Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law (8 page)

“Take care of yourself, Jimmy.”

“Will do; you, too.” He smiled at her as she closed the door, and then he leant back against outside wall of the apartment.

What the hell was that?

He hadn’t behaved like that in female company since he was fifteen. There was no denying Loretta was an attractive woman, but to lose his nerve so quickly? All he’d done was touch her hand.
He could see why strangers would find themselves opening up to her. She had the rarest of qualities; an authoritative presence coupled with a gentle manner. And her eyes, she had the eyes of a long lost friend, someone you may not have seen in a lifetime but you feel entirely comfortable pouring your soul out to.

Putting his behaviour down to lack of food and rest, he turned and made his way to the lifts.

Clare woke up feeling terrible; she knew she’d thrown up at some point, as she still had an acrid taste in her mouth. In the dim light she stared around her, nothing was familiar. Sitting bolt upright in the bed she felt something moving next to her and grabbing the duvet she pulled it back to reveal a half-naked Hannah

“Hannah, wake up.” Clare’s voice was hushed, but the urgency in it roused Hannah.

“What the hell?” Hannah was stirring, and her mind was clearly going through the same questions Clare’s had not minutes before.

“What happened last night?”

“I’m not sure; we were at the pub with those guys, we went round to Adam’s flat… I don’t know, it all goes hazy after the pub.”

“Oh God, Hannah, where are we? Where are they? Why can’t I remember anything?”

“I don’t know—let’s just get dressed and go.”

“We can’t leave yet; I need to know what happened.”

Hannah swung around to face her friend.

“Clare, we are half-naked in a bed, in a place we don’t know, not able to remember anything. What do you think went on?”

Clare’s face was confused and then the confusion was replaced with horror.

Don’t say anything, Clare. Please, let’s just go.”

“Go where? The police?”

“The police? Are you kidding?”

“Hannah, we’ve been drugged and assaulted—we have to report it.”

“Why, do you really want everyone knowing about this? Even if by some miracle it went to court, what then? Nearly all rape cases get thrown out.”

“We have to do something.”

“We will.”

“What?”

“Go home and never speak of this again.”

Hannah finished dressing herself and made for the bedroom door.

“Wait for me.” Clare was hurriedly putting her shoes on.

Both girls were silent the entire walk back to Clare’s apartment.

Once they were inside Clare’s flat, something seemed to snap in Hannah.

“I don’t want to think or speak of this ever again. I’m going to make us a cup of tea.”

Clare sat down. She’d never felt so low before. She started thinking back to all the times in her life when she’d believed things couldn’t possibly have been worse None came even remotely close to how she was feeling now. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach, and all she wanted to do was fill the bath with bleach and submerge herself in it until she felt clean again. She could feel tears stinging her eyes, but she held them back.

Hannah returned to the living room with two cups of tea.

Clare took one from her.

“Do you want something to eat?’

“No thanks.”

The two sat in silence, both in their own hells, both wishing there was some way they could turn back the clock.

Henson bowled up to Holt’s desk.

“How’d it go with Loretta the other evening, then?”

“
Dr. Armstrong
had some insightful thoughts on the case, actually, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t announce it to the whole station, thanks.”

“Ok, ok, sorry. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

Holt looked up briefly, eyebrows raised.

“Was there anything else?”

“Well, I was wondering if you were going to share any of these glimmering insights with me?”

“Of course, but not now, I’m meeting someone for lunch.” Gathering up his papers, he shoved them unceremoniously into his briefcase.

“Oh yes? Anyone I know?” Henson ventured.

“I doubt it. Now, while I’m out, I want you to find out everything there is to know about Matt Reynolds, family, friends, ex-girlfriends—anything. Somebody must know something.”

Holt strode up the corridor in the direction of Loretta’s apartment. Damn that bloody idiot Henson; he was such a cocky little sod. He seemed to be constantly surrounded by reporters and didn’t seem to have learnt the standard police reply for such situations: ‘No comment.’

He was thriving on his newfound celebrity status, and it hadn’t yet dawned on him that the sooner this case was solved, which Henson himself wanted to happen, his enraptured audience would disappear, along with any ‘glory’ that had accompanied it. Henson would be back at the bottom of the pecking order, but this time instead of being disliked by his peers, he would be ridiculed. Henson was starting to act as if he was the star in his very own detective show. Well, he was going to have to start realising sooner rather than later that television dramas were not a mirror to the real world. As far as Holt was concerned, this story was going to end, and it
wasn’t
going to get a second season.

Loretta opened the door to a very weary-looking Jimmy Holt.

“Jimmy, come in.”

Holt did as he was bid.

“Have you had any news on the first victim’s identity yet?”

“
No, I’ve got people trawling through the missing persons file as we speak.”

“
What about Matt Reynolds? Do you know why he was targeted?”

“
Well, not really; all we know is that he had a slightly chequered past as far as his relationships were concerned. He had been arrested for domestic abuse; we spoke to an ex of his, and apparently he was, shall we say, a difficult man to live with.”

Loretta nodded at this. She still wasn
’t sure how much she could trust Holt as far as her patient files were concerned, and as he’d found out about Matt’s questionable personal life, she didn’t feel she needed to break a confidence.

“
Although…” Holt leant towards Loretta for emphasis.

“
We think his past may have had something to do with his selection.”

“
What makes you say that?” Loretta rose to the bait as was expected.

“
Part of his heart had been removed.”

“
I didn’t read about that in the papers.”

“
Well, you wouldn’t; we didn’t release it. The press are hysterical enough at the moment.”

“
What do you mean ‘part’ of the heart?”

“
Well, whoever did it certainly wasn’t an expert. It had been hacked at using whatever tools they’d found in the toolbox.”

“Was the heart removed from the scene
? Is it a trophy?”

“
No, it was found a bin in the corner of the room, in the chest cavity where it had been there was a note, the note read ‘heartless’. According to Dennis Grant—that’s our coroner—Matt had been dispatched with the drill and the heart had been removed post mortem.’

Loretta looked amazed for a moment.

“Heartless. The killer felt that as he hadn’t used it during his life, he had no need for it in the next.”

“
And again, the scene was set to make it look as if escape had been a possibility. There was an alarm clock on the table next to the chair that Matt had been taped to. The door keys were found just behind it, obscured from view of whoever was in the chair. While Matt was secured in the chair, it appears he had two holes drilled through his ankles. The tape had then been deliberately cut away, and he had attempted to drag himself to the door. He made it, as well; his fingerprints along with his blood were found on the door handle. But the door was locked, and I imagine that’s when his time was up. The alarm was set for nine thirty, and that pretty much sits exactly in the estimated time of death bracket.”

Loretta took a minute to digest what had been said.

“You know, I’m not so sure about the ‘possibility of escape’ thing. I think it may go deeper than we think.”

“
How do you mean?”

“
Well, it’s a bit tenuous, isn’t it? Almost as if it’s been thrown in.”

“
I thought we agreed that the killer was organised.”

“
Yes, but I don’t know. It’s starting to feel a little like it’s been put in to distract us—sorry, I mean you.”

“
But you’re the one who brought it to my attention.”

“
Yes, but now I’m not so sure. It’s quite clumsy, and I’m starting to think the whole idea of a possible escape may not be a part of the ritual of the kill, but the psychology behind it that is being called into question.”

“
What?” Holt was starting to feel annoyed. How was he supposed to catch this person if the goal posts were continually moving?

“
I think the idea of escape isn’t to ridicule the victim as much as it’s ridiculing psychology in general. The killer’s not trying to help the victims; instead the killer is showing us that some people can’t—or more likely
choose
not to—be helped. Hold on.’

Loretta got up and started rustling through papers on her desk.

“Here it is.”

Passing a crumpled piece of paper to Holt, she sat back down to give him time to read it.

It was an article on paedophiles in the prison system. Holt scanned the page and looked back up at Loretta.

“
It says here that ninety percent refuse counseling for their crimes when they go in. Is that true?”

“
Near enough. The thing is they don’t recognise their actions are wrong, only that society deems them wrong. And how can you rehabilitate someone who refuses to acknowledge they were wrong to start?”

“
You don’t, I suppose.”

“
Exactly, so they sit in there and serve their time, all the while in the company of like-minded people, until their release date.”

“
But at least they are registered, then.”

“
Yes, but I imagine that’s cold comfort to the families who live near them.”

“
So what you’re saying is that the victims may have been offered professional help at some point in their lives, more than likely due to unsavoury actions on their part.”

“
Possibly, although it may just be an insult aimed at the justice system as a whole.”

Holt looked deflated.

"Look, have you eaten yet?”

“No, I was just going to grab a sandwich on the way back to the station.”

“Well that settles it, then, you can stay here. I’ve got a casserole in the oven, and it should be ready about now.”

“I can’t, really, I’ve already annoyed Henson…” Holt paused and thought for a moment.

“On second thought, the little snot deserves it. Yes, I’d love to stay, thank you.”

Loretta smiled and went to the kitchen to sort out the food. Holt took the chance to reflect back on what Loretta had said. The country, as Holt had seen it, had been in the midst of a swing towards civil liberties for the last fifty years, and now it was time for the backlash. And the backlash here in his quiet little town was a maniac with a vendetta.

When Loretta came in and started laying out food on the little dining table next to him, he barely registered her presence.

“You look lost in thought.” Looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, he moved his elbows off the table to allow her to put the placemats down.

“Oh, I hope you’re not going to extra trouble for me.”

“Trouble? No, no trouble, I always eat at the dinner table.” She finished laying out the serviettes and walked back into the kitchen. Holt watched as Loretta brought a casserole dish in and placed it on the table. Since the divorce he had lived alone, surviving on little more than take-aways and foodstuffs that came in a can.
If
he sat down to eat the meal, it would be a miracle if it were served on a plate, let alone accompanied with placemats and serviettes.

“How much would you like?” Loretta’s voice drifted through into his consciousness.

“Sorry?”

“Casserole—how hungry are you?”

“How it comes would be fine, thank you.”

Loretta plated the food up carefully and wiped the edge of his plate with a clean napkin when she’d finished, placing his plate in front of him. Looking down, he noticed he’d left the photo of the late Tom Reynolds in full view on the table. Quickly he scooped it up and put it back in his briefcase, but luckily Loretta didn’t appear to have noticed. She continued to plate up her own meal and Holt waited until she had finished before he started his own food. He did not want to appear uncouth to Loretta; she already managed to make him feel like a dinosaur, as it was.

When they had both finished their meals, Holt went to pick up the plates and clear the table.

“Oh no, you don’t. You’re a guest here. Go and make yourself comfortable while I take this out. Would you like anything to drink?”

“A cup of coffee would be great, thanks.”

“Ok, I’ll be two minutes.”

Holt sighed contentedly before getting up and making his way back over to the armchair. This wasn’t something he’d be telling Henson about; he was hard work at the best of times, but if he found out Holt had had a meal, there he’d be, ribbing him all the time.

Loretta came back into the room with two mugs of coffee, and Holt grabbed a couple of coasters and placed them on the coffee table. He was starting to understand this woman a little more now, or at least he liked to think he was.

“I can’t tell you what a relief it is to have some decent food for a change. I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal.”

“You are more than welcome.” Loretta smiled at Holt.

“It’s also nice to have someone intelligent to talk to.”

“What about DC Henson?”

“Are you kidding me?”

Loretta chuckled.

“Yes, he is a little overzealous at times, isn’t he? Not a great thing, considering the sensitivity of the case.”

“You’re telling me. Anyway, I’d better get back to the station. Thanks again for everything, especially the lunch—it’s been a while since I’ve eaten that well.”

“It was my pleasure; it was nice not to be eating alone again.”  As Loretta opened the door for him, he paused briefly and turned to look at her.

“Have a good afternoon.”

Loretta stood for a minute watching his retreating back. As Holt walked away from Loretta’s apartment he found himself deep in thought.

Had Matt Reynolds attended anger management classes?

Holt grabbed his phone from his pocket and quickly punched in a number.

“
Hi, it’s DI Holt. Is there any way of finding out if Matt Reynolds had any counseling or anger management classes?”

Holt went quiet as the desk PC pulled up the file.

“There’s nothing on here that I can see. Hold on, DC Henson’s just come in.”

Holt waited patiently as the officer on the line spoke with Henson. Then Henson came on the line.

“Hello, sir, I’ve just gotten back from speaking with Matt Reynolds’s ex, Rebecca Lowes, or, rather, her family. It’s strange that you would ask about the counseling thing; apparently he was offered it after he was arrested for being violent towards her. He agreed, went twice, and never went back.”

“OK Henson, I’m just heading back now.”

Without waiting for a response Holt hung up.