by M A Comley
“A pointless exercise, I take it?” Jacques asked when she threw herself on the sofa beside him.
“His mother has never liked me—never been scared to show it, either. By what she just said, I think Tom’s left me for good.” She shook her head and held back the tears threatening to fall.
“I’m sorry, chérie. That’s terrible, especially at a time like this. Perhaps if you don’t contact him, he will realise he misses you. I know I would.”
“Oh, Jacques, you’re so sweet. I’m afraid that’s not Tom’s style. He’s stubborn and pig-headed. He’ll expect me to suffer a lot before he’s prepared to back down and come home, if he ever does.”
“Well, I’m not leaving you. I’ll spend the night here on the couch,” Jacques whispered, wrapping his arms around her.
She pulled away and kissed him on the cheek. “Would you mind? I don’t think I could bear spending the night alone, knowing the killer is watching my every move.”
“No problem. It would be an honour.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The face at the window watched her breathing. The moon’s glare highlighted his gruesome features. He waited for the right moment before easing open the sash window, climbing through and stepping into her bedroom. She bolted upright. “What do you want?” she whispered in fear.
His goading laughter filled her ears before his vicious tongue replied, “I want you, Inspector. It’s your turn.”
A scream rebounded off the walls—had it really come from her? Jacques burst through the door, wielding a poker and switched on the light.
“What is it, Lorne? Was there someone here?”
Sitting up in bed with the quilt tucked tightly under her chin like a frightened child, Lorne’s gaze swept the room. “Oh God. I must’ve been dreaming, but it seemed so real.”
“You’re safe. I’m here. No one will hurt you.” They both looked at the poker. “If someone tried to get in, I’d poke them to death.” The tense atmosphere lifted, and they both laughed.
“Will you stay with me?”
“Will I be safe? You might think I am here to attack you and kill me in my sleep.”
“You idiot. Get in.” She pulled back the covers to reveal thick pink pyjamas. Still fully clothed, Jacques climbed into bed. They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms.
The sun found a slight opening in the curtain and woke them at nine the next morning. After eating a leisurely breakfast, they decided to take a stroll in the nearby park. Standing by the boating lake in the centre of the park, they watched the swans gracefully float past them. Lorne felt relaxed and trouble-free for the two hours they were there.
“I’d like to call in at the station, to pick up a file,” she said as they strolled hand in hand towards the exit.
“I think you should sort out a trace for your home number while you’re there.”
They had discussed the matter at length after she’d received the call the previous evening, but the thought didn’t sit well with her. She considered it an unnecessary intrusion, but Jacques had argued and pointed out they stood a better chance of catching the killer if he got involved in a longer conversation with her at home.
“Okay, I’ll sort it out when I’m there. Actually, I’m kind of glad Tom and Charlie are staying elsewhere at the moment.”
Pete was surprised to see her when she called in to the station. Jacques insisted on staying in the car.
“Hi, boss. What’s up? Didn’t expect to see you till Monday,” Pete asked as she swept past him and into her office. It was silly, but she felt relieved not to see him occupying her desk.
“Anything happen that I should know about?” she asked, hunting through her filing cabinet.
“Nope. Hey, what’s going on? Come on. I can tell when something’s up. Tell me?”
“The bastard rang me last night. He was watching the house.” She continued flipping through the files, avoiding his eyes.
“Shit, what did Tom say?”
“He wasn’t there,” she mumbled.
“Jesus. What time did the freak call?”
“About ten twenty. Why?”
“Stop it. Dammit, will you stop what you’re doing and tell me what went on?” He grabbed her shoulders and guided her to the chair then sat opposite.
“When I got home last night, Tom and Charlie had gone. He’s left me and gone back home to mummy.”
“Shit, and the killer was watching the house. He knew you were alone?”
She sucked in a deep breath and considered her response. “Jacques was there. Now don’t look like that. He was concerned because I wasn’t at work yesterday and called round to see me. It’s lucky he was there. I was crapping myself, Pete.”
His face twisted with anger the second she mentioned Jacques’ name. “So he stayed with you all night?” he asked, through gritted teeth.
“Yes.” she admitted cautiously.
“What did he say? The killer I mean, not…”
“He confirmed he has more than one person on his list. Then he told me he’d be willing to meet me.”
“You’re not considering it?”
“If it’s the only way we can nab him, then yes, it’s something I’m willing to do.”
“I won’t let you.”
“You won’t have a say in the matter, Pete. I’m still your superior. I may be off-duty at the moment, but this is still my investigation. You’d do well to remember that!” she warned him.
“We’ll see. I’ll get a trace organised for your line at home. Do you want me to stay at yours tonight, or will you have company?”
“That’s not necessary. Jacques and I will be going over the case. He might spot something we’ve missed. Don’t give me grief, Pete. I have enough to last me a lifetime already.”
Apologising, he insisted on walking her out to her car. Before she had the chance to stop him, he marched up to the passenger door and yanked it open. Sneering at Jacques, he warned, “You better take care of her or—”
“That’s enough, Pete. That’s uncalled-for.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’ll see you Monday.” Pete stomped away, still shaking his head as he disappeared back into the station.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Lorne and Jacques were going through her files when her doorbell rang. Jacques grabbed the poker and followed Lorne to the front door.
“Who is it?”
“Inspector Simpkins, it’s Colin Sharp from work.”
“It’s okay. He’s come to set up the trace. You can put your scary weapon away now, macho man.” Grinning, Lorne ushered Jacques back to the lounge before opening the front door for her colleague.
Thirty minutes later they were alone again, busy trawling through the files.
“Your sidekick is correct about one thing.” Jacques reached for his cup of coffee.
Lorne frowned. “Oh? What’s that?”
“The killer’s crimes are escalating. I found smoke in Sandy Crayford’s lungs, which can only mean one thing: She was alive when he set her alight.”
“Jesus, that poor woman. No wonder Carol Lang passed out, if she saw the crime through the killer’s eyes—it must have been a terrifying ordeal.”
“Do you believe in psychics?” he asked.
“Don’t you? I must admit, before I met Carol, I was undecided. But so far, the accuracy of her visions makes it difficult to doubt her.”
“It would take a lot to convince me. What makes you think it’s a taxi driver you’re after?”
“We found a Toni’s taxi card at Doreen’s house and in Kim Charlton’s handbag. It’s the only thing we’ve found to connect the victims.”
“Is it possible he could work for another firm? Perhaps planted the cards as a diversion?”
“It’s an interesting theory, but…Kim Charlton was a regular with the firm.”
“Have you questioned all the drivers yet?”
“So far we’ve only spoken to a couple of the drivers. The only ones left on th
e list are those with minor burglary and ABH charges and a couple with no prior convictions. I plan chasing up the rest on Monday, providing Sean Roberts doesn’t interfere.”
“Okay. Next we should examine what the psychic told you. She mentioned two of the women were a mistake, which two and why?”
“It’s possible that one of the twins could’ve been a mistake, but which one? Belinda was wealthy, the more likely to have gained enemies over the years, whereas Doreen was a retired headmistress. Both of them were widowed. We investigated Belinda’s husband’s death and found nothing suspicious. Apparently helicopter crashes happen quite often in bad weather. Doreen’s husband died of natural causes, nothing untoward there.”
“And you investigated the son—Oliver—thoroughly?”
“Don’t you start. He’s Pete’s prime suspect. He’s clear of any suspicion in my book, though. Besides, how would he know Kim Charlton and Sandy Crayford? He lives in Cornwall?”
“Sandy Crayford, a social worker. Lived and worked in the area for years. They have dealings with heads of schools, don’t they?” Jacques frowned.
“’Retribution’, the killer said. He also said that it concerned something that happened years ago. There could be a connection through their work. Social workers usually have to work in conjunction with schools. I’ll delve a bit deeper into that on Monday. Come on. I feel like cooking.”
Lorne grabbed his hand and pulled him into the kitchen. On the way home from the park, they’d stopped off at the supermarket for provisions. It was the first time in weeks she could honestly say she was looking forward to a decent meal.
She cried again while she peeled the onions. Jacques laughed, but they both froze when the phone rang. Lorne picked up a tea towel and wiped her eyes as she ran through to the living room, Jacques close behind her. The same time she answered the phone Jacques began the trace.
“Hello?”
“So much for calling me back. What the hell is going on, Lorne?”
She felt relieved to hear her sister’s voice, even though it was full of anger. “It’s okay. It’s only my sister,” she whispered to Jacques who was listening closely beside her.
“Who’s there with you? Have Tom and Charlie come home?”
“Calm down, Sis. No, they haven’t come home, and how in God’s name did you know they’d left, anyway?” Lorne asked, feeling put out that her sister knew everything about her marriage from other people.
“For Christ’s sake, Lorne, stop answering a question with a question. If Tom’s not there with you, then who is?”
“It’s a colleague from work, if you must know.” Lorne blew out a frustrated breath.
“Male or female?” Jade responded quickly.
“If you must know, it’s a male. Before you start, this has nothing to do with why Tom left me.”
“Oh really, just how naïve can you be?”
“Look I don’t want to fall out with you about this, Jade, so why don’t you just tell me why you’ve called and let me get back to work,” Lorne said, struggling to remain calm.
“And to think we used to be so close. I was ringing to see how you’re coping without Tom and Charlie. I even had a stupid thought that you might like a shoulder to cry on. But obviously not, stubborn as a bloody mule that’s you, Lorne. Even when I offered to help with your little predicament last year, you threw it back in my face.”
“Jade, you promised me you wouldn’t keep harping on about that. I’m going to hang up now before we get into a slanging match. It’s obvious whom your loyalties lie with. For your information, I’ve tried ringing Tom, but he won’t take my calls.”
“But—”
“For once in your life, Jade, will you listen to me?” Lorne paused, waiting for her sister to retaliate, but to her amazement, the interruption never came. “Currently, I’m dealing with the worst case I’ve ever had to deal with, so I’d be grateful, extremely grateful, if you’d back off and give me—”
Before she had the chance to finish her sentence, Jade hung up.
“Shit. That’s all I fucking need, a wounded sister.” Despondent, Lorne walked back into the kitchen, Jacques at her heels.
They finished preparing dinner in silence, and it wasn’t until they were halfway through the meal that Jacques enquired about what he’d overheard.
“Tell me to mind my business if you want, but can I ask what your sister meant? What happened last year? It upset you when she brought the subject up.” Jacques reached across the breakfast bar and placed a hand over hers.
She toyed with the idea of telling him but found it difficult to divulge such a personal secret.
After a few minutes’ silence, Jacques spoke again. “Chérie, I’m so sorry. It was rude of me to ask.”
He looked sad, and Lorne felt guilty. “No, Jacques. It’s fine. I’ll tell you, I’m just trying to search for the right words. I’ve fought hard to keep it hidden, and it’s difficult for me to just blurt it out.” She stared at the half-eaten plate of food in front of her.
“If it is too painful, then don’t tell me. But if you think I might be able to help in some way, then please open up to me.” He gently squeezed her hand.
What do I have to lose? She prepared to unburden her guilty secret to a man she hadn’t been able to bear being around a few days before.
“A little over a year ago…I had an abortion.” She searched his face though tear-filled eyes for any kind of reaction. There was none. No sign of hate in his eyes, and his smile was one of reassurance. He nodded for her to go on. “Tom doesn’t know.”
Again she paused, waiting for a repulsed response, and again he waited patiently for her to continue.
She swallowed noisily before continuing. It was proving to be harder than she imagined. “We had always agreed we were only going to have one child, but then Tom changed his mind. He went nuts when he saw a packet of contraceptive pills in my bag. He made me stop taking them and after a few months, wallop, I was up the duff.”
He raised a hand to stop her, querying her terminology.
“Sorry, I fell pregnant. I was frantic, didn’t know what to do. So I lied and told him I was having menstrual pains, and the doctor thought I had an ovarian cyst. I told him I had to have an emergency operation and that the doctor insisted it would be dangerous for me to even consider having another child. I hated myself for lying to him, but I was adamant I didn’t want any more kids.” Lorne again avoided his gaze.
“So you had the abortion. What happened next?”
“You’re gonna hate me for this part. Tom—in his infinite wisdom—had a secret vasectomy. I was astounded when he told me that as I’d been forced to have an emergency operation it was only fair he should do his part in preventing another dangerous pregnancy.”
“Ouch! So I guess you got the better end of the deal.”
“Only a man could think that.” She let out a breath and said, “An abortion isn’t exactly a stroll in the park, you know.”
“I know. I’m sorry to tease, chérie. How long was it before you returned to work?” He looked perplexed, and she knew exactly what he was getting at—if only Tom had been half as smart.
“I returned after a few days’ bed rest. I know it’s usually about two weeks recovery after having such an operation. Fortunately for me, Tom isn’t that well-informed about woman’s operations, or maybe he’s just not that interested.”
“You know something, chérie?”
“What’s that, Jacques?” Lorne raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“The more I hear about this bloody husband of yours, the more I dislike him. He gives a new meaning to the word selfish. Merde!”
“I think you’re being harsh there, Jacques. Putting himself through a vasectomy could hardly be described as an act of selfishness, could it?”
Jacques shrugged. “Point taken. I apologise.”
CHAPTER FORTY
October 11, 2007
The gloomy weather mirrored Lorne’s mood. She’d said
goodbye to Jacques at the gate. At five to nine, she pulled into the station car park. The rain had just started. Five minutes to spare. Just enough time to get settled before Roberts introduces himself to the team.
“Have any suspects been pulled in, yet?” Sean Roberts asked as she pushed through the swing doors to the incident room.
A long silence welcomed her, and six pairs of eyes studied her, waiting for a reaction. A flush worked its way up her slim neck. What the hell is going on?
Pete’s cough broke through the tension-filled room. “Er…No. We haven’t managed to bring anyone in yet, sir.” He shifted awkwardly as his gaze met Lorne’s.
“Ah, Inspector, a little late, aren’t we?” The chief asked, noting the time on his watch.
What the fuck did he mean by that? He’d told her to be here at nine. According to her watch, and the large clock on the wall behind her new boss, it was three minutes to.
“You told me to be here at nine, so here I am.”
“No, I distinctly remember telling you to be here at eight. I wasn’t aware that inspectors kept office hours of nine to five. We’ll discuss this in my office later.” He dismissed her as if she was something he’d stepped in. “You were saying, Pete?”
Pete’s awkwardness was plain to see as Lorne swept past everyone and into her office. He cleared his throat again and continued reviewing the case with the DCI.
Lorne was seething, but she should’ve expected Sean to pull a cheap stunt like that. How dare he undermine me like that in front of my team? If his intentions are to try and get rid of me, he’ll have a bloody fight on his hands. Bastard!
On her way in, the desk sergeant had given her a Jiffy envelope. Before opening it, she pulled on a pair of gloves. She saw similarities to the others she’d received. The address was written in thick black marker pen, so she was under no illusion as to whom the package was from. She rang Jacques straight away.
“Hey, missing me already? It’s only been an hour since I left,” he teased, but she wasn’t in the mood for laughing.