Flawed Justice: Justice series

By M. A. Comley

From NY Times and USA Today bestselling author M A Comley who has sold over three and a half million copies worldwide. A 17,000 word novella to accompany the Justice series.

When hope is lost... anger surfaces.
DI Lorne Simpkins and her partner, DS Pete Childs, encounter one of their most evil criminals to date when a priest is found murdered in a church.
Why was a man of God killed. Was the killer sending a message?
The truth, when it's finally revealed, is flabbergasting. Lorne sets out to right the wrongs she uncovers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Comley
• Release date: Sep 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201412814

M. A. Comley

I am a British author. I moved to France around ten years ago, and that's when I turned my hobby into a career. I'm fortunate to be represented by New York agent Richard Curtis. I share my home with two crazy dogs that like nothing better than to drag their masterful leader (that's me) around the village. I hope you enjoy reading my books, especially the Justice series, Cruel Justice, Impeding Justice,Final Justice,Foul Justice and the newest addition, Guaranteed Justice. Ultimate Justice is due out in Feb 2013. If you'd like to keep up to date with new releases you can find me on facebook by following this link http://www.facebook.com/pages/Mel-Comley/264745836884860 If you fancy a lighter read, why not try one of my romances: A Time to Heal, and A Time for Change--Based on a TRUE story. I also have a selection of short stories and novelettes available which I know you'll enjoy. You can find out more about me at the following blogs. http://melcomley.blogspot.com http://melcomleyromances.blogspot.com  

Book preview

Prologue

H ello! Is anybody there? Reverend Michael Wilson peered around the door to the vestry after hearing a strange noise moments earlier. He stood still, frozen to the spot, aware that there had been several break-ins at churches in the area recently. Idiot, why didn’t I think to close the door when I arrived?

He’d only popped in for a few minutes, just to pick up the notebook he’d left behind. His lucky notebook, in which he scribbled ideas for his sermons. He had two days to come up with a suitable one for Sunday, something original, not something he’d repeated from ten years ago, like he had the past few weeks. Old Mrs Montgomery had pulled him up about doing just that at the weekend, in front of a few of her friends. He’d been mortified at having to grovel to her after she’d threatened to ring the bishop and tell tales on him.

Another sound brought him out of his reverie. There’s definitely someone out there. Oh heck, I left my phone at home. I can see it now, sitting on the kitchen table. What is wrong with me? Careless old fool, except I’m not that old. What should I do now? I’ve already called out, the person knows I’m aware they’re here. It’s only a matter of time before they… What? I have no idea what they’re likely to do.

He dipped back into the vestry and craned an ear. Light footsteps came his way. Panic rose and lodged in his throat. His gaze quickly shifted around the room and fell on the brass lamp sitting on the desk. He moved with the speed of light to reach it, unplugged it from the wall and ran back to stand behind the door. He pushed the door closed. It groaned in resistance. Michael realised then what a mistake it was not squirting the hinges with WD40.

Frozen in place, he listened, all the time expecting the person to jump out at him any second. They didn’t, not yet. With his heart rate rising to an unnerving level, he stood firm, the lamp slightly raised in one hand, ready to strike.

Show yourself! No, I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather you get spooked and leave the church, God’s house of worship. Please, God, ensure my safety. I’ve never asked You for anything personal before, only this once.

The door creaked open. Michael tightened his hand around the lamp, and he raised it above his head, ready to whack the intruder.

A shadow appeared in the doorway. Michael sucked in a breath, too scared to let the perpetrator hear him breathe. The figure followed its shadow into the room. Michael was tempted to close his eyes when he struck but then recognised how stupid that would be. What if I miss? The person took another few steps, showing their features. Michael gasped, You, what are you doing here?

The man turned and took in Michael’s stance and the lamp he was holding. I came to see you, Father. What are you doing?

Michael let out a relieved sigh, abandoned his position and the wayward thoughts running through his mind and returned the lamp to the desk. I thought you were an intruder. Please forgive me for being so foolish. He faced his visitor, and his eyes almost popped out of their sockets. What are you doing? No, please, don’t do that.

His visitor struck him with the knife, over and over until he was lying on the floor, blood pooling around his robe.

Father Michael Wilson took his final breath, looking into the eyes of his murderer.

1

Lorne received the call early Saturday morning. As usual, Tom kicked up a fuss about her dropping everything and running into work, just to get away from him. Many a true word comes to mind. Of course, she had denied it and told him this was an important stage of the investigation she was leading and she had to attend the crime scene.

She let her Border Collie, Henry, out in the garden to tend to his business, regretting the fact that she couldn’t take her devoted dog out for his usual walk before she left the house. She scribbled a quick note, asking either Tom or Charlie to tend to her companion’s needs when they finally got out of bed.

Now, on the road, she rang her partner. Pete, are you on the way?

Just gotta do the three Ss and I’ll be with you.

She rolled her eyes, as if he were sitting in the car with her. What the…? Can’t you keep that sort of thing to yourself? I’ve told you before, I have a vivid imagination. Now I’m going to be tormented with that image of you for bloody weeks.

Ha, likely story. Sorry for divulging what lies ahead of me. In other words, I’ll see you in around half an hour.

What? It takes that long for you to…? Never mind. Okay, I bow to your experience in dealing with such personal matters. You’ve got the address, I take it?

Of course. Hey, with me being late, it’ll give you time to have a good old chinwag with our friendly pathologist.

"Did you have to add yet another god-awful image