Impeding Justice (2 page)

She turned to challenge him but the pain stretching across
his handsome features shocked her.
Oh God, I'm a selfish cow at times.

He flung out an arm and marched heavy-footed
towards the door. 'What's the bloody point? The doctor will need to
give you the all clear. I’ll see if I can find him.'

Shock at the sudden change in Tom made her
retaliate, 'Don’t bother. No one is going to stop me checking
myself out of here. No one, do you hear me? Just do as I ask and
bring the car round the front.'

Needing to lash out she attacked her
shoulder-length brown hair with her brush. The punishing pain went
some way to lessen the anger she felt at Tom’s attitude and the
grief hanging heavy and knotted inside her over Pete’s death.

'Mrs. Simpkins, you can’t just up and
leave.'

'You want to bet on that? Watch me.'

The blonde, middle-aged, ward Sister sprang
to her feet and sprinted round the desk. 'But, at least let me try
and get hold of Dr. Carter, he’s due to start his rounds.' She
tried to turn Lorne by the shoulders back to her room.

Lorne shrugged her off. 'I’ve wasted enough
bloody minutes as it is. Just get me the release form I need to
sign to get me out of this dump, no offence.'

The Sister thrust the release form under her
nose.

'Thanks. Now, which is the quickest way to
the mortuary from here?'

'Take the first left, then the second door on
the right. The elevator will take you down to the basement. You’ll
find the mortuary at the far end of the corridor on the right.'

No more bedside manner, then?

Never before on her visits to the mortuary
had she felt such trepidation. She hoped her good friend, and
occasional colleague, pathologist Jacques Arnaud, would still be on
duty.

She hadn't gone far when she needed to pause, lean on a
wall and catch her breath.
Did
that bloody woman say second or third on the right?

The jerky ride on the lift left her shook up. Once more she
took solace against the cold, painted, brick wall of the
corridor.
What the hell is
wrong with you girl?
She knew
the answer. This would be the last time she ever laid eyes on her
partner, her
dead
partner.

Come on girl, get a grip, any sign of
weakness and you know what will happen. You’ll be off the case, the
Super will personally see to that.

'Ma Cherie, how are you?' Jacques startled
her. His voice came from behind a mountain of reports, placing them
on the desk he approached her, his arms outstretched.

Her cares and worries eased as she nestled
into his embrace. Clinging to him, he caressed her back and
whispered in his native tongue against her ear. In his adopted
language, he said, 'Ssshhh… Cherie, everything will be okay.'

She wanted this moment to last forever. She
knew he felt the same way.

Why did life have to be so damn
complicated?

She pushed away from him trying to deny the
feelings threatening to stir. She refused to let this happen, not
here, not now.

They had been friends for years, but over the last twelve
months their friendship had become much more, stopping just short
of having an
affair
.

'Is he here, Jacques?'

'He's here, yes. But, I don’t think it would
be wise for you to see him.'

Puzzled, she looked up at him. Her heart
threatened to betray her, his words annoyed her, but she shivered
the feeling away. Why does everyone think they know what is best
for me? Why can’t anyone, even Jacques, give me credit for keeping
my emotions in check?

Anger fuelled her exit, turning on her heel
she headed down the hallway towards the changing rooms. 'I’ll be
the judge of that. Has he been opened up yet?'

She tore off her jacket as she walked in
readiness to don the regulation protective suit before entering
Jacques' theatre. “No greens, no admittance,” he'd told her the
very first time they'd met.

Jacques followed her, making no further
protest.

'Oui
, I performed the
post mortem this morning. If it is any consolation to you, Lorne,
not only would he not have survived an operation due to his
injuries, but though his heart was strong he, well...'

'What you’re trying to tell me is, he’d built
enough health problems with his cholesterol-filled diet, to have
killed him anyway.'

'I try to be tactful. I wouldn’t necessarily
have put it quite like that myself. But yes, that about sums up his
state of health, did he have any family?'

'Yeah, me… No, only me, he had a sister, but
she died three years ago from a heart attack. That's why I nagged
him about his poor diet. Maybe I should have left him to his own
devices. At least he would have died happier...'

'Pete had a happy life. He loved his job. You
know he was besotted with you, yes? I know, I watched him, I saw
the way he hung on your every word. Um…he warned me off you, too.
Made it clear he did not think I was "good enough to wipe the drips
from your nose". I thought it a funny expression at the time. I had
to ask a colleague what it meant. Once I knew, I thought he was
probably right.'

Was this what Pete was trying to tell me? Why
hadn’t she seen it if others had? The thought of them discussing
her behind her back affected her for some strange reason. When and
why had they been discussing me, what gave them the right? She
didn't feel in the right frame of mind to challenge Jacques about
it, instead she tried to reassure him of Pete's motives.

'Don’t take it personally, Jacques. He became
like a brother to me and we looked out for one another. My family
was as much his family; he’d have acted out of a sense of
protecting Tom and Charlie. Oh God, I feel as though I’ve lost a
limb. I’m going to miss the old sod.'

Jacques didn't speak. Not often lost for
words she sensed he struggled to know what to say. Maybe if she
spoke French he could convey his feelings, but then, she knew he
would respect her wishes not to offer shallow words of comfort.
He'd known how close she and Pete had been. The true understanding
that had existed between them, something that comes along once in a
blue moon. At this moment she could never imagine anyone replacing
him.

After donning their pathology greens they
walked in silence towards the pristine, newly equipped post mortem
suite. An area of the hospital the board had seen fit to throw
their money at recently.

Pete's unmistakable shape lay on the nearest
stainless-steel table, covered by a green sheet that stopped just
short of the floor.

This is it. Hi, Pete, I’m here.

Her hand shook as she folded back the sheet,
but her dread gave way to relief. The fear and pain etched on his
face in his final moments had gone. Pete’s chubby features now
looked angelic, pure and peaceful.

Jacques lingered behind her. 'Are you
okay?'

He
squeezed her quaking shoulder. She welcomed the support he conveyed
with the gesture. Her head flopped, and when she raised her
shoulder her cheek rested on the back of his hand, 'I'll survive,
Jacques
.’

The
moment paused and
held comfort.

‘
What happens now? When will
his body be released for the funeral?'

He didn’t remove his hand to give his answer.
She sensed he enjoyed the sensation of the contact as much as she
did.

'We need to carry out a few more tests; a
couple more hours should do it. The funeral home will collect him
around five o’clock. Do you know what his preference was? Burial or
cremation, I mean?'

'Now there’s a question. It’s something we
never really discussed. The subject never cropped up, why would it?
We regarded ourselves as indestructible.'

The mood had changed, she turned to face him,
'I guess, knowing Pete, he’d prefer cremation. He once helped in
the garden at home and squirmed when a long worm appeared.’

'I think you’re right. Cremation appeals to
me more and more nowadays. I take it the Police Force will give him
a good send off?'

'They’d better or I’ll have something to say
about it. Look, I have to go, Tom’s waiting outside for me.' Her
cheeks flushed as she mentioned her husband's name.

Facing Pete’s body again, she kissed his icy
forehead, then whispered in his ear. 'So long, sweetheart thanks
for all the times you took care of me, sorry I wasn't able to repay
the favour.'

As they left the post mortem suite Jacques
spoke. 'Lorne, you must not blame yourself for what happened. He
has had several near misses in the past and going in with a jacket
not properly done up...'

'I know. I’m mad at everything at the moment,
Pete for flaunting the rules, myself for not challenging the
screwed up system we work in, but then, if we’d have had guns we
still couldn’t have done much. We went into a trap.’

'And, your one-woman campaign stands very
little chance after the hoo-hah of the De Menezes case. I think
it’s a long time in the future for this country to think of arming
its police. Now, go home, try and get some rest. Let me know when
the funeral is arranged, I would like to attend, and Cherie…'

She had stripped off her protective suit and
was about to slip her shoes on, but something in his tone caused
her to search out his ocean blue eyes.

'I was going to say, you know where I am if
you need a shoulder to cry on.' He tapped his shoulder and gave her
a cheeky wink.

After stepping into her shoes she walked over
to him, kissed his cheek, then embraced him in a bear hug, 'Thanks,
Jacques, I’m so lucky to have you as a friend.'

Without waiting for a response she walked
towards the exit, afraid of what the consequences might be if she
stayed around him any longer. She did allow herself one peep back
before closing the door behind her. The dejection outlined in the
slope of his shoulders tugged at her heart, but what could she
do?

Chapter
Three.

‘
Shit!' She’d driven
straight through a red light! The sound of the indignant papping of
the driver’s horn behind her still rang in her ears as she turned
into the Police Station. She needed to pull herself
together.

And now she had to run the gauntlet of the
sympathetic looks and the meaningless condolences.

Shutting the door on the reception and outer
offices, Lorne closed her eyes and thanked God things hadn’t got
out of hand. She’d coped well with the nods and patronising smiles.
Pulling her shoulders back and keeping her head held high had shown
them she hadn’t come in to work so soon, for that.

Her agenda to solve Pete’s murder took
priority over everything.

Now to make that clear to her immediate
colleagues and team-mates in the Major Crime Squad; to this end she
entered the room with determination.

She could have touched the silence. It clawed
at her. An obvious rehearsed spokesman, Sam O’Connor stood and
cleared his throat, ‘Ma-am, we’re sorry…'

Lorne lifted her hand. Disappointed in their
reaction she spoke harsher than she intended, ‘Right, take it as
read, we’re all damn sorry and no one more so than me. But, what I
want from you is not shitty speeches, it’s action. Pete’s gone, and
while there is a breath left in my body he will not be forgotten,
but now we nail the bastard who took him out. I want one hundred
and fifty percent from you all. Our focus has to be on tracking the
Unicorn. When we've caught him, then we grieve, right? In fact if I
catch anyone doing so before that I’ll suspend them on the spot.
Have I made myself clear?’

No one answered. She turned her back on them.
She had one more milestone to tackle.

Opening her office door Lorne hesitated for a moment. The
air held a tinge of Pete’s
Cool Water,
aftershave. They’d shared this cardboard box of a room for
two years because of refurbishments taking place in another section
of the station.

‘
Free to speak honestly,
ma-am?’

Detective Sergeant John Fox’s voice from
behind forced her to step into her office.

‘
Yes, come in and take a
seat. Is there something troubling you, John?’

‘
Um… A little harsh out
there weren’t you, ma’am?’

He sagged rather than sat as if the reprimand
had taken all his strength. She hoped he had more balls than that
considering he’d have to step up into Pete’s shoes for a while.

‘
It needed to be said, John.
I’ve seen better teams than mine crumble when a colleague has been
lost in the line of duty. It’s better to acknowledge how upset
everyone is and to quickly move on rather than let things fester.
Pete would have wanted that too. You of all people should
understand that!’

‘
You’re right as usual, gov.
Look the gang are meeting down at the White Swan after work to have
a commemorative drink for old Pete. You’re welcome to join
us.’

‘
We’ll see. Let’s get down
to business shall we? What have you uncovered so far?’

He took his notebook from the top pocket of
his black jacket, the same black jacket he’d worn every single day
in the six years she’d known him.

‘
Right, this guy should be
calling himself 'The Magician' the amount of tricks he's got tucked
up his sleeve. It looks like he deliberately lured you and Pete
into that alley.’

‘
That fits the bastard’s
mentality, and a conclusion I had come to. Okay, give me what
you’ve got.’

‘
On the roof, SOCO found
around thirty or so spent shells from a machine gun, rigged up to
rotate at regular intervals, firing off three to four shots per
second. If they hadn’t stopped it when they did, it would have
fired several hundred and kept you pinned down longer.’