Final Justice (Lorne Simpkins thriller (Book Three)) (3 page)

But Charlie hadn’t kicked up a fuss, hadn’t ranted like other teenagers, or reacted like the old Charlie would have. Maybe her frequent visits to the psychiatrist, Dr Carmichael were paying off after all. Instead, her daughter had calmly said, "That’s okay, Mum, I understand, maybe next weekend, huh?"

The way the teenager had accepted the situation, without any arguments, only made Lorne feel worse. She hated letting her daughter down, but she knew that should this trip lead to Baldwin’s capture, both she and Charlie would end up celebrating at
The Ivy,
and dancing on the table with joy. Whatever happened she would bend over backwards on her return and make it up to her only daughter. If they had to wait another six to eight months to sample some of the finest, if not the finest, food in the Capital then so be it.

Tony jabbed her in the ribs, interrupting her thoughts. ‘Hey, you with me, Lorne?’ They were travelling in the back of a black Renault to a destination only known by the agent.

‘Yeah, just thinking.’ She smiled, despite her tiredness.

‘About letting Charlie down?’ He probed.

She nodded, ‘Amongst other things.’

‘Did you explain why you’re coming to France?’

‘No. That was the hardest thing of all, not being able to tell her the truth. She’s made giant steps in her therapy. I thought if I told her the real reason behind my visit, it might set her back. I told her one of my oldest friends desperately needed my help.’

‘Well, that’s certainly true.’ He grabbed her hand, raised it and squeezed it tight, then said, ‘I couldn’t have done this without your help, Lorne.’ He surprised her further by touching his lips to the back of her hand.

She brushed the sentimental gesture aside not wishing to give it a second thought. ‘You old smoothie. You sure know how to wrap a girl round your little finger, don’t you?’

‘Years of practice, I guess. We should be at the hotel soon. We’re staying here in Paris tonight, and after an early breakfast, seven all right with you?’ she nodded, and he continued, ‘Another car is due to pick us up at seven-thirty, then we have a rendezvous lined up with a couple of Interpol agents, that part is all pretty hush hush. Not sure what will happen from there, but I’m assuming they’ll escort us to Normandy, and Baldwin’s new hang out.’

Lorne studied the famous Paris landmarks whizzing past her window, and bent forward to see if she could see the top of the
Eiffel Tower.
‘I’m glad you’ve stopped calling him The Unicorn, it was such an unlikely name for the bastard.’

‘I know what you mean. Baldwin seems so much nastier, much more in keeping with his vile character.’

‘Maybe.’

Considering Interpol were footing the bill, the hotel they were booked into turned out to be far grander than either of them had anticipated. One-step down from swanky in Lorne’s tourist guidebook.

A bellboy showed them to their rooms, which were opposite each other on the fourth floor.

Tony appeared to hesitate at his door, and Lorne pretended not to notice. She smiled to herself, feeling awkward.
Please don’t try coming on to me Tony, please!
‘Remember, breakfast is at seven on the dot. Goodnight, Lorne.’

She closed the door and locked it behind her. A shudder swept through her.
What was that all about? Why was Tony being so nice? Of course, he would be, he needs your help, you idiot.
She chastised herself for looking for something that clearly didn’t exist. Had the Paris effect hit her? After all, this was supposed to be the most romantic city in the world. But she had no interest in Tony, or any other guy for that matter. When Jacques had died, she’d promised herself she’d never fall for anyone
ever
again. It was a promise she intended keeping. ‘Snap out of it, Lorne. You’re tired and imagining things,’ she told herself as she began unpacking her overnight bag.

She cleaned her teeth in the en-suite bathroom, and then settled into bed.

After half an hour of her mind refusing to switch off, she decided to call her father, back in London.

A groggy voice came on the line, ‘Yes, who is this?’

‘Hi, Dad, it’s me. Sorry to be calling so late, I just thought you might like to know that… I’ve arrived safely.’ She hesitated, then reprimanded herself for almost putting her foot in it. He had no idea she was even out of the country, let alone in Paris with a man. She’d told all her family she was visiting an old friend in Devon, alone.

‘Lorne, sweetheart. Don’t be daft I dropped off in front of the box that’s all. I was waiting up for your call. How’s Judith?’

‘Umm, she’s fine, Dad, she sends you her love. How’s Henry settling in?’ she asked, quickly changing the subject.

‘He’s fine. Well that’s a bit of a porkie actually. The damn dog is driving me to distraction, keeps squeaking that damn toy of his, wants to bloomin’ play all the time. The bloody mutt is wearing me out.’

As if on cue, Henry squeaked his favourite toy in the background. Not just once, but at least a dozen times, she laughed. ‘He loves ya, Dad, he knows when he sees you that you always play with him.’

‘That’s when I come to visit you, I accept it then. But non-stop for twenty-four hours a day that’s a bit much, wouldn’t you say?’

She could hear her dog growling and pictured her father trying to wrestle the "damn toy" off him. ‘Apart from that, is everything okay that end?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be? You only left here a couple of hours ago, girl.’

Because of her exhaustion she’d managed to raise his suspicions. ‘Don’t go getting all defensive on me I was only asking.’ Lorne said, sidestepping her father’s inquisition before it had the chance to get started.

‘When did you say you’d be back?’

‘Couple of days max, Dad.’ She lied, unsure what the actual timeframe would be for her visit.

Her father grunted. ‘The sooner you get back the better I say where this bloody dog of yours is concerned.’

Lorne raised her eyes to the ceiling then said, ‘If he gets too much, Dad, maybe you can give Tom a ring. Perhaps he and Charlie can have him. I’m sorry, Dad, I thought the company might do you some good.’

His state of mind since her mother’s passing two years earlier was a constant worry. Despite him assuring her daily that he was coping well, the evidence to the contrary was overwhelming. Before her mother’s death, his garden had been an award-winning entrant in the national garden scheme’s "yellow book"; now it resembled her own shabby, unkempt plot.

‘Now don’t start all that nonsense again, Lorne. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, I’m all right. Granted, I’m no spring chicken, but given my age I don’t think I’m doing so bad.’

She imagined him thrusting his shoulders back, pulling the natural curve out of his spine as he spoke. ‘All right, Dad, whatever you say. I’m going to say goodnight now, if that’s okay? You know I’m not the best traveller in the world. Goodnight, Dad, give Henry a kiss from me.’

‘I’ll do no such thing you foolish woman. The trouble is you treat that dog like a bloody human. You know what that Cesar Millan says, you know that
Dog whisperer
chap, he says they should know who is boss, and to stop treating them like babies. But do you listen, do you heck, you see every damn programme and it still goes in one ear and out of the other— ’

‘Dad. I said goodnight. I’m going to hang up now, before we fall out.’

Sam grunted again, before grudgingly saying goodnight to his beloved eldest daughter.

She shook her head, turned off the bedside light, the only accessory in the sparsely, decorated room and snuggled down under the duvet.

Despite her exhaustion, sleep evaded her for hours. In spite of her best efforts, her thoughts turned to Robert Baldwin, and the people he’d stolen from her. Jacques in particular. The irony of the situation hadn’t passed her by either, she found herself in Paris without him by her side. It was ironic, and unfair, but then that just about summed her life up, didn’t it?

 Ironic and unfair!

Chapter Five

When the travel alarm her father had given her, filled the room with more noise than its size suggested it was capable of, she woke abruptly and banged the button to turn it off. Her eyes had trouble focusing, the last time she’d looked the time had been five-fifteen.
Wow! A full hour and a quarter sleep!

She tried to stretch out the knots resulting from sleeping in a strange bed, but her body refused to respond, it creaked and groaned as much as the bed itself. She slapped herself around the face a few times. ‘Come on Lorne, wake up, there’s places to go and people to see.’ She threw back the duvet and headed for the bathroom.

Half an hour later, dressed in jeans and a jumper she entered the hotel’s dining-room. Tony was already tucking into his breakfast at a table in the centre of the room. She pulled out the chair opposite and sat down, when she looked at his plate and noticed the size of his breakfast her stomach clenched uneasily.

‘Sleep well?’

‘Does it look as though I have?’

He looked up, took a brief look at her, shook his head, and tucked into his meal again. ‘Sorry. Anyway, I’ve ordered you a full-English. Hope you don’t mind, there’s no telling when we’ll get to eat again, and, as this is on Interpol’s expense account I thought we should make the most of it.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks. For a start, I don’t over-indulge first thing, and for another, aren’t you in the wrong country for a full-English?’ she asked, looking around the pleasantly decorated dining room, purposefully avoiding watching Tony stuff his face faster than some people can finish a glass of water.

‘You could do with fattening up, Lorne,’ he said, through a mouthful of sausage.

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning, that you’ve lost a hell of a lot of weight since I last saw you.’

‘And?’ She scowled.

‘And, it ain’t healthy. Dare I say you look scrawny, borderline anorexic even.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Tony. You’re talking out of your backside. It’s called hard work and exercise. You want to try it sometime, might help get rid of your double chin.’ She reached across the table and tickled him under the chin and made the excess flesh wobble, emphasising her point.

‘Really, Lorne, joking aside, you need to put some pounds back on, hon.’

A waitress appeared at the table and placed a plate in front of her that was stacked as high as the Eiffel Tower they’d passed the day before. Lorne’s eyes grew wide, almost popping out of her head at the amount of food she was expected to eat. She looked up at the girl and said, ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t eat this. Can I have a croissant and orange juice instead?’

The waitress smiled, shrugged her shoulders and left the table empty-handed. Lorne wondered if she’d seen amusement in the woman’s eyes. ‘Um, excuse me. Just a minute…’

‘Waste of time, Lorne, they don’t speak the lingo. Just eat what you can, there’s a good girl.’

‘Oh, is that right, well you seem to have found a way of being understood. Or maybe someone had a word with her, bribed her into pretending she didn’t understand English. I recall seeing a documentary about France last year that reported the French people, both young and old alike, revel in showing off how much of our language they know. Funny that!’ She poured herself a coffee from the cafetière sitting in the middle of the table and waited for him to answer.

‘Whatever. Now, are you going to eat that breakfast, or am I going to have to force feed it to you? The punters round here won’t mind, they’re used to seeing that kind of thing, instead of duck or goose foie gras, it’ll be human, that’s all.’

‘That’s disgusting, and you wouldn’t dare.’

‘The choice, as they say, is yours. Do I, or do
you
?’

She picked up her knife and fork and reluctantly began tearing at a piece of overcooked, shrivelled, bacon.

‘That’s, my girl. When we met last year, I knew you were a woman crying out to be handled firmly.’

‘Believe what you like, bully boy. What time are we due to meet with the Interpol agents?’

‘At nine.Just enough time for another helping.’

‘You’re kidding.’ Lorne said horrified, she looked down at her bulging plate and fought back the nausea threatening to surface.

‘Yes, I’m kidding. Jeez, lighten up will you? I don’t recall you being so gullible.’

Lorne pushed the food around the plate for another half an hour, and felt relieved when the car arrived to pick them up, giving her a reason to get away from her breakfast. With their overnight bags stored in its boot, the car set off through the rush hour traffic. Luckily, the head office of the National Gendarmerie was only a few kilometres away at rue St Didier in the XVI arrondissement of Paris, and their trip was over in next to no time. The driver pulled up outside the building and flicked on his hazard warning lights. After walking them inside, he introduced them to the receptionist, bid them farewell, and then disappeared as swiftly as he’d driven them there.

The complexities of her ornate surroundings made Lorne gape, open-mouthed. The marbled columns that stretched up like long limbs, reached as far as the eye could see. Granite steps regally led up to several different galleried levels, and light streamed in from an enormous glass dome high above to flood the reception area.

‘Pretty impressive, huh.’

‘That’s one word for it I guess,’ Lorne replied, feeling similar to how Charlie had the first time Tom and she had taken her to
Alton Towers
theme park.

‘Ah, I see you are admiring our architecture, monsieur, madame,’ a tall thin man remarked, he wore a navy blue suit, and a guarded smile. To the left of him stood a younger, fair-haired woman, who matched Lorne’s height and build. She wore a suit cut in the same material as her male colleague.

The man’s smooth velvet tone shocked Lorne for a moment, it was like listening to Jacques all over again.
Don’t be so absurd girl, you’re in France, it’s the way French people speak.

‘I am Capitaine Michel Amore from Interpol, and this is my colleague, Lieutenant Rene Levelle. You must be Monsieur Warner, but I feel at a disadvantage, as I am unaware of your name madame.’ He shook Tony’s hand with a firm shake, and then surprised Lorne by shaking her hand limply. She detested a counterpart treating her differently, even more than she hated the thought of swallowing a live oyster. But then, she’d resigned a year ago, so he could no longer be described as her counterpart, could he?