Guaranteed Justice (13 page)

“I agree. I’ll let you know what happens, I just wanted to keep you up to date with things. Be in touch soon. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

“You, too. Thanks for ringing.”

Lorne ended the call and sat back, contemplating how to proceed with the case. She’d need to wait to see what the outcome was with Katy before anything else. Maybe this is the frustrating side of being a PI that I hadn’t envisaged not being in the thick of it at the station.

It was well past lunchtime before Lorne received an answer to her problem. The phone rang, and she pounced on it before anyone else could. “What happened?”

“The bastard blamed it all on the girl. We’ll have to see what the Crown Prosecution Service has to say about things. Our hands are tied until then.”

“Damn. Thanks, Katy. You know what? I think we’ll still go pay him a visit at work tomorrow. You know how I love to see worms squirm.”

Katy laughed, and they both hung up.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

O
utside the office block
where Gibson worked, Lorne and Tony got out of their vehicle and headed inside the building. The reception area seemed to stretch skywards for miles. Metal railings acted as steps to the eye as it was drawn upwards to the angled glass roof.

The pretty receptionist smiled broadly at them as they approached.

“We’d like to see Graham Gibson, if that’s possible?” Lorne asked.

“May I ask what it’s concerning?” the receptionist asked, her smile never faltering.

“It’s personal,” Lorne responded vaguely.

“I see. Unfortunately, our employees aren’t allowed to have visits of a personal nature. Maybe you should try and contact him at home this evening.”

Lorne leaned in close and whispered, “When I say personal, I mean it’s a surprise visit.” She tapped her nose. “He’s won a prize. We’re from the local paper.” Lorne pointed at Tony who was sporting his camera around his neck.

“Oh, how wonderful. I’m sure we can bend the rules an eensy weensy bit, this time. Take the lift up to the tenth floor. The whole office is open-planned. I seem to recall his desk is somewhere in the centre of the room. The names are suspended from the ceiling; you’ll be able to find him easily enough once you’re there.”

“You’re very kind. Oh, one last thing: I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone up there that we’re on our way. I’d love to get his colleagues’ reactions on film. It’ll look more authentic for the article if their responses are more natural.”

The receptionist gleefully rubbed her hands together. “Excellent. My lips are sealed.”

On the journey over to the glass lift Tony said, “You’ll get pimples on your tongue for telling porkies.”

She stuck the tip of her tongue out at him. “Any appeared yet?”

He laughed and shook his head. “It is going to get you in big trouble one of these days.”

Tony was probably right, and she hoped that wouldn’t turn out to be the case today—at least, not before she had a chance of having some fun at Gibson’s expense.

Lorne and Tony took the lift to the tenth floor of the building in silence. When the doors slid open, they stepped out into a narrow corridor. The door they needed was immediately to their right.

Her pulse was racing, she paused to take a calming breath before Tony pushed open the door and stood back for her to enter the room before him.

The receptionist had told them to look up at the ceiling for where Gibson’s desk was located, but upon entering the room, Lorne knew that would be pointless. Before them stood a crowd of people; at a rough count, she estimated there to be at least fifty to sixty suited young businessmen and women. In the middle of the group stood a smiling Gibson, his arms loosely draped around a petite blonde who looked as if she hadn’t eaten a proper wholesome meal in months, and a busty brunette who wore a skirt a few inches larger than a belt.

Lorne tried hard not to show the revulsion flowing through her. By the welcoming committee, it was obvious that the receptionist had gone against her word and pre-warned Gibson, which rankled Lorne. She heard Tony mumble something but couldn’t make out what it was.

She put her shoulders back and plastered a false smile on her face, she approached the group with Tony a step or two behind her. “Mr. Gibson, I presume.”

“The one and only,” he smugly replied, much to the crowd’s delight.

As much as she wanted to rip into him, Lorne knew she would have to bide her time and play along with her act. “I’ve heard such a lot about you. Any chance we talk privately somewhere?”

Gibson tilted his head back and laughed loudly. “Anything you have to ask me, you can do it in front of my adoring fans.”

Anger bubbled dangerously near the surface. He really was an arrogant little fucker, one that she was going to enjoy tearing to bits. “I wouldn’t want to keep your workmates from their jobs.”

“They can make up the time later, during lunch or after work. They’re as excited about my success as I am.” He turned his head first one way and then the other, kissing the cheek of the girl who was attached to each arm.

That action sent Lorne’s anger monitor into the red zone. “My partner here would like to take some pictures as we speak, if that’s okay with you?” Lorne turned to Tony and raised her eyes to the ceiling. He smiled and pointed his camera in Gibson’s direction. In other words he was ready, willing, and certainly able to help take him down.

Gibson turned his head to the right slightly and lifted his chin. “Fire away. This is my best side. Wouldn’t you agree, girls?”

The girls giggled inanely.

“I’d like to ask some general questions first.”

His smile broadened, and with his gaze glued on the camera, he nodded.

“So what kind of hobbies do you have, Mr. Gibson?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh you know, I work hard and play even harder.”

Again his band of merry followers chuckled. Lorne ground her teeth together. “Meaning what, exactly?” she asked, trying her darnedest to keep her tone light and interested.

“Well, a job like this means that we get to entertain corporate clients at top restaurants—”

“Wouldn’t that be classed as work-related? I’m talking about your off-duty activities, things that occupy your spare time.” Lorne shuffled closer to Gibson as the group began to dwindle. She didn’t want the group to dissipate too much before she hit him where it hurt.

“Oh, I see. I usually hang out in a nightclub in town. When I’m not there, I go to the gym around the corner.”

Lorne nodded. “Can I ask what you did over the weekend? I mean, did you go there as usual this weekend?”

His smile slipped momentarily, but to Lorne’s surprise, he cast a nervous eye over the gathering crowd and quickly reinstated it. “Hmm…‌Let me think,” he said, keeping his adoring fans on tenterhooks.

Sensing this was the right time to challenge him she asked, “Think up a suitable lie, you mean?”

His brow furrowed. He let go of the two girls and took a step toward Lorne, possibly intending to intimidate. “Meaning?” he retorted, matching her sharp tone.

She stood her ground. “Why don’t we tell your colleagues where you spent Saturday night, for instance?”

Lorne observed the crowd, who in turn were eyeing Gibson with more than a touch of interest.

He fidgeted with his tie, pulling the knot tight up under his chin. “Saturday, you say? Now, where was I?”

Lorne played along for a few seconds, then started making the sound of a police siren, just for fun. “Does that help?” she asked, innocently fluttering her lashes. Above the noise of the camera shutter, she heard Tony snort.

“Who the fuck are you, lady?” He looked as though his poise had been made of porcelain and someone had just tapped it, shattering it into a million tiny pieces.

“Ah, finally the penny has dropped, Mr. Gibson. I take it you aren’t going to enlighten your colleagues about your activities on Saturday night, after all?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lorne saw Tony lower the camera, his stance ready for a possible attack by Gibson.

“Get the fuck out of here. You have no right being here. Someone call security to get this pair of lowlifes out of here.”

Lorne leaned in. “A name that would suit you more than us, I fear, Gibson. Either you tell them, or I will. Which do you prefer?” she asked in a hushed voice.

A snarl tugged at his mouth. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“A word of warning, Mr. Gibson: I always rise to a challenge.”

He folded his arms and tapped his foot, challenging her further.

“Very well. As my friend here isn’t willing to divulge his weekend activities to his workmates, I’ll do it for him.” The chattering of the crowd died down.

Once she had everyone’s attention, Lorne asked, “Perhaps you’d like to share with your workmates what the food is like in a police cell?”

Gasps rippled through the crowd as expressions changed from joyfulness to shock.

Lorne gazed back at Gibson; his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Seconds later, they flew open, and the rage was evident for all to see. “Bitch. I repeat: Who the fuck are you?”

Lorne smirked and handed him a business card. “I think you know who I am already, as your mate at the nightclub has probably already contacted you, but in case your memory is a tad rusty, here you go.” For those surrounding them, she added, “I, Mr. Gibson, am your worst nightmare. Do you want to tell your colleagues the circumstances behind your unintentional stay at the nick?”

He crumpled the card and dropped it on the floor, then scraped one of his hands through his short hair. Lorne got the impression that, had his hair been longer, he would have tugged clumps of it out by its roots in frustration.

Before Gibson could answer, a voice boomed out across the office. “What the bloody hell is going on here? I’ve told you before, this ain’t no kindergarten. Get on with your work.”

The crowd scattered, albeit reluctantly, to reveal a steel-grey haired man in a crisp white shirt and pinstriped trousers. He walked towards them, frowning. “Gibson?”

Lorne heard the rapist gulp and watched the colour enflame his cheeks. “Er…‌Sorry, Mr. Johnson. These people were just leaving.”

Lorne seized the opportunity to embarrass Gibson further. Holding out her hand, she approached Mr. Johnson. “I’m Lorne Simpkins. Sorry about this. We’ll be out of your hair soon. I just need to ask Mr. Gibson here a few questions.”

The man’s confused gaze slipped between Lorne and Gibson. “Questions? Are you the police?”

“Ah, I used to be. Former detective inspector in the Met, actually. Now, I’ve gone private, you might say.”

“I see, I think. And what, might I ask, do you want with Gibson here?” Gibson opened his mouth to speak, but Johnson stopped him with a hand motion. “I was asking the nice young lady, not you.”

Nice young lady. Lorne chuckled inwardly. Well, she hadn’t been called that in a while.

“Actually my partner and I wanted to know why Mr. Gibson here takes it upon himself to threaten young women.” Lorne glanced around the room and saw several women’s heads drop back to the work in front of them. Obviously, some of them had already had Gibson’s unwanted attention heaped upon them. While a few of his colleagues fawned all over him, others clearly kept their distance.

“Threaten? In what respect?” Johnson snapped back.

“Apart from sending me threatening emails and making similar calls, my client has already been threatened.” Lorne was careful not to mention the rapes because of the lack of evidence in Linda and Ami’s cases.

“Is this true, Gibson?” Johnson’s tone brokered no nonsense.

“I haven’t…‌When?” Gibson blustered.

“Come now, Gibson. Do we really have to tell your boss where you spent Saturday night?”

Johnson looked at Lorne. “Tell me,” he ordered bluntly.

“Can’t we do this privately?” Gibson asked, surveying the office.

“I don’t mind, either way. On second thoughts, you were eager to share your news with your colleagues before when you thought we were reporters. What’s the problem now? Afraid they’ll see you in a different light?”

“Here is just fine. Please tell me what Gibson has done.” Johnson demanded impatiently.

Gibson collapsed into his chair, placed his elbows on the table, and buried his head in his hands as Lorne told his boss what he’d been up to.

“What?” Johnson shouted in disbelief. He scowled at his employee, who was purposefully avoiding any form of eye contact.

“It’s true, I’m afraid,” Lorne insisted.

Johnson was shaking his head in disgust when he asked Lorne, “You say the unfortunate victim is your client?”

“No, I’ve yet to speak to the victim. I’ve known about Gibson’s penchant for threatening and attacking women for a few weeks, now. My client’s sister and her friend were assaulted by him. Unfortunately, there was little evidence for the police to bring charges. Gibson is—or was—very clever in that he covered his tracks well. After his latest victim on Saturday night, though, the Crown Prosecution Service will now have to look at all three cases and any others that arise in the meantime. Once news of the case gets leaked to the local newspaper, it’s not uncommon for other victims to get in touch with the police to state they have been attacked by him too.” She told Johnson hoping that her words would scare the crap out of Gibson.

Gibson thrust his chair back with such force that it tipped over. He marched over to Lorne.

Tony stood in front of her and warned, “Back off, shit face.”

“It’s lies, all lies.”

“And why would these women lie about a thing like that, Gibson?” Johnson asked, sounding perplexed.

“Envy, jealousy, call it what you will,” Gibson retorted venomously.

Lorne admired the way Johnson was standing up to Gibson. Despite the family’s reputation, the man obviously didn’t care or worry about the consequences.

“That’s bullshit. You know what? I’ve had it up to here with you. The last few months, you’ve screwed up that many accounts, and I’ve brushed them under the carpet. I’m sick to death of giving you one more second chance. Pack up your desk. As of now, you’re suspended for the rest of the week, at least. I’ll see how the board of directors view these charges and ring you on Friday,” Johnson told him, then said to Lorne, “I appreciate you coming here today and informing us of this incident. This firm will not tolerate such abhorrent behaviour from its employees.”