Bex Wynter Box Set

by Elleby Harper

  * * *

  Despite it being barely past nine in the morning, Bex headed straight to the mini bar in her hotel room and opened a tiny bottle of Malibu. She didn’t even bother to pour it into a glass, just gulped it straight from the bottle.

  Dresden had refused to allow her back into the office to let the others know what had happened. She said she would handle it. Her only concern had been to get Bex away from New Scotland Yard as fast as humanly possible.

  What would her team members think? If the evidence she had collected was dismissed or if the team was disbanded, there was only one person to blame. No doubt Quinn Standing would be loud and vocal on the point, venting his irrational dislike of her nationality and his reservations about her professional competence to the rest of the team. The thought made her lips twist as she chewed nervously at the inside of her cheek. Then she threw back her shoulders.

  She forced her thoughts away from the negative spiral. To hell with Quinn Standing! She had a weekend to herself and would make the most of the sightseeing opportunities. She rifled through a slew of tourist brochures on the dresser. Closing her eyes, she shuffled the flyers around, selecting one at random. Madame Tussauds wax works.

  * * *

  Joining the crowded throngs gawking and taking selfies with the lifelike figures of movie stars, singers and other celebrities, Bex strolled through the color and glamor of the Bollywood settings and movie scenes. She took her time examining the waxwork royal family, knowing she was never likely to meet them in the flesh. Wandering past long-dead historical figures, her eyes welled with unshed tears. The chamber of life-like ghosts was too poignant a reminder of how fleeting life was.

  Zane’s dad, Neil, had been left reeling from the sucker punch of his son’s death. Even so, he had vocally supported her decision to leave New York, never even hinting at recriminations that Bex had put her police career ahead of Zane’s desire to have a baby. “While he was with you, you made him happier than he’d been in years. Don’t blame yourself for his death, Bex.”

  But she did blame herself. Death had punctuated her life with a never-ending question mark. Could she have saved Zane’s life with her first aid skills if she hadn’t lost consciousness? It didn’t matter that the EMTs on site assured her he died instantly from the heart attack. Blacking out meant she couldn’t recall exactly how events had unfolded. Although she was positive she had seen oncoming headlights just before the crash, police had found no evidence of any other vehicular involvement. That lead to the Chief Medical Examiner’s ruling that Zane’s heart attack had caused him to lose control of their car.

  In a daze she wandered out of the wax museum, trailing down Marylebone Street. Like a piece of flotsam she mindlessly let the crowds buffet her along, sweeping her underground into the Baker Street Station.

  “Look out, luv, you’ll get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.” A gnarled hand steadied her and she blinked herself back to the present. The station was a sprawling mass filled with a rushing tide of humanity. She was utterly lost.

  “You alright, luv?” Eyes lost in pouches of flesh looked curiously at her.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure where I am. I think I’m lost.”

  “Where do you want to be?” The voice was gentle, bringing her close to tears.

  Where did she want to be in a city of eight million out of which she knew a scant handful and most of those didn’t like her? A wave of homesickness engulfed her. But there was no point being in New York without Zane. Where did she want to go? Not back to the Parkwood. She couldn’t go to New Scotland Yard.

  Then, abruptly like a slap in the face, she knew what she really wanted to do.

  “Are we anywhere near Twickenham?”

  The old man’s wrinkled lips lifted and his eyes twinkled. “With the Tube you’re always close to wherever you want to be. Every ruggers fan knows how to get to Twickenham, luv. Let’s see, from here…” He launched into a detailed account of which station to get out at and where to catch a bus directly to Vine Street.

  What she really wanted was to ask Evie Butterworth how had she forgiven Bon so completely that she was able to risk her own life to save his, even after he’d just mowed down and killed her daughter? Was the woman actually a saint? Her actions seemed totally selfless. How had she done it? Forgiveness eluded Bex. Could Evie provide the key to unlock the secret for her?

  Chapter 23

  Friday 7 July

  Bex found herself outside the red brick terraced house with the back lane brick wall crowding in on her. But there were no other crowds. No tourists. No homeless people. No reporters with television cameras. The paparazzi had dispersed to chase today’s latest sensation leaving a street of households deserted by their working owners.

  Bex stared and the ornamental knocker on the green painted wooden door in front of her stared back. She was on the verge of turning and bolting back down the road, when the door jarred open and Evie’s sister, Meredith, fronted her. Startled by the sudden action, both women took a step backwards and Meredith let out a muffled scream.

  “Detective Wynter, as I live and breathe!” One hand was clasped to her chest, the other clutched a large straw bag and a set of keys. “Are you here to see Evie? Has there been some news? I was just on my way to do some shopping, but I can cancel that. Come in, come in.”

  Embarrassment flooded through Bex, stinging her face with scarlet. Coming here was a lapse of judgment. If Lord Dunreath had grounds for complaint before, today’s actions probably meant she had opened the Met up to be sued. The sensible thing to do was turn around and leave, but a thin thread of need pulled her over the threshold.

  “No, I’m sorry, Mrs Murphy, there’s no more news. I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I would call in and see how Evie, that is Mrs Butterworth, is doing.” In her own ears her voice sounded strained, tainted with lies.

  “Oh.” Meredith’s face looked crestfallen. She adjusted her glasses, pushing them back up the bridge of her nose. “So no news? Did you want to question Evie again?”

  “No, not at all. Nothing like that. This is an informal visit. I’m not on duty,” Bex stressed.

  They were standing in the foyer and, turning her head to the left, Bex could see across the dining table into the kitchen where Evie stood with her back to them, facing out towards the window. It was the same position she had been in when she and Reuben had visited yesterday. She was like a soldier at her post. Did Evie spend her days looking out the window wondering when Clara would come tripping home again?

  “They’re releasing the body, Clara’s body, on Monday. I’ve called the funeral home. The director is coming to speak to us this afternoon about the arrangements. I think the news makes it all a bit too real for Evie.”

  “It takes time to process death,” Bex agreed. Having to make funeral arrangements at the time you were grieving was barbaric. “She’s lucky to have you to take care of her.”

  “Yes, well, I can’t stay forever. Derek and the kids need me back home. I’m trying to get Evie to come up north with me. She’s not in a fit state to live on her own at the moment. She can’t even get herself dressed in the morning if I don’t prod her to it.”

  She flicked a glance at her watch and Bex felt her time was up. “I should let you go.” As she turned to leave, Evie’s head twisted towards them and her glance crossed Bex’s. Bex paused. She had come this far, she needed to ask Evie just one question. “If it’s alright with Evie, I’d just like a quick word.”

  “I don’t know.” Meredith hesitated. Was she being a good sister looking out for Evie, or was she simply afraid of missing something juicy?

  Evie drifted towards them like a wraith in her open bathrobe, the ends of her belt trailing behind her. Underneath she wore a thin cotton nightgown in candy pink stripes. It looked like something that might have belonged to Clara. The same way she kept Zane’s T-shirts next to her skin.

  “What is it?” Evie asked in a voice of supreme indifference, as th
ough she’d never be interested in another thing again in her life.

  “The detective…”

  “Just Bex,” she interrupted Meredith. “I’m not on duty at the moment. I’m just paying a personal visit.” Bex made sure to emphasize again her lack of official status.

  Evie’s eyes sparked briefly. “Bex? You’re the one who came yesterday?”

  “That’s right.” She held her hand out and, after a few seconds, Evie placed her own limp palm inside it. She gave it a gentle squeeze that she hoped signified encouragement to Evie.

  “You go on with what you need to do, Meredith. I’ll be okay with, with…” Evie’s shoulders were still slumped, but her head straightened enough to look straight at Bex.

  “Bex,” she supplied, sending a disarming look in Meredith’s direction. She’d prefer to have a heart-to-heart alone with Evie. “I will take care of her until you return,” she assured Meredith.

  “We ran out of bread and milk yesterday, but I didn’t want to leave the house with all those reporters hanging about,” she explained to Bex. “I guess I’ll only be fifteen minutes or so. And maybe it is better if Evie isn’t left alone.”

  With a last, reluctant look at Evie, she let herself out of the house.

  Evie’s attention faded again, her focus drifting listlessly down to her feet.

  “Shall we sit down?” Bex prompted, moving a few steps forward and pulling out one of the dining chairs for Evie.

  “Of course. Do you want a coffee or a tea, detective?” Evie’s voice was dull.

  “No, thank you. And please call me Bex. This isn’t an official visit.”

  Bex reached out a hand to help guide her towards the chair. Evie sat obediently and remained silent while she took a seat opposite Evie’s. She shifted a tall floral arrangement stuffed with a condolence card, slightly to the left so the two women could face each other.

  “You know, people are calling for you to be nominated for the Queen’s Gallantry Medal for what you did at Richmond Bridge on Tuesday. In the face of everything, of knowing your daughter had just been killed, how did you do it? How were you able to forgive Bon Galliers enough to want to resuscitate him?”

  Bex leaned forward expectantly, her elbows rested on the table, her fiercely intense gaze rested on Evie. Her heart began pounding. Was she about to learn the secret to forgiveness? The secret that would unblock her own healing?

  But Evie remained quiet, her eyes glazed as though trying to solve a difficult puzzle or as though Bex had asked her questions in a foreign language she didn’t understand. As the silence between them reeled out, she became sensitive to background noises. The ticking of the kitchen clock, the faint humming of the refrigerator, the regular monotone of a dripping faucet.

  When it became obvious that willing Evie to answer wasn’t going to work, Bex pushed harder. “Do you remember how it felt in that moment when you knew Clara was dead?”

  Evie’s features twitched, her face twisting like a piece of dough being kneaded, distorting under an avalanche of emotions: despair, grief, anguish and rage.

  Bex recognized each emotion, experiencing them again as visceral punches to her gut. Despair. Grief. Anguish. Rage. She was intimately connected with each sensation. What she didn’t see on Evie’s face was what she was searching for. That’s when she knew she had to call Dresden urgently.

  Chapter 24

  Tuesday 11 July

  Bex’s second day of training had concluded and she was heading back to the Parkwood when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She had turned it to silent during training and forgotten to turn it back on. She was expecting a call from Reuben’s estate agent friend who had arranged to line up some properties for her to view, but when she glanced at the screen she recognized Sophie Dresden’s number.

  Suddenly her palms felt sweaty as she clutched the phone to her ear.

  “Wynter, call in at my office after training tonight,” Dresden’s voice was brusque, giving nothing away and she disconnected before Bex could ask any questions.

  Hastily Bex leaned forward to tap on the glass separating her from the cab driver. “Change of plan. Can you take me to New Scotland Yard instead?”

  Once the cab deposited her outside the building, Bex scooted up the steps, hurrying past the eternal flame without giving it a second look. After her phone call to Dresden on Friday, Dresden had left her in suspense.

  When she stepped into Dresden’s office, the older woman was tapping away on her keyboard. “Take a seat. I’ll just be a moment,” she said, not glancing away from her screen.

  Bex settled herself uneasily onto the green visitor’s chair, its hard plastic contours not encouraging relaxation. She slipped her shoulder bag onto her lap, clasping her hands around the strap to stop her fingers fidgeting.

  A minute later Dresden hit the keys one last time and then pushed herself away from the keyboard. A satisfied smile curved the cupid’s bow.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  Bex sagged with relief, but avoided an answer with a question of her own. “What did the forensic results reveal?”

  “As you already know, the post mortem results revealed water in Bon Galliers’ lungs as the cause of death. At the time, traces of Evie Butterworth’s saliva was found around his lips and on the inside of his cheeks and tongue, all consistent with mouth to mouth resuscitation. It wasn’t deemed necessary to perform an analysis of the water in his lungs. So what made you request it?”

  “I went to see Evie Butterworth on Friday,” Bex admitted. “I asked her how she’d been able to forgive Bon. Her face gave her away. It was clear as day that she hadn’t forgiven him. What she felt when I asked her about her daughter’s death was anything but forgiveness. If she hadn’t forgiven him then why did she risk her life to get to him in the river? There could only be one logical reason.”

  “To kill him.” Dresden supplied the answer. “After Forensics examined the water in his lungs the analysis revealed Evie Butterworth’s saliva mixed with the river water. There’s no doubting the DNA match. There’s also no way the saliva would have reached his lungs if she had merely given him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.” Dresden’s voice was filled with satisfaction. Bex took that as a good sign for their future working relationship.

  “I reviewed the ‘Freakin’ Saint’ footage again after talking with Evie. If you look really closely, the angle of her head as she bends over him isn’t quite right for resuscitation. It niggled me at the time, but not enough to focus on. It was only after talking with her that I posed the question to myself. What if, instead of blowing air into his lungs, she was taking mouthfuls of river water and spitting that straight into his lungs? Would it be enough to drown him?”

  There was a brief pause in the conversation, but Bex read it as friendly rather than punitive. Dresden was still pleased with her reasoning and explanation.

  “Judd Haslop from Forensics informs me it can take as little as half a glass of water to drown someone, especially because if the lungs had already sustained some damage from the accident. Apparently the human mouth can hold up to a half a cup of water so it wouldn’t have taken her long to do the deed. Your phone call to me on Friday was in the nick of time. The coroner was due to release the bodies on Monday, and after that it would have been too late. Evie Butterworth would have got away with murder.”

  “What happens now?”

  “Standing and Carson arrested Evelyn Butterworth today and brought her in for questioning. She fell apart and was mostly incoherent so she’s been taken to hospital to undergo a mental evaluation. There will have to be a full psych report before she stands trial. No doubt her barrister will get her off by pleading temporary insanity due to the circumstances. Oh, and I personally let Lord Dunreath know that it was thanks to your efforts that our investigation led to Evelyn Butterworth being charged with his son’s murder. Not that it alleviates the tragedy of the situation, but it does provide some closure for them.”

  “Any chance gratitude
has made Charles Galliers’ reconsider his complaint about me?”

  “Already pulled. And today’s successful arrest is going to be the focal point of my press conference first thing tomorrow morning. The press office believes it’ll be a full house when we debunk the myth of the ‘Freakin’ Saint’. It’s the perfect opportunity to promote the value of the Youth Crimes Team.” There was no compliment forthcoming, but Dresden’s bow-shaped lips were curved with satisfaction as she beamed benevolently in her direction. Bex gathered she would have to be happy with this sign of Dresden’s support.

  “How is the case against Bon Galliers stacking up?”

  “Go and talk to the boys yourself. They’re still here because there’s been another hitch in our CID offices. I told them you were coming in tonight.” Dresden’s voice was pleasant, but held a definite sense of dismissal. As Bex hesitated, Dresden urged, “You’re the team leader, so show them some leadership.”

  Bex was unsure what her reception would be after having almost got the unit closed down even before finishing their first case. Reuben was the first to notice her approach and he stood up from his desk, slowly clapping his hands. A huge grin split his face and she noticed an accompanying flash of teeth from Idris and Eli, in Idris’ case gleaming orderly white and for Eli mismatched and yellowed by years of smoking.

  “Well, look who’s been allowed back into New Scotland Yard,” Quinn said with a drawl. Bex waited for the expected sneer, but his face remained impassive, his eyes unreadable. She allowed her tense shoulders to relax.

  “About time you got here. Having a nice break at the training academy while we do the rest of the leg work?” Reuben greeted her.