Cruel Justice (DI Lorne Simpkins (Book one)) by Tania Mel; Tirraoro Comley Read Free Book Online Page B

eyes off the road momentarily. "What about Tom? You've just insinuated he sits around all day doing nothing. I'd like to be there when you ran through that little scenario with him, you wouldn't leave my house in one piece, mate."

    "Shit, I forgot about your Tom." He looked suitably embarrassed.

    "Oh I get it, so it's different for men. They can find something useful to do with their time, is that it?" Here comes another battle of the sexes row .

    "He's just finished putting in a brand new kitchen for you, hasn't he? Not that you use it much," he added, disrespectfully, under his breath.

    "There're plenty of women out there who enjoy DIY, in fact they probably get most of their tips off daytime TV. And no, I don't use my kitchen much because like you, I work twelve, fourteen, sometimes even sixteen hours a day. But unlike you, I don't have to rely on take-aways as I have a loving husband at home who thinks enough of me to ensure I eat healthily every day." Stick that in your caveman pipe and smoke it.

    "All right, all right, boss, you've made your point," Pete admitted, holding up his hands.

    Lorne smiled smugly and mentally stroked the air with a finger, another strike to me. Poor Pete — he always started arguments about equality but very rarely won them. She constantly reminded him not to jump to conclusions especially where people's status in life was concerned. One day, he just might listen to her.

    She chuckled as a mental image filled her mind of him in a loincloth, dragging a woman by her hair, wooden club in hand, ready to ward off predators after his woman.

    "Do you want to share the joke with me?"

    "Not really," she said, as they pulled up at their destination.

Chapter Eight

    The cul-de-sac was made up of immaculately cared-for retirement bungalows, each with its own miniature Chelsea garden at the front. It thrilled Lorne to see all the rose bushes engorged with buds even at this late time of the year.

    It made her feel ashamed of her own shabby garden that bore the scars of a near-teenager and a dog rampaging through it. The lawn regularly looked as if a Premiership football team had kicked nine months of shit out of it. She and Tom had decided a while back the quaint country cottage garden they had yearned for, would have to be put on hold for a few years, until Charlie was much older.

    "What's the woman's name, Pete?" she asked ringing the bell.

    "Doreen Nicholls."

    He's still in a huff. She wanted to tell him to grow up.

    They listened as three dead bolts were slid back, and a safety chain was put on. The door opened six inches and a frail voice asked, "Who is it?"

    "Mrs Nicholls, I'm DI Lorne Simpkins and this is my partner DS Pete Childs. Do you mind if we come in and ask you a few questions about your sister?" As she spoke, Lorne thrust her ID through the gap in the door. The woman took it, studied it and handed it back before opening the door fully to let them in.

    "You'll have to excuse the mess, dears, I've not long come out of hospital. Come through to the sitting room." The smell of Vicks mentholgreeted them as they followed the woman, who leaned heavily on a stick, slowly made her way up the hallway.

    It was as if they had just gone through a time warp. Weaving its way through the bungalow was a brown swirly patterned carpet that must have been en vogue sometime back in the early seventies. Lorne guessed the home hadn't seen a paintbrush or roller in years.

    The focal point of the lounge was a 1940's tiled fireplace, complete with what was most likely an original gas fire from the same era. The brown carpet clashed horribly with the red bold pattern of the threadbare velour sofas, the thick chunky wooden arms dated the furniture to thirty years or more.

    "Would you care for some tea and scones? I've just this minute taken them out of the oven," the old lady asked, in a high squeaky voice. "Even a busted hip can't prevent me from baking."

    Lorne declined, but Pete jumped at the