Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one)) (23 page)

"But Tom was fine when I left. You must've rubbed him up the wrong way or somethin'."

"Let's just say, he knows how to put a brave face on things when company is around. This is hopeless. I'll dry my hair in the ladies at the mortuary. Put your foot down, Pete, before I catch my death."

"And you wonder why I ain't married?" he mumbled under his breath.

When they arrived, the mortuary only had a couple of lights on. Pete shook the front door until Jacques appeared.

Taking in her appearance, Jacques looked up at the sky. "I wasn't aware it had been raining."

"It hasn't," Pete retorted sharply as Lorne rushed off to the ladies' room.

Once the pair of detectives had changed they joined up with Arnaud in the mortuary. Pete stayed in his usual position and Lorne stood beside Jacques like she always did.

"No Bones today?" Lorne asked.

"I told him to come in later he'll be here about nine. There was a motorway pile-up to deal with last night — we didn't leave here until about two this morning."

"You should have rung me I would've come in later. What's that look for?"

He eyed her suspiciously as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "I told you to go home and rest. If that's what rest does for you, I can see why you are a workaholic."

"Thanks, didn't realise I looked that bad. Leave it, Jacques, please." She glanced over at Pete who was watching them through slanted eyes.

Jacques understood what she meant, and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "We'll talk about this later, when the evil eye is not watching our every move."

The post-mortem commenced. "The body is that of Sandra Crayford aged fifty-eight, five-feet-five inches in height," Jacques said.

"How do you know who the victim is?"

"At the scene we found the woman's handbag. Her driving licence and other ID were inside. It's over there on the bench."

The bench in question was within Pete's reach and Lorne motioned for him to take a look. It was understandable that they hadn't noticed the bag at the scene, they'd been otherwise engaged trying to put the fire out.

Jacques went on, "She has an ID badge for the social services. She was a social worker." He examined the body, noting out loud, for the tape's benefit, all the bruises he found. "Ah, this is strange. There are a series of indentations like this one here." He pointed to a mark on the woman's chest. Lorne leaned over the charred remains to take a closer look. "Two marks about a centimetre apart, what do you make of that, Inspector?"

"He used an implement that has two points. What about a garden fork maybe something like that?"

"You mean like this?" He held up an evidence bag with a garden fork inside. "It has three prongs which are pointed. They would have pierced the skin."

"Dare I ask? Did you find that near the body?" She knew what his answer would be before he even said it.

"Correction, not near the body,
in
the body just like the others. It was embedded in her vagina. The marks I have here would have been made by a blunt object, not one that is pointed."

"What about the end of a crowbar?" Pete said, as he sorted through the contents of the woman's bag.

"Come over here and take a look," Lorne said.

"I'm all right here, ta!"

Lorne tutted. "Make yourself useful, go and see if there's one in the boot of my car?"

"What the heck are you doing with one of them in your car?"

"It was precautionary. You know, to do with the Gripper Jones case? Why the hell am I explaining this to you? Get it now, Pete, please."

"Okay, okay, keep your knickers on." He blushed when he realised what he'd said and whose company they were in. He quickly left the mortuary in embarrassment.

"Don't go outside in those clothes," Jacques shouted after him. He turned to Lorne, "Now we're alone, tell me what happened to you last night?"

Lorne tried to brush it off as just another sleepless night that went hand in hand with the job, but Jacques was having none of it. He pressed her for an answer.

"A mixture of things I suppose. Having to put out a burning body affected me, badly. Guilt, because I think I could have prevented this or at least delayed it. The fact that I could be the killer's next victim or finally, there's always the argument I had with my husband when I got home. Take your pick. Does that add up to a sleepless night in your book?" She managed a weak smile.

"Did you make it up with him?"

"No. Pete picked me up before he woke from his drunken stupor." She shrugged, her eyes darted around the room looking anywhere but at him.

"Does he have a drink problem?"

"Only after an argument. He thinks it solves his problems."

"And does it?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not around him that much. He's just feeling sorry for himself and chose to take it out on me. Don't worry, I have broad shoulders. It'll blow over, it usually does."

"You shouldn't have to put up with that. Does he know how demanding your job is?"

"That's the problem. The job, I mean. Because I accepted promotion I spend less time at home with him and Charlie. I think the crux of the matter is that he feels isolated. He spends every waking minute of the day at home. He gave up work years ago and now it's proving impossible for him to find a job. It was his decision to become a house-husband. My workload won't allow me the time to sort things out at the moment. He'll be fine when I get home tonight, I'm sure."

"I might speak out of turn here but to me he sounds selfish. Especially when it was his decision to give up work."

"That's right, but look at it from his point of view, you'd go mad if you were confined to four walls most of the day, cleaning up after two women."

"I'm afraid,
ma cherie,
I wouldn't have allowed myself to get into such a position in the first place. I repeat it was
his
choice. I have plenty of married friends where the wife is at home all day. They appear to survive better than your husband does. Life is after all what you make it. Tell him to get a hobby or do some decorating if he's that bored."

It was pointless making excuses for Tom to a person she barely knew herself. She quickly changed the subject. "Was it a big pile-up?"

"Sorry, I don't understand?"

 "Last night. Was the motorway pile-up a big one, many fatalities?"

"Ah, the typical swift change of subject. I thought you were better than that, Inspector?"

Lorne noticed how hurt he looked and wondered why he would be interested in her dull marriage.
Or does he take pleasure in hearing about my husband's inadequacies?

"It's a sore subject that's all, Jacques. If you want me to start blubbering like a child then fine, but if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not let my sergeant see me with my defences down."

Before he could answer she was relieved to hear Pete's heavy footsteps trotting up the corridor.

"Here it is." Pete held the crowbar in his outstretched arm. Lorne blew out a frustrated breath as she went to fetch it.

Jacques' hand brushed against hers as he took it from her. Their eyes met, his sparkled with amusement.

"If this matches then we better start taking our psychic Miss Lorde seriously," Lorne said. Jacques raised an eyebrow, she explained, "She thought the weapon was a bar with a hook and a point."

"It's a perfect match. I'll compare the other cases after I have finished the post-mortem. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the right ear is missing, I think we can assume it will reappear shortly through the post."

Jacques completed the post-mortem by ten-thirty, giving Pete and Lorne thirty minutes to get to the funeral.

Chapter Thirty-Five

A van making a delivery to Sam's electrical store blocked the shortcut they wanted to take up Miller Street. Lorne tooted her horn and the driver rudely aimed a V-sign at the car. Pete pulled the door-handle but Lorne managed to restrain him. In the end, she was forced to back up and go the long way round. They arrived at the church with only minutes to spare.

A large crowd was winding their way up the path to the entrance of the church. Oliver was just inside the door on the left, welcoming mourners acquainted with his mother. The upper class were well represented amongst Belinda's friends. On the right, Colleen and her husband were greeting people paying their respects to Doreen. The pews on the left were already full, a stark contrast to those on the right — a reflection of the divide there'd been in the two women's lives.

Oliver smiled at Lorne and Pete as they approached.

"Nice of you to come, Inspector, Sergeant." Oliver greeted them with a firm handshake. "A place has been saved for you at the back." He pointed to a pew on the 'posh' side of the church.

"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 his head in the direction of a couple in their fifties, sitting in the second row at the front.

"They must be the Halls. Keep an eye on them we'll have a word with them after the service."

It was obvious who Pete was referring to as Mrs Hall 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.

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 said, throwing 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 eyes 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 and 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 couple left the 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 generally listen."

"Come on, I'll stop at the baker's 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?"