Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one)) (14 page)

"Should it?" He forgot the protocol when speaking to a superior officer.

"Should it, sir, to you, sonny!" Pete corrected the bemused constable.

"Sorry, should it, sir?"

"Let's cast our minds back to Saturday 16
^th
September, shall we?" Lorne watched the constable frown as he searched his mind. "Mr Wilkinson placed a 999 call to say that his allotment shed had been broken into."

"Yes, ma'am. I remember the case."

"There was blood at the scene, had a window been broken?"

The penny finally dropped. "No, ma'am, as far as I can remember the window wasn't broken."

"So where the
hell
did the blood come from? I presume you asked Mr Wilkinson if it belonged to him?"

The constable's hand nervously swept over his face and then ran through his hair. "I neglected to ask, ma'am."

"No, you simply logged it as a regular burglary and told the old man to clean it up. It takes professionals like DS Childs and myself to come along and solve your crimes for you. I'm reporting you to your superior officer and I'll be recommending you recap your basic training before being let loose on the general public again."

"I'm truly sorry, ma'am."

"That's as may be but for your information, Bulmer, we suspect the allotment shed was used to store the body that was discovered in the forest a few days ago. Now get out of my bloody sight."

"Yes, ma'am … thank you, ma'am. Once again I'm very sorry, ma'am."

"Get this cretin out of here, Pete."

"Come on, son, let's go." He led the dejected constable out of the room.

Lorne picked up a file lying in front of her and smashed it back down on her desk, venting her anger. Incompetence on the job pissed her off, she couldn't believe Bulmer had been let out unsupervised on the streets, what the hell was going on? She made a note on her pad to bring it to the chief's attention — she didn't have time to chase up crap like this.

Her dad would have a field day when she told him of Bulmer's incompetence. As an ex-copper it infuriated him when he heard about police cock-ups through the media. The unfortunate Soham
murders were a prime example. He knew as soon as Ian Huntley spoke to ITV news that he was the murderer. He even rang a few of his old colleagues who were still on the force to tell them, but no one cared enough to chase it up. In the old days, her father had told her, a lot of crimes were solved by a copper's nose. True coppers could smell out a criminal at a hundred yards. What had changed since her father's time on the force? Why were coppers nowadays so incompetent? Was too much emphasis being put on employing University graduates with little or no common sense, or was it a case of the criminals getting smarter?

It was getting on for nine when she rang Arnaud to see if Kim Charlton's body was ready for post-mortem.

"I was about to ring you, Inspector. Will you come alone?"

His question momentarily floored her. She cleared her throat. "No, my partner will be attending the post-mortem with me."

She had intended sending Pete home early, but not now. She shuddered at the thought of being alone with Arnaud in his creepy workplace.

"I'll have his seat waiting for him, nearest the door as usual," Arnaud said, and laughed.

Feeling uncomfortable, Lorne ended the conversation promptly, telling him they'd be with him in half an hour.

 She tidied her desk, picked up her car keys and dismissed the team for the night. Pete pushed through the swing doors at the top of the stairs and walked towards her.

"Fancy going on a little trip?"

"Not if it means spending time with a stiff." Pete groaned as his stomach rumbled.

"We'll pick up some chips on the way."

"You're joking, right? There's no way I could handle a post-mortem after stuffing my face. I'd rather starve."

"So be it. Don't blame me if you pass out in there. The Doc would love that."

"You're always on about my weight anyway. Maybe I'll be a few pounds lighter in the morning."

"Whatever," Lorne shouted back over her shoulder as they took the stairs down to the car.

Chapter Twenty-Three

They arrived at the mortuary suited and booted.

"Ah, Inspector, come, stand beside me." He pointed to the floor, barely a foot away from him.

Pete remained by the door in his usual place. Lorne suspected he'd forgotten about being hungry the minute he'd laid eyes on the dead body lying on the table.

Lorne relaxed as the post-mortem got underway and Arnaud focused on cutting up Kim Charlton's body.

Before he made the Y-incision, the pathologist pointed out all visible injuries the girl had suffered: At least ten bite marks were visible on her neck, thigh and breast. The right nipple was missing and had not been recovered at the scene. Had the killer kept it as a trophy? Her face was bruised and bloody after receiving ten to twelve blows from a blunt object. Her jaw was broken and her right cheekbone was smashed to pieces.

As Arnaud removed the garden fork from the victim's vagina he described her appalling wounds into the recorder alongside him: "The deceased's vaginal vault shows signs of penetration caused by a round-ended cylindrical object — the garden fork — was inserted with a moderate degree of force. The lack of visible bruising in relation to the injury suggests that it happened after death."

The doctor shook his head in disbelief, then continued, "There is a second vaginal injury, consisting of a red abrasion on the vaginal vault, this injury was caused by the insertion of a different hard object. The latter injury looks like it occurred during forceful intercourse."

He raised his eyes to Lorne before saying, "The bruising on both arms and hands are typical defence wounds. Here, there is a three-inch wound to the chest. I will know more about this once the torso is opened up."

He took swabs from every orifice before making the first cut in the Y-shaped incision. The cuts began behind both ears and descended at a forty-five degree angle along the neck. The two cuts met at the top of the chest and ran vertically as one down to the pelvis. He turned on the recorder again and said, "I am pulling back the skin over the skull and it is here that I notice bruising to the left occipital area. The brain is swollen where it has been hit with a blunt object.'

They both looked round when they heard the plastic door slap shut. Pete had exited the room.

"It never ceases to amaze me, Inspector, why you bring him with you. He has yet to complete a full post-mortem, whereas you, well what can I say?" he said, eyeing her with admiration.

She blushed.
Is he flirting with me? Or is it my weary imagination working
overtime
?

"Let's just say I have a stomach for the gruesome things in life, and well … Pete just has a stomach." She chortled, but glanced back at the door, praying for Pete to return.

"Ah, so you do possess a sense of humour after all. I was beginning to wonder."

"It's extremely difficult to remain buoyant all the time in my job, as with yours I should imagine. Anyway, as long as my hubby appreciates my sense of humour, surely that's all that matters."

She hoped casually dropping Tom's name into the conversation would make him think twice about coming on to her.

Appearing to receive her warning Arnaud resumed with the examination. Further investigations to the chest wound showed that a sharp object, probably a knife, had entered the pericardium at the front of the heart and he suspected this injury had proven to be fatal.

Lorne and the doctor left Bones sewing up the body. Pete was seated in the corridor, his head buried between his oversized thighs. The pair walked past him and into the changing room.

"We found out today that the shed where Kim Charlton was found had been broken into a couple of weeks ago. The owner found a patch of blood inside and called the police. Unfortunately, a very junior officer attended the crime and didn't think to call in forensics. Is there any chance you can take another look at the shed for me?"

"Has the blood been wiped up?"

"Afraid so, can you do anything?"

"Leave it with me, Inspector, I'll go down there tomorrow and see if the Luminol shows up anything. Even if there's no blood to see with the naked eye we will find it. I trust you dealt with your incompetent colleague?" he said as they stepped out into the hallway.

"He won't make the same mistake twice, I can assure you."

"I'm glad to hear it. Now if you will excuse me I have a cup of cocoa waiting for me at home. I'll be in touch, Inspector, and I hope you feel better soon, sergeant." He chuckled, opened the door to his office and disappeared inside.

"He can be such a smarmy shit."

 "Come on, let's get home and get some sleep. Do you want to crash at mine? Otherwise, I'll have to drive all the way back to the station to pick up your car."

"Two nights on the trot sleeping at your gaff, people will talk." He laughed, and winked at her.

"Only if you tell them. Yes or no, Pete?"

"Why not, any chance of a bite to eat when we get there?"

"Will an omelette do?"

"Sounds good to me. I can honestly say you spoil me rotten at times, boss."

"Hmm … You don't deserve it after wimping out on me in there."

"Afraid to be left alone with the Doc, were ya?"

"Don't be so ridiculous, that's not what I meant at all and you know it. Besides, Bones was there, remember? Get in the car, chunky."

Pete's eyes rose heavenwards as she called him the nickname she'd recently bestowed upon him. Not because of him being overweight. No, she'd chosen the nickname because he'd suddenly acquired a penchant for KitKats, the chunky variety.

* * *

The next morning they left Lorne's house in differing moods. Pete was grumpy because he had aches in places he never knew existed after spending the last two nights on her uncomfortable sofa. And Lorne was in one of her 'tread carefully around me' moods. She and Tom had been arguing till 3a.m. and Pete had heard everything.

The atmosphere at breakfast had been colder than a freezer. The couple had exchanged hateful glances across the breakfast bar, unaware that Pete and Charlie had warily watched their every move.

The weather did nothing to brighten their moods. A torrential downpour had followed them all the way to work.

"You got an umbrella in the boot?" Pete eyed the darkening sky.

"Yeah, but I doubt if you'll appreciate the colour."

"Suppose it's girly pink, is it?"

"Yup. Actually, it's polka dot pink, a present from Charlie at Christmas. Apparently it's the 'in' thing. I'll drop you as close to the station as I can, okay?"

Disgruntled about her decision, he mumbled something incoherent under his breath. Whenever he stayed over she always insisted, to prevent unnecessary rumours flying around the station, they should never arrive at work in the same car first thing in the morning.

"Jump out at the next set of lights."

 "You're kidding! Shit, that's miles away from the station."

"It's a few hundred yards, the jog will do you good, now shoo," she said, as the lights changed to red.

Lorne drove past him a few seconds later and blasted the horn as he battled against the gale force wind and rain. She glanced in her rear-view mirror and smiled when he gave her a v-sign. He already looked as if he'd swum twenty lengths at the local baths in his overcoat. She braced herself for a tongue lashing when he arrived at work.

She bought two cups of coffee from the machine and checked through her post while she waited for him to arrive.

A few minutes later, she cringed when she saw her drenched partner zigzag his way between the desks.

"Forget to take your car home last night, Pete?" Mitch teased.

"No!"

"Did you spend the night with a nice bird, Pete?"

"No! What gives you
that
idea?"

"You're wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday, and your car was parked in the car park all night." Mitch tapped the side of his nose.

 Pete grunted and cast a few looks around as he wrestled his way out of his soaking wet trench coat.

 Lorne suppressed a smile when he entered her office. His hair, what was left of it, was plastered to his face and he left a trail of water on the carpet behind him.

"Morning, Pete …"

"Don't you dare make any quips about it being a lovely day," he warned her, sitting in the chair opposite.

"Wouldn't dream of it. What've you got there?" she asked, referring to the package in his hand.

"The desk sergeant said it was left outside for you this morning." He placed the twelve-inch square box on the desk in front of her.

"I got you a coffee."

He sat down again and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Lorne stood up, picked up the letter opener and tore the tape around the edge of the box.

"This will probably be the new stationary I ordered last month."

"Where do you want me to start today?"

She flipped the lid up and reached inside to pull out a large packet wrapped in bubble-wrap. Throwing the box on the floor she sliced through the wrap as she carried on their conversation. "We'll see what the team came up with after we left last night, then …"

A maggot fell out of the package and landed on her desk. Lorne jumped back in horror.

Then the smell hit them.

"Shittin' hell," Pete cried almost tipping back in his chair.

Lorne opened her drawer, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and a couple of masks. She threw one of the masks to Pete and he hurriedly placed it over his nose.

"Here, let me do it, boss."

He volunteered but she pushed his hands away. "I'll do it. Here goes."

After ripping away the rest of the tape at the top of the bubble-wrap, she peered inside.

Lorne just made it to the bin before her breakfast came up.

Pete moved towards the package but she put her hand up to stop him. "Pete don't! I think it's Belinda Greenaway's head…"

Chapter Twenty-Four