Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law (7 page)

Clare looked over at Hannah.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I’m game if you are.”

“Well, in that case we’ll finish these drinks and make a move.”

“Great.”

The two girls went back to chatting, not noticing the exchange of glances between Adam and Tom.

As DI Holt approached Loretta’s front door, he wondered if he should just turn about and go back to his car. This woman wasn’t officially police, and he was about to discuss particularly sensitive issues with her. He knew it would be, at the very least, frowned upon, but he needed her assistance. How many times had he told himself that in the last three days? Besides, it wasn’t like he was discussing the case in the local watering hole with a good percentage of the town’s loose-lipped community. Dr. Armstrong was a respected member of the community whose job was basically to keep secrets and help people who were incapable of helping themselves. And anyway, if this did get back to the station and it wasn’t well received, he’d be retired, and considering that’s what he was planning to do at the end of this case, he didn’t feel he had a lot to lose.

Standing in front of the door, he took a deep breath, as was fast becoming the tradition when meeting this woman. He knocked on the door. He was just starting to get second thoughts again when the front door swung open.

“DI Holt, I’m glad you came. I was wondering if you might have had second thoughts.”

Inwardly Holt shuddered; this woman had an uncanny knack for getting him spot on every time.

“No, not at all; I said I’d be here, and here I am.”

Smiling, she opened the door wider and gestured him inside.

“Well anyway, it’s good to see you again in more informal surroundings. If you’d like to go through to the living room, I’ll bring us in some coffee and we can get started.” Noticing the confusion on his face, she pointed in the direction of the living room and disappeared through a door on his right.

“I’ll rather have tea, actually, if that’s ok,
”  Holt called through the door at her retreating back. He wanted to stay in control of at least one part of this meeting, and if that was beverage choice, then so be it. Trying to appear relaxed, he started to walk in the direction of the living room. Once inside and alone, he started to relax. He saw the room for what it was: a haven. In hindsight, it was hard for him to say what he’d expected, but he was sure it didn’t resemble this. The place was painted a rich blue colour, which should have made the room feel cold, or at least small, but the high ceilings and large windows prevented that. The heavy deep blue curtains that framed the window should have looked chintzy, but somehow they didn’t. The sofa was big, obviously expensive, but had a lived in look, as if the owner might fall asleep in it occasionally. There was a blanket thrown haphazardly across the back of it that fitted in with that purpose. Occupying the far corner of the room was a small office area. Papers littered the desk, and although a small set of bookshelves stood next to it, most of the books had found their way onto the floor around the chair, stacked neatly in little piles. On the wooden floorboards rugs of varying sizes and styles gave the room a warm, comforting feel. There were two armchairs on either side of the sofa, angled around an antique oak coffee table. As he was trying to work out which was the most uncomfortable looking seating area—he didn’t want to sit in the chair Loretta classed as ‘her chair’—Loretta walked in with a tray.

“Take a seat,
Mr. Holt.” Smiling, she placed the tray down on the coffee table and sat down.

“Thanks, and please call me Jimmy.” Just as Holt sat down, Loretta jumped back up again.

“Forgot the biscuits. I always have to have coffee and biscuits when I get back from work—it’s one of my little rituals. Won’t be a minute.”

Holt allowed himself a little smile, he’d never had pegged
Dr. Armstrong as a biscuit lover; it didn’t fit in with her lifestyle at all.

Loretta came back into the room and offered him a biscuit. Jimmy declined and watched as she ensconced herself back in the armchair opposite him and proceeded to dunk a biscuit into her coffee. She noticed him watching her.

“Oh, sorry, another habit of mine; it doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“Heavens no, I used to do that myself, but my wife hated it. My ex-wife,” Holt corrected.

“Oh, I know your ex-wife, don’t I? Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry, it’s just—’

“No, no, it’s ok. I wondered if it would come up. Actually, one of the reasons I chose to come and see you was because of what she’d said about you.”

“Oh yes, and what exactly did she say about me?” Loretta’s voice was light and jovial, trying to diffuse any tension.

“She just said you’re very good at what you do.”

“Well, that’s good. Now, let’s get started. I already know a little about the cases.”

“You do?”

“Yes, the cases are being followed quite closely by the media, Jimmy. Have you brought any photos of the crime scenes with you?”

“Yes, but Loretta—it’s ok if I call you Loretta, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course, please continue.”

“Well, before I show them to you, you must realise that I’m taking a huge risk in doing so. The atrocities performed on these poor souls are brutal even to the most hardened of people.”

“It’s ok. I attended medical school and have some experience working in the A&E department. Trust me, I’ve seen my fair share of mutilated bodies.” She said this in a conversational tone, but the underlying weight of the statement hung in the air.

Jimmy reached to the folder he had laid on the coffee table earlier.

He pulled a wad of large, glossy photographs from the folder and handed them to Loretta. Taking the photographs from him, she started carefully looking through holding them carefully, almost gently, as if she was afraid that leaving her fingerprints on their surface would inflict further humiliation and pain to the victims. He saw a look of disgust cross her face briefly.  After a few minutes of perusing the photos, she stopped on one particular print, leaning forward toward Jimmy and showing him the photograph.

“What’s that?” He recognised the photo straight away. It was from the first murder scene. It was a
photograph that showed where the ring of flames had been on the warehouse floor. Loretta was pointing toward the back of the photo within the ring; there was a box with a digital clock sitting on top of it. He had to admit that that particular find had stumped him, too. Especially when he’d looked inside the box. It had contained the keys to the handcuffs that had been used on the man’s ankles. It had been a very odd find.

“It’s a box with a clock on top of it,” he answered, not sure if he should mention anything else. The fact that it had had keys in it had not been released to the press, and he wasn’t sure if he should tell her about that.

“Did the box contain anything?”

Why did this woman always seem to know what was going on in his head before he did?

After a pause, Loretta spoke again.

“If you’re serious about me helping you with this case, don’t you think a good place to start would be for you to be straight with me? I know there was something in the box, Jimmy.”

“Why would you assume that?” Jimmy’s voice was high and strained all of a sudden; he was alarmed that she’d seen through him once more.

“Well, two reasons, really. The first is that you took too long answering me when I asked a direct question that you should have already known the answer to, indicating you were thinking about your answer, a little inner conflict, maybe?” She paused then, looking at him sideways, eyebrows arched and a small smile on her lips.

“And secondly, when you finally did respond, your voice was all squeaky and defensive. My God, it’s a good job you joined the police force—you’d make a terrible crook.”

Jimmy laughed.

“Ok, you caught me. Yes, there was something in the box.”

“May I hazard a guess as to what you found?”

“By all means.”

“A key?”

Jimmy’s jaw dropped open.

“How did you know that?”

“Well, it was just an educated guess, really.”

“Educated guess? Where did you get the information to make this guess?”

“These photos.” She picked them up and handed them back to him.

“What do you notice about the pattern of scorched ground?”

“It’s a circle, and…?”

“And the victim, we all agree, started out in the middle of the circle and lost his life trying to escape it.”

“Yes.”

“And the victim must have been soaked in petrol.”

“Yes.”

“And the circle was made with petrol.”

“Yes, what’s your point?”

“Think about it: put yourself in the deceased’s position. You’re in a warehouse, in a circle of flames, soaked to the skin in petrol, you’ve managed to cut through the binds on your hands, but your ankles are handcuffed. What are your options?”

“I’d look around the area to see if there was anything that could help me escape—the keys for the handcuffs for example. And being in a warehouse would mean a flat concrete floor, so the petrol must have been the source of the flames surrounding you.”

"Yes, and what do we know about petrol?”

“It’s highly combustible.”

“Exactly, which means it will burn out quickly, so…”

“Why didn’t he just wait until after the flames had burnt out to make his escape?”

“Now, all these photos show the scene as it was found, yes?”

“Yes.”

“So the box was unopened when it was found?”

“And?”

“If you’re in that predicament, where you can’t wait for the flames to burn out, you’d look around first to see if there was anything around to help aid your escape, but he didn’t look in the box, which was the only thing in the ring with him. If that had been me, the box would have been the first place I would have looked, personally.”

“Yes, but when you find yourself in a ring of flames, I’m sure you probably aren’t thinking straight.”

“Good point, however, it wouldn’t take long for the survival instinct to kick in. You’d be surprised how resilient and resourceful the mind can be under the extreme pressure to carry on living.”

Jimmy took a large drink of his tea and winced. Coffee. Drinking it down quickly, he put his cup back down and turned back to Loretta.

“Ok, so why didn’t he look inside the box?”

“Well, why wouldn’t you look inside the box in his position?”

“I don’t know. I guess if I thought opening it would make my situation worse.”

“Exactly. Now consider what was found on top of the box.”

“A clock.’”

“Yes, now, considering everything else, why do you suppose he didn’t open the box?”

Reassessing all the new ideas, it didn’t take Jimmy long to work it out.

“He believed there was a bomb in it? That’s the reason he didn’t wait for the flames to die down or open the box? But why leave the keys in the box? Did the killer want him to escape?” Jimmy’s face was agog.

“I wouldn’t think so. Maybe they wanted you to believe the victim had a chance, but in reality, he didn’t. It’s an incredibly elaborate plot; I don’t think these two murders are going to be isolated.”

“Meaning?” Holt was almost afraid to ask.

“Meaning, given the amount of time taken to execute them and how close together they were…”

Loretta paused for a moment and looked Holt in the eye.

“You are looking for a serial killer, a highly organised individual. The only thing you can be completely sure of, Inspector Holt, is that there will be more bodies. How many more is up to the killer.”

“And us,” Holt amended.

Loretta got up and went to pick up Holt’s cup.

“I’ll get you a refill” Holt, still lost in thought, brought his hand down on top of Loretta’s to stop her.

“No, it’s ok, thank you. I’ve got to get going now anyway.”

Realising his hand was still covering Loretta’s, he quickly removed it and gathered up all the photos that now littered the table. Getting up, he turned to Loretta.

“Well, thank you for your time, but I really ought to get back to the station.”

Holt wasn’t sure why, but he suddenly felt embarrassed. His need to leave the confines of Loretta’s apartment made him suddenly clumsy. As he reached the living room doorway, his jacket caught on the door handle. Acutely aware of his faux pas, he started quickly down the hall toward the front door when his foot found the underside of the hall runner rug. He fell face first, and the photos spewed across the floor. He heard Loretta coming up behind him, and he quickly started gathering the photos up. She knelt down next to him to help. As she did, she paused to look over the photos of the second murder scene. She stared at them for a moment before handing them back to him.

“Did you want to leave those photos here so I can look over the second murder properly?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I can’t, I’m afraid; they shouldn’t really have left the station.”

“Ok, then.” Getting up with him, Loretta walked him to the door.

“Well, thanks again. Would it be ok to come round again at some point?”

“Of course, glad to be of service.” She grinned then, and the act made her look childlike. She opened the door for him and he walked out.