothing had come of it.”

  Lorne raised a quizzical eyebrow at Pete then took her notebook from her pocket. “I don’t suppose you can recall the gentleman’s name?”

  The woman considered the question for a second or two before she responded, “Gosh, it was something like Steven or Stuart. Think, woman, think. Maybe even Simon. I’m sorry to be so hopeless. This has come as a complete shock to me.”

  “I appreciate that. Try not to overthink things and maybe the name will come to you eventually. You definitely think it began with an S though, yes?”

  “I’m pretty sure about that at least, dear.” She clicked her fingers, and her eyes opened wide. “I know, it was definitely beginning with S, and I’ll go as far as to say that the young man even worked alongside her at the accountancy firm.”

  “Really? That’s great. Can you tell me which firm?” Lorne asked, her intrigue rising.

  “Cartwright and Sons. I believe their offices are about ten minutes from here.”

  “Excellent. I think that should be our next stop then. Is there anything else you think we should know about any visitors she may have had at the flat? Anything at all?”

  “No, I can’t think of anything.” The woman sipped at her drink then shook her head as she stared down at the carpet. “Who would kill such a wonderful person? What is this world coming to? We see such atrocities on the TV. Now I just wonder where it will all end?”

  “We’ll do our very best to ensure the culprit doesn’t get away with this, Mrs. Goulder. If there’s nothing else, and you’re sure you’ll be okay after the shock we’ve just delivered, we better be moving on.”

  “Yes, you have a suspect to catch. I hope you find the bastard who did this soon, dear. Will you let me know?”

  Lorne patted the woman’s shoulder. “We will. You stay there. We can see ourselves out.”

  Pete was the first to speak once they were back in the car. “So you reckon this ex has something to do with it?”

  “You’re as much in the dark as me, Pete. There’s only one way to find out.” Lorne put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

  Ten minutes later, they arrived at the victim’s place of work. Inside, a blonde receptionist greeted them with a welcoming smile.

  Lorne flashed her warrant card at the woman. “Is it possible to have a word with the person in charge, please? It’s police business.”

  The woman’s smile faltered for a moment. “I’ll just go and check if Mr. Cartwright is available.” She disappeared through a door behind her and returned with a man dressed in a grey pinstripe suit. Half-rimmed gold spectacles teetered on the bridge of his nose.

  “Hello. James Cartwright at your assistance. How may I help you?”

  “Do you mind if we have a private chat, Mr. Cartwright? It’s concerning one of your work colleagues.”

  “I see. Please come through.” He held open the door, inviting them into his large office. He motioned for the two detectives to sit opposite him.

  “Thank you.” Lorne dropped into one of the chairs, extracted the sketch from her jacket pocket, and passed it across the table. “Do you recognise this woman?”

  “Yes, of course I do. It’s Jenny Bartlett, one of our young associates.”

  “Thank you. That corroborates what we’ve been told already. Can you tell me when you last saw Miss Bartlett?”

  “Back in April. I’ve been ringing her flat weekly for months now.”

  “Can I ask you where you thought Miss Bartlett was?”

  “I had no idea. One day, she turned up for work and then just went missing. Didn’t ring in sick or anything. To be honest, I thought she had just taken off somewhere without bothering to tell anyone.”

  “If that’s the case, then why have you been trying to contact her every week?” Lorne asked.

  “Well, she had a file belonging to one of our best clients, and I need her to return it. I was trying to give her some outstanding wages, a bonus actually, that one of her clients wanted me to pass on to her.”

  “Given those details, didn’t you get the impression that Jenny had walked out on your firm for good, Mr. Cartwright?”

  “Yes. It’s not uncommon for our associates to be headhunted by other firms in the area. Miss Bartlett was an exceptionally bright member of staff, one that I was rather keen to hang on to, if you must know.”

  “And you didn’t find it strange that she just up and left work one da
y never to return?”

  “Yes, but on the other hand, as I’ve just stated, our associates are often given better deals they find hard to turn down.”

  “So, is that the reason you didn’t report Miss Bartlett as a missing person?”

  His head tilted to the side, and he removed his spectacles and placed them on the desk. “I’m not liking your tone, Inspector. Are you suggesting it was my responsibility to do so? What about her family and close friends? Surely that is down to them?”

  “It is. But it’s not uncommon for concerned work colleagues to place a call, Mr. Cartwright. I know I would if one of my valued colleagues went missing.”

  “Then I have to hold my hands up and apologise. So, why are you here today? Are you telling me that Miss Bartlett has now been located?”

  “Yes, you could put it that way. Her body was found a few days ago.”

  The man’s mouth hung open, and he bounced back in his executive chair. Recovering, he asked, “She’s dead?”

  Lorne nodded. “According to the pathologist, she’s been dead for at least a few months.”

  “Oh my! I’m lost for words. That doesn’t often happen, I can assure you.”

  “Did any of your associates have a romance going on with Jenny?”

  “Not that I know of. Simon and Jenny used to go out together before he got married…”

  Lorne turned sharply to look at her partner. “Simon? What’s his surname?”

  “Simon Killon. He’s here today if you’d like a word.”

  “Thank you. Maybe in a few minutes. I’d like to hear what you know about their relationship first.”

  “To be honest, not a lot. I heard about the office romance by accident one day. I don’t condone such goings on between staff, Inspector.”

  “I see. So the affair would have been a secret. You say it went on before Simon got married—is there any chance that the affair might have continued after his wedding day?”

  “I doubt it, but then I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Simon that question.” He shook his head again. “It’s hard to believe Jenny is no longer with us. How shocking for her parents.”