Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one)) (11 page)

Maybe Pete had a point about Oliver, after all?

Chapter Sixteen

The man burst through his front door and shut out the crazy world behind him. His clothes were spattered with blood and his neck covered in scratches. Leaning against the front door, he panted breathlessly as he waited for his heart rate to return to normal.

Banging noises and cries for help echoed through the house. He raised his eyes to the ceiling when he realised the soundproofing in the cellar would need his attention, sooner rather than later.

"Well, how did it go?" The woman rushed towards him.

"I got her, this time. She won't be hurting anyone else again."

"I've had a hell of a time with that one down there."

"I'll get rid of her after I've had some dinner, I promise." The man smiled down at the woman, hugged her lovingly then kissed her on the forehead.

"I've made your favourite, roast lamb — it'll be ready in ten minutes. Why don't you get cleaned up and we'll open a bottle of wine to celebrate?"

Incessant crying spoilt their meal.

"Damn it, I've had
enough
of her!"

While the woman took their dirty dishes to the kitchen, he tore back the rug and angrily ripped open the trap door. The girl stopped crying instantly. He climbed down the rickety ladder and watched her tremble as he approached.

"Please, please not again. I promise to be quiet. Please don't hurt me, I didn't mean to laugh at you."

"Ah, but you did, didn't you? You'll be free soon," he assured her.

The girl had been stuck in the hellhole for two solid days. Numerous creatures had scurried past her in the dark and she hadn't been given a drop of water or food since she'd been captured. Her strength was dwindling fast. Her skin crawled as his eyes surveyed her naked flesh. She wrapped her arms around her knees, hiding her nakedness from his intimidating gaze.

She sobbed again, and he towered over her like a vulture ready to swoop. He bent down beside her, stroked her hair as if she was his pet dog, then his hand began its vile journey. Starting on her cheek, his fingers outlined her lips, down past her throat, lingering torturously on her arm before finally caressing her shapely thigh. "Ssh there, there, it's all right."

As he reached to undo his belt she screamed…

Chapter Seventeen

Doreen Nicholls' post-mortem drew to a close at one in the morning.

"Therefore, I conclude that the cause of death was due to a fatal blow to the head," Arnaud said, before turning off his recorder.

"Poor Doreen." Lorne watched Bones stitch up the Y-section to the woman's lifeless body. It was hard to find a reason why someone would despise Doreen so much as to want her dead. As post-mortems went, this had been her toughest yet. But she'd insisted she needed to be involved, feeling she owed the dead woman that much.

"Poor Doreen, indeed. Even though she had a bad heart and was still very weak from her recent operation, she still managed to summon up enough strength to put up a fight for her life, the defence wounds across her hands and arms tell us that."

"She had an angina attack when I told her about her sister's death."

"I'm not surprised, she had a condition known as arteriosclerosis." Lorne frowned, so Arnaud explained, "Which basically means the flow of blood through the coronary arteries is restricted, the result is a shortage of oxygen travelling to the heart muscle. In my opinion, it was at an advanced stage, her life would have been shortened considerably by the condition."

The doctor sounded surprisingly emotional.
Is this his way of showing me he has compassion?

"It'll be of little consolation to her family. But it may ease their pain a little knowing she didn't have long to live, anyway. When will the forensic results be back, Doctor?"

"Twenty-four maybe forty-eight hours as it's the weekend, for some of us at least. I will let you know. We found several hairs and fibres on the body, a piece of dirt, possibly from the offender's shoe, skin under her fingernails and a few fingerprints on the broom. The killer was very sloppy this time. He even managed to leave a bloody shoe print on the doorstep. Perhaps distant sirens scared him off. It's a shame your colleagues weren't a little nearer when you called for their assistance."

"She lives on the outskirts of town, in a small village. The closest squad car was on another call at the time," she said, sharply, sticking up for her colleagues.

"Never mind, the deed is done now. I'll wait to hear from you."

Lorne left the mortuary alone. The frosty night air caught her off-guard and she pulled her jacket tight around her already chilled body. Pete had insisted he would accompany her to the post-mortem, but she had ordered him to go home and get some rest. She suspected the days ahead of them would be long and laborious, it was pointless both of them being dead on their feet.

Chapter Eighteen

That Sunday, Lorne and Pete were the only ones in the office. She went over the findings of the post-mortem with him and asked how far he'd got with his quest to nail Oliver as their prime suspect.

"Bearing in mind that it was Saturday yesterday, I reckon I did well. I tracked down Belinda's solicitor at about five o'clock. He was on the golf course at High Wycombe, not too happy about being disturbed I can tell you." He paused to take a sip of coffee. "Anyway, after his initial unwillingness to co-operate, and with a little friendly persuasion from yours truly, he finally came up trumps."

"In what way?" Lorne knew how much Pete liked to make a mountain out of the tiniest molehill.

A cocky tone slipped into his voice as he said, "Well, guess who the main beneficiary of Belinda Greenaway's will is?"

"Stop building your part up, Pete, just give me the damn facts."

"Touchy this morning ain't we? Anyway, Mr Franklyn-Lewis, Belinda's solicitor, told me that ninety per cent of her money was heading in Doreen's direction."

"Really, and what do you glean from this snippet of information?" she said, raising an expectant eyebrow.

"Actually,
I glean
quite a lot from what he said. Especially as he went on to tell me she changed her will a couple of months ago because she'd fallen out with her son." He finished reading from his notebook and triumphantly threw it on the desk between them.

"Did he say why?" Lorne sat forward in her chair as the implications behind these new findings sank in.

"Nope, all she would tell him was that it was a personal matter, one she didn't wish to discuss."

"It nearly chokes me to admit this, but I think you might have stumbled onto something significant."

"I told you, boss, he's shifty and I don't need any goddamn women's intuition to tell me that either."

 "Hang on a minute, before you get too smug. If Belinda's money was on its way to Doreen, what happens now?"

"I'm not with you?"

"Well, wouldn't Doreen's money go to her own daughter, Colleen?"

"I guess so." He shrugged.

"So why in God's name would Oliver kill his aunt?"

"Because he's not as clever as he looks. Maybe his next victim is going to be his cousin." Pete's eyes beamed.

"Nope, sorry, Pete, I don't buy it. He seems a pretty shrewd individual to me. There's another matter we should be considering here, too."

"What's that?" His brow crinkled.

"The sexual aspect of the case. Would he subject family members to that kind of sick behaviour?"

"I beg to differ with you on that one. There are some sick folks out there. Anyway, I ain't finished yet. I also got in touch with his firm, Callick Oil and they told me things haven't been going too well for him over the last two or three years."

"Meaning?"

"Apparently, he's lost the company millions. He promised to bring in more business if and when he got promotion, but instead he
lost
them a few lucrative contracts."

"I thought Oliver came up squeaky clean when we did the initial checks on him?" Lorne searched through the case file.

"Depends who's asking the questions," he said, tapping the side of his nose. "Let's just say my charm works wonders on occasions."

"You're a good cop, Pete, a bit highly strung and lacking in foresight at times. But basically, I wouldn't be without you." Her smile broadened as she noticed the colour rising in his chubby cheeks.

"Aw, give it a rest, boss. Like you're always telling me, we make a good team."

"I'll drink to that," she said. They raised their coffee cups and clinked them together.

"Don't you find it strange, though?" Pete asked as he settled back in his chair.

"What are you talking about now?"

"If your aunt had just been murdered right after your mother, wouldn't you be down the cop shop straight away, demanding what the hell was going on?"

"I'd be there before the ink had time to dry in the attending officer's notebook. Do we know where he's staying?"

"I'll have to check, but I think it's the
Deerfellow Hotel
in town?"

"You check while I tidy up here. I think it's time we paid Oliver Greenaway a little visit."

"Yes, ma'am." Pete hurried out the door like a man on a mission.

Chapter Nineteen

The receptionist at the swanky four star
Deerfellow Hotel
informed them Mr Greenaway had checked out at ten that morning.

With their suspicions heightened that their prime suspect had left town, Lorne and Pete decided to pay Colleen a visit. Maybe she'd be able to shed some light on what they had discovered about Belinda's will.

"How could you
think
such a thing? Oliver loved his mother and he always visited my mum whenever he was in town." Colleen nervously twisted a tissue in a figure of eight around her fingers.

"Some details have come to our attention that makes us suspect all's not well with your cousin. Has anything strange happened over the last few months, anything at all?" Lorne asked.

"I'm trying to think. At the back of my mind there is something I found strange, give me a few moments and I'm sure it'll come to me. My mind's all jumbled up because of what happened to Mum, I've got to go to the mortuary today. Don's coming with me." She smiled at her husband as he entered the room carrying a tray holding four mugs of coffee.

Don handed round the drinks then sat on the sofa next to his wife. He placed an arm around her shoulder and asked, "What's up, Col?"

"About a month ago, it might've been two, something happened with Aunt Belinda, I can't remember what it was, can you?" Her frown deepened as her frustration to think clearly mounted.

"That's right, Belinda and your mother came to Sunday lunch and we were shocked by what she had to say."

"Was it something to do with changing her will?" Lorne asked.

Don ran his fingers through his hair and looked pensive. "No, she definitely didn't tell us about that. She did tell us she was angry with Oliver about something though. What the hell was it?"

"I know!" Colleen seemed pleased with herself. "Bel — that's what we used to call her, she hated being called Aunt Belinda — she was livid with Oliver for losing one of the firm's biggest contracts. Jack, her husband, treated that customer with kid gloves, bowed and scraped to their every need because of how valuable they were. But Oliver was rebelling for some reason, he said he was fed up with having to kiss arse all the time."

"How did Belinda find out?" Lorne asked.

"It's all coming back now. The chairman of the board rang her. He was Jack's best friend. He'd stayed close friends with Bel after his death. He promoted Oliver to Director, I think he felt obligated — guilt played a huge part in his decision. After all, Oliver's father did die on board one of the firm's helicopters."

"Did you see Oliver after he fell out with his mother?"

"No, he kept his distance. I rang him because he hadn't replied to our christening invitation. He apologised and said he wouldn't be able to make it. I was furious and put the phone down on him." Sadness filled her features. She gazed over at the christening photo of her daughter nestled in her mother's arms.

"What was his excuse for not attending?"

"He said work commitments meant he was working seven days a week and couldn't afford to take the time off."

"When you met up after his mother's death, how did he seem to you?" Lorne probed carefully.

"That's really hard to answer because he's a difficult man to figure out. He was an only child, spoilt rotten — always carried a rather large chip on his shoulder when he was growing up."

"Was he upset, do you think?" Pete pressed, eager to pick up Oliver.

Colleen looked flustered by Pete's insistence. "I suppose so, I did find it strange that he wanted to see Bel's body, especially when, you know, the way it had been … mutilated. I'm glad you managed to talk him out of it, Inspector." She wiped away the tears that had started to roll down her face.

Lorne noticed Don's face pleading with the detectives to give her a break.

She took the hint and they left soon after, leaving the couple to their grief.

"I have to agree with her actually, we both thought it was strange when he demanded to see his ma's body like that," Pete said in the car on the journey back to the station.

"Hmm," Lorne said, contemplating their next move.

"Will the boss sanction a visit to Cornwall? I know funds are low, but I think we should pay Oliver a visit ASAP, don't you?"

"I'm sure he'll want us to go down there. Leave the chief to me."

"Any chance we can call it a day soon?" Pete glanced at his watch.

"Some big game on the telly you want to watch?"

"The boys are meeting their biggest rivals today. I just thought if we couldn't do much down at the station, it being Sunday and all, I could make it home for the kick-off."

Pete was a lifelong
Gooner
just like Tom. Both besotted with Arsenal
,
when they got together they could talk for hours about the team, especially about the fabulous youngsters Arsene Wenger was developing. Their favourite saying at the moment was '
who needs Patrick Vieira when you have a talent like 18 year-old Cesc Fabregas.'
Lorne had managed to get them tickets to last season's cup final, when they'd beaten Man Utd in a penalty shoot-out. Vieira had moved to Juventus
straight after that match. Lorne always made out she couldn't give a damn about football but secretly she enjoyed it just as much as they did. God forbid if Pete ever found out the truth, her life wouldn't be worth living. Their crime solving statistics would drop overnight if her partner climbed on his soapbox every day, especially if the words Abramovich or Chelsea happened to be mentioned.