Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law (25 page)

Three months—almost to the day—after the apprehension of Loretta
Armstrong, the serial murderer, was found guilty on all counts. A cheer had resounded in the courtroom as the verdict was read out, and as Holt had walked into the police station following it, everyone had taken a turn congratulating him. But despite everyone else’s obvious happiness at the verdict, Holt still didn’t feel right. Something still didn’t fit, and he couldn’t work out what it could possibly be. He had spent the last three months continually returning to the case, trying to piece together where his doubts were coming from.

Holt walked into his office and sat back down at his desk. No sooner had he done this than there was a knock at the door.

“Yes?”

Henson, who had recently come back to work following his incident with Loretta, stuck his head round the door, grinning wildly.

“We did it, sir, we got her.”

“Yes, we did.” Holt’s voice was low and flat.

Henson walked in and took a seat.

“Aren’t you happy?”

“Yes, I suppose I am, but it’s just…I don’t know, there still seem to be a few things that don’t quite fit.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like when Jon Hamilton went missing, I was at Loretta’s apartment.”

“Obviously she went out after you’d left.”

“Maybe, but why would a woman in her fifties with an exceptional career record suddenly decide to throw it all away? Why wait until now? We now know that what Simon Reeves did thirty years ago must’ve been the trigger as he was the first victim. But why wait until now to get even when she had so much to lose?”

Henson shifted uneasily in his seat.

Holt’s mind went back to the day they had found out Simon Reeves’s identity. A message had been left on Holt’s voicemail from Hannah Simpson, who had received his message about questions relating to the assault on herself and Clare Heathers. She had been the one to inform them of the involvement between Clare and Loretta.

“Henson, how would y
ou describe the death of Simon Reeves?”   

“Well, calc
ulated, ferocious… I don’t know sir, what do you want me to say?”

“Ferocious—doesn’t that suggest something to you? That whomever was responsible had a lot of anger? And how likely is it that you’d carry that anger with you for thirty years? You couldn’t; it would destroy you. You wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything, much less build a career on trying to help people similar to the person who wronged you.
But then how did she know? Sue had no sisters, cousins maybe…maybe a friend…?”

Henshaw
was confused, he was fairly sure he was no longer required for the conversation

“What do you mean?”

“Often people charged with domestic abuse are asked to seek anger management. Loretta will have seen hundreds of cases throughout her professional career. Is that the behaviour of someone who hates abusers and thinks they’re all damned? No, she was trying to protect women from ending up in the same position.”

“The same position sir?”

“Yes, the same position as Sue…”

Henson looked concerned.

“Maybe you should take a few weeks’ holiday, sir, get out of the country and just relax. I think you’re thinking on this too much. I mean, we’ve got her, sir, she’s confessed, case closed.”

Holt looked up at Henson.

“Perhaps you’re right. Well, I’m going to call it a night anyway.”

Holt got up, smiling at Henson, and removed his jacket from the back of his chair. As he opened the door for Henson, he wondered briefly if what he was about to do was a good idea.

Lauren Matthews was making the tea; since Dean had come home, he had been a different person. It was almost as if he’d gone from childhood to adulthood in the space of the four days he’d been missing. He had gone straight back to work as soon as he could, and he was actively enjoying it. Even Mark had noticed a difference in him. Mark was now a regular caller at the house; the shock of Dean’s disappearance and subsequent reappearance had seemed to have had a profound effect on him, as well. He had his own flat now and was doing an apprenticeship at another garage. Lauren was pleased to see him these days, which was proof in itself as to how much he had changed. She was busy making a lasagne for dinner and had just finished sprinkling cheese on top of it when the doorbell rang. Wiping her hands quickly on a tea towel, she went to answer the door. A small, well-dressed woman was waiting for her.

“Mrs Matthews?”

Lauren nodded.

“I’m Joanne Hamilton, may I have a minute of your time?”

Lauren nodded and beckoned her inside. Joanne followed Lauren through into the kitchen, and noticing the freshly made lasagne she nodded toward it.

“That looks nice.”

Lauren, unsure as to what this woman might want, smiled.

“Thanks, though I‘m not sure if it’ll taste any good. Would you like a cup of tea? I was just going to have one myself.”

“That’d be lovely. Thank you.”

Joanne felt comfortable around this woman; she hadn’t been too sure how she’d be received. But in all the years of Dean’s life, Lauren had never intruded on Joanne’s family life or demanded anything from Jon. Knowing what she knew now, she was not sure she would have
been so understanding in Lauren’s position. Joanne sat down at the table as Lauren strained the tea and placed a cup in front of Joanne. Lauren joined her at the table.

“I’m sure there are things you want to ask me, and I’ll try to answer them as well as I can.”

Joanne looked shocked at this.

“No, I have no questions. I know what my late husband was like, and I know that you ended up being discarded like I was. I would never have any quarrel with you. In your case, I was the other woman.” Joanne was smiling at the end of the sentence. Lauren appreciated the fact that she was trying to make light of Jon’s many indiscretions and returned the smile.

“When will Dean be back? I’d like to speak to you both together if possible.”

As if in answer to the question, the front door slammed open and two men could be heard making their way to the kitchen. Dean burst into the kitchen, followed by Mark. Joanne was taken aback by how like his father he was; she hadn’t noticed it before, or maybe she had and just hadn’t acknowledged it.

“All right, Mum?” Dean was grinning, and then he noticed she wasn’t alone. He recognised Joanne and his manner changed.

“Hello, Mrs Hamilton.”

“Would you two like a cup of tea?” Lauren got up and put the kettle back on. Mark followed Lauren over to the kettle.

“Yes, please, Mrs Matthews.”

“I’ve told you, you can call me Lauren.” Lauren’s voice had a chastising quality and Mark seemed to redden around the ears a little. He recomposed himself quickly.

“What’s that I smell?”

“Lasagne—that ok with you?”

“Fantastic.”

Mark grabbed the mugs from the cupboard and stayed next to Lauren while she made the tea.

Dean, who was still shocked to see Joanne in his house, sat down at the table. Joanne, noting his confusion, was first to speak.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here?”

“Well, yes, if I’m being honest.”

“I’ve come to tell you that I’ve decided to get rid of the garage, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

Dean looked crestfallen.

“Can I ask why?  I mean, I’m no expert, but I thought it had been doing great business.”

Joanne opened her handbag and pulled out some papers.

“It has. Which is a good reason to pass it on now; nobody wants a failing business.”

“Do you have a prospective buyer yet? Are they keeping any of us on?”

“Well, that’s entirely up to him—and her, for that matter.”

“Do I know them?”

“Well, I’m looking at them right now.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“Me?”

“And your mother, yes.”

Lauren, who had only been half listening to what was being said, spun round.

Dean wasn’t sure if he understood properly.

“Is this a wind-up?”

“Well, here are the deeds—what do you think?”

Dean scanned the pages; she was serious. Still in shock, he passed them to his mother.

Lauren looked over the papers and then stood staring in shock at Joanne.

“I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me; you deserve it. Jon could never provide stability, but maybe this will. Anyway, I suppose I better be going. Thanks for the tea.”

Joanne closed her bag and got up. Dean shot a quick look at his mum, who seemed to have already anticipated this and spoke up quickly.

“I don’t suppose you’d like to stay and have some lasagne? I’ve made enough to feed an army.”

Joanne smiled.

“Well, Harry, my eldest, said he was going to pick up KFC for everyone tonight, and I’ve never been a great fan of fast food.”

“That’s a yes, then? Fantastic.” She turned to Dean and Mark.              

“Why are you two still here? Nip to down to Tesco’s and pick up a bottle of champagne, and when you get back you can lay the table.”

Smiling widely at the two women, Dean and Mark headed back out again.

Holt’s car swung into the prison car park. Parking up quickly, he slammed the brakes on and got out.   He walked into the main reception and straight up to the officer at the reception desk.

“Hello, you’ve been expecting me.”

The prison officer recognised the man in front of her and ushered him through. Holt was led through to a room where Loretta was waiting.

Loretta was sitting as serenely as always, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Hello, Inspector Holt.”

Holt sat down.

“How did you know her? Was she your cousin? Friend?”

“Who?”

“Sue Lawrence.”

Loretta looked shocked for a moment.

“Sue Lawrence?”

“Yes, Sue Lawrence and don’t pretend you don’t know who she is, she’s the reason Reeves was chosen in the first place isn’t she? Only thing is I don’t know how you knew her. There is one thing I do know for certain though…”

“Really? And what’s that?” Loretta was becoming agitated.

“You didn’t do it.” It was a statement.

“Do what?”

“You didn’t kill those people.”

“Really? The evidence would point to the contrary.” Loretta’s voice was low, but her back was straight and she was looking Holt dead in the eye.

“What evidence? The only concrete evidence we have is that you are responsible for Dean’s abduction and the attack on DS Henson.”

“Y
es, I miscalculated with Dean.”

“Bullshit. The one thing I know for a fact is that the killer never miscalculated things. You never meant for Dean to die—you just wanted us to think he would. You wanted all the evidence to point to you.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe the papers were right; you are past it.”

Holt sat back in his chair for a moment.

“No, I’m sorry, that’s not going to work this time. You can question my ability to do my job all you like, but I know I’m right. Who did it, Loretta? Who are you protecting?”

“Protecting?”

“Yes, you said it yourself—you protect people from others, from themselves. I thought I understood the motive when Simon Reeves’s identity came to light, but I was wrong, I was seeing it from the wrong prospective. It’s taken me three months to realise that the murder of Simon Reeves was an immediate reaction—the ferocity of it, the need to obliterate him completely. It doesn’t square that someone who had known what he did and lived with it for the best part of thirty years would suddenly decide exact their revenge. So who did you tell?”

Loretta regarded Holt for a moment and smiled at him once again.

“I’m impressed—you clearly have a knack for psychology, Inspector Holt, or maybe that’s your copper’s nose busy twitching. But I’ll think you’ll find that whatever it is bears no consequence in the real world. I’ve confessed to the murders and you have no real evidence, forensic or otherwise, to the contrary.”

“So you will quite happily spend the rest of your life incarcerated for coldblooded murderer?”

“Coldblooded? I think not. If you disagree, then may I politely request you go back and visit the victims’ bereaved?” Loretta sat back in her chair and Holt leaned in.

“I don’t think a single one would say they’re happier now.” 

Loretta leaned in to meet Holt’s gaze.

“What people
think
and what people
say
rarely square with each other; why do you think my ex-career is such a booming industry?”

Knowing there was nothing more to say, Holt got up and left.

After Holt had gone, the prison officer came in to collect Loretta.

“Come on, then, let’s get you back to your cell. You know, you’ve got another visitor booked in for this afternoon—Clare Heathers.”

Loretta looked at the PO and smiled.

“Oh, lovely, she’s a nice girl. She’s interested in becoming a psychologist herself.’

The PO returned the smile and led Loretta back to her room.

Clare was driving to the prison. When Loretta had first spoken to Clare about her own disastrous ex-relationship, it had been a revelation that had at first made Clare feel better about her own pitiful relationship history. But Clare hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it, and it had built into a rage. This woman who had helped so many through mental anguish had once been the victim of a sadistic bully. It didn’t seem right to Clare, and after a few weeks she had managed to track him down. Simon Reeves had done everything but laugh in her face, and that had been the final straw for Clare. Loretta was now her mentor, and as far as Clare was concerned, mentors didn’t have tragic backstories. Once she’d disposed of Simon, she had felt relief. It hadn’t been until speaking with Hannah that she’d realised that Loretta was far from an isolated case. After Simon’s disposal, it had become easier for Clare to justify the eradication of some other people that had caused her and her friends pain. Hannah’s ex, Matt Reynolds, had been next; Hannah had still known a lot of Matt’s routines and had unwittingly helped Clare. Hannah had mentioned that she had thought of using the spare key he kept on top of the light fitting next to his front door to let herself in and call the speaking clock. Clare had talked her out of it; she had had other plans for Mr Reynolds. Once more Clare had felt the relief wash over her once she had finished her task. Jon Hamilton had been selected thanks to Dean; when Dean had first found out about his paternity he had left a drunken message on Clare’s phone, even alluding to the fact that he had a new mistress, Sarah Lester. It hadn’t taken Clare long to track down her apartment. During Jon’s abduction, she had taken Jon’s keys, assuming, quite correctly, that he would have a key to Sarah’s apartment. Leaving the finger in the ice-lolly had been a particularly gratifying addition to the tableau.

Richard Abbott had gone out with Clare’s cousin briefly—just long enough to introduce her to the wrong type of people—and she was now, thanks to his introductions, a heroin addict. He had been a remarkably easy target, as had Adam Woodacre, with his reputation and the fact that she already knew exactly where he lived. Clare just wished she had had a camera when she had surprised him.

Now, though, she felt remorse—not for any of her victims, but for the woman she revered taking her place in a prison cell. Loretta had worked it out that Clare must have been responsible for the murders. While visiting Clare in hospital the night she had lost the baby, she had told Clare that she knew. Loretta had been to her apartment and brought her an overnight bag, and she had found the mask. When Loretta told her she planned to help her, Clare had thought she had meant going to the police. And when Loretta told her not to contact her again, Clare had assumed it was because Loretta hadn’t wanted to be associated with a murderer. She noticed that the mask had been removed and she had thought Loretta had taken it to the police. So Clare had kept her distance and waited patiently at home for the police. When they hadn’t come, she had been confused, but when she saw Loretta’s ‘confession’ across the front page of all the newspapers she had been shocked. If she were being honest with herself, she was still in shock. But she couldn’t leave it any longer, and had rung to arrange a visit.

Three hours after Jimmy Holt left the prison, Clare sat in front of Loretta.

“Why did you do it?”

“You know why I did it. You must continue with your studies, and you can’t come back here again, either. I recommend that you leave the area.”

“Loretta, I’m the one who should be sat there now, not you.” Clare’s voice was a whisper.

“You have your whole life ahead of you, Clare; you have the ability to become a fantastic counsellor. But never lose sight of the ones you’re protecting.

About a year ago, a girl came to me for help. Her partner was violent towards her and she didn’t know what to do. I told her she should leave him and report him to the police. So she went back home and told him it was over. It created an argument and a neighbour called the police. The police turned up, arrested him and took him back to the police station. However after interviewing him and her, they decided to drop the charges and he was sent on his way.

I don’t know what happened in the hours following his release but I do know the consequences. She was found with her head staved in by a neighbour the following morning. He claimed temporary insanity. That it had been an argument that had gotten out of hand. They had a record of repeated visits by the police to their address. Their relationship had a history of being, shall be say—troubled. And with the right amount of tears and remorse in the courts, he received eight years. I imagine he’ll be out in four.”

Clare knew what this was: it was reasoning. In an ideal world she; Clare, would be in prison. But this wasn’t an ideal world, and every day it seemed to slip a little further away from achieving it.

Clare got up and smiled at Loretta.

Loretta returned the smile.

“Just remember to keep up the good work.”

As Clare went back to her car, she felt almost lightheaded. Getting her mobile from her bag, she decided to ring Hannah.

“Hi, hon, what are you up to?”

“Nothing much—why? Do you want to meet up?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to talk to you about something. I’m thinking of moving, and I wondered if you wanted to come with me?”

Clare hung up the phone confident that Hannah would be on her doorstep by the time she got back. Throwing her phone down onto the passenger seat, she put the car into gear and left the car park without so much as a backward glance.

Three days later Holt arrived back at the prison.

Loretta took the visitor request without question.

“Hello again DI Holt.”

“Hello again… Sue.”

Dear Reader,

I see you’ve read to the end and I’d just like to take another moment of your time to thank you for downloading Perfect Intentions. I genuinely hope you enjoyed it. For me entertaining you, the reader, is all I want to do.

If I may make a small request of you, if on completing this book you have enjoyed the journey we’ve been on together, please leave a positive review. It’s good reviews that ensure I can continue to entertain. And as such that makes you, the reader, my priority.

With that in mind, please feel free to contact me via my website, twitter or Facebook as I’d love to hear from you.

As, I’m sure you’re aware, Perfect Intentions is not the end of the journey and I hope you’ll be joining me for the sequel.

Wishing you all the best and I’ll see you again soon,

Leona Turner.