Dunne nodded in the direction of the guard by the door.
“Take him back to the cell,” Dunne said. “Make him comfortable.”
29
Break Through
Detective Dunne
Three weeks later, Dunne kicked his feet up on his desk, and read the headlines of the newspaper. He smiled from ear to ear, then took a sip of his coffee.
The phone rang, but he ignored it and decided the press coverage of his department’s work was more important, as well as well-deserved lunch break. It was late afternoon, and he had just finished up some paperwork and needed to eat something before he fainted. The door knocked and in walked McDonald. Dunne peeked over the top of his newspaper.
“’Sup, Josh?”
“Nothin’. Just thought I’d come and eat my lunch here, that’s all.” McDonald closed the door, strode over, and then sat opposite Dunne.
Dunne threw his head back with laughter, which was a rare thing. To catch him crack a smile was a miracle, especially over the last few weeks.
“Aww, miss me, did you, Joshie?” Dunne teased him, then flipped his feet off his desk, so McDonald could eat his lunch.
“Idris, shut it!” McDonald chuckled, then slumped himself down into the worn chair. He opened his sandwich and took a bite. With a mouthful, he asked Dunne, “How ya feeling?”
Dunne placed the day’s paper down on the desk and tapped the headline. “I feel good, very good,” he said. “We did it, Josh.”
He loved his job, but at times, the need to close cases to keep the streets of London safe, and do the best he could to uphold his reputation as one of London Metropolitan’s top detectives required personal sacrifice.
McDonald glanced down at the paper.
Dunne watched his partner chew on his food—his mouth open and smiling widely at him. “Yeah, we did,”
McDonald took another huge bit of his sandwich.
“Can you believe it.” McDonald chewed, swallowed, then took another bite. “I can’t believe that family,” he said with his mouth full.
Sauce slid down the side of his mouth, and McDonald used his finger to wipe it off, and then devoured it.
Dunne shook his head and wrinkled his nose. “Josh, c’mon on, man. Where’s yer table manners?”
“What?” McDonald said innocently, then sniggered.
Dunne rubbed the bridge of his nose, stemming a laugh that bubbled within him. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a Mars bar, leaned back in his chair, and tried to ignore his partner’s lack of etiquette as he munched on his sandwich aggressively.
“Yeah, it was a convincing case—the conspiracy to murder.” Dunne reflected, opening his chocolate candy. “Hard one for the crown court, and the jury, to not find it plausible.”
“Yeap, especially when they considered the recorded evidence and money motivations,” McDonald chimed in. He picked up the paper. “Looks like the headlines on the tabloids have fired up again.” He tapped the header of The Sun newspaper.
“You’re telling me, look at it,” Dunne said. “Chelsea’s gone from an angel who cared for a sick, dying man, and rewarded with his fortune, to a she-devil overnight.”
Dunne pulled his mind back again to the verdict. The jury found her guilty of conspiracy over Tony’s murder in her absence along with Lance.
No prints were recovered from the screwdriver or the mystery notes that had led Dunne and McDonald to the murder weapon, only a blood match to Tony along with his gauged-out eyeballs.
McDonald flipped open the paper, then noisily sipped his fruit juice. Dunne cringed at the sound.
“Josh, mate, this is the last time you’ll eat lunch with me if you don’t get it together.” He teased him.
McDonald laughed, slurped his juice again, and then held up the paper.
“The cheek of Lance as well,” he said. He pointed to his mug shot image on page five then read out loud, “Lance Duncan had strongly denied having any access to any of Tony Patel’s properties, connection to Chelsea’s murder, or knowledge of who would’ve planted incriminating evidence at the home Chelsea inherited.”
“Hmm, the jury were not convinced though, life imprisonment for his role in the conspiracy to murder sounds good to me,” Dunne responded with glee.
With just a motive for Chelsea’s death, a recorded conversation, and phone records of Lance and Chelsea’s contact the day before she died, the jury cleared him of her murder, but he went down for Tony’s.
“The case on Chelsea’s murder is still left unsolved though,” McDonald added. “Even if there was suspicion around Lance organising it after they spoke. He admitted he had ‘connections’ to place hits on people.”
Dunne concluded, “I guess, that’s why Chelsea, according to him, had approached him to get rid of Tony.”
“Hmmm, guess so.” McDonald picked at his teeth with a tooth pick he had plucked off Dunne’s desk. He closed the paper, satisfied their job was done, for now.
Lance is behind bars. Manisha Patel now has closure on her husband’s death, Dunne thought to himself. One question lingered, the thread he couldn’t unwind. He turned to his partner.
“We’ve got one more case to solve. Who really murdered Chelsea? Even if we have a hunch Lance may have been behind it, who did the deed?”
The question hung in the air as heavy as a downpour of London’s rain.
McDonald opened a packet of peanuts and threw a few into his mouth. He crunched noisily and offered the packet to Dunne.
“No thanks.” Dunne held his hand up, then pulled out an apple from his desk.
McDonald nodded. “Hmm, that’s the question, the one we need to look into deeper.”
30
The Widow
Manisha
A month later, Manisha looked up at Sarah Donovan from the other side of the desk.
“Mrs. Patel.” Sarah held Manisha’s gaze. “How are you keeping?”
She sagged her shoulders slightly and dropped her gaze from the young, blonde woman smiling warmly at her.
“I’m baring up, I guess. A lot has happened. Accused of killing my husband. Then, there’s the financial mess Tony left me in because of his affair.”
“Well, take comfort in what I’m about
