Over the drone of the engine, a squabble of voices sounded, seething like a boiling kettle. Someone began ripping pages from their now defunct textbook and making paper planes to throw along the aisle. One hit Hannah square in the back of the head and stuck in her disheveled ponytail. She tugged it free along with the flyaway strands of baby-fine hair that were so difficult to restrain. She heard a burst of laughter but refused to face the culprit because she had quickly learned on her bus travels that it was best to remain invisible. Any acknowledgement would only bring more derisive laughter and sharply barbed sneers.
Keeping her eyes glued ahead, Hannah watched Singham’s sleek black head turn slightly as he took a call over the radio. She couldn’t hear his murmured conversation but, after a few moments, he announced over the loud speaker, “We are taking a small detour this afternoon, little misses. We need to avoid road works on Chatston Avenue so I’ve been advised to go via Welwright Lane. That detour should bring us back onto the main route so no one will be inconvenienced.”
A chorus of boos and groans greeted his words. More paper planes were flung at his head, which he acknowledged with a jaunty wave. Singham maneuvered the bus off the main road, and made two short turns before entering a narrow, one way street. Rows of neat gardens, some fenced, fronted tidy semi-detached houses. The streets were as bare of people as though every house was unoccupied.
Past Singham’s head, Hannah could see through the large curved windshield that Welwright Lane was blocked at one end. She squinted to see what the obstruction was behind the delineation of traffic cones, but two workmen in the middle of the road impeded her view. One flagged them to a stop. The midi-sized bus pulled up with a grumble of its engine and Singham reached for the lever to swing open the doors as the man in a hardhat and hi-vis vest approached.
An uneasy feeling prickled up the base of Hannah’s neck. Why were they being flagged down? Singham said they had come this way in order to avoid the road works. Had he made a mistake and turned down the wrong street?
The man’s construction hat was tilted low over his forehead, making his features difficult to distinguish. He dropped his stop sign as he hauled himself up the first step into the bus. Concealed by the concertinaed doors, he paused and Hannah saw him raise his arm as Singham rotated to face the stranger.
The prickle in her scalp flared into alarm as she noticed a black nozzle poke out from his fist. She hardly had time to register the weapon before the gun barked.
Pow! A small hole bloomed in Singham’s forehead. His body stilled. Pink matter and blood spewed backwards across the glass behind him.
A scream ripped out of Hannah’s mouth as Singham’s body slumped sideways onto the steering wheel. The man leapt up the last two steps, throwing off his hard hat and dragging a balaclava over his face.
Fright forced her eyes wide open and they caught his gaze as the man paused by Singham.
“Quit screaming!”
He grabbed her by one arm, yanking her against the sash restraint that cut into her gut. Instinctively she pressed the release button and he jerked her upright, pressing the gun to her temple. Terror glued her mouth shut.
As the other girls began to register that something was wrong, their squeals and shrieks thickened into a hubbub that drummed against Hannah’s ears. A whimper escaped her lips as his fingers dug into her arm.
“Don’t damage the merchandise. The boss will come down hard on you if you do that.” Another man barreled up the stairs to join the first man. He too wore a balaclava and carried a gun.
“Let her go!”
Hannah could hardly believe her eyes as Imogen hurtled towards them, her face distorted by rage. “Don’t you dare hurt her!”
“Sit down! Everyone stay in your seats and no one else will get hurt!” The first man snapped.
“Leave my sister alone! My father’s a police officer and you’ll never get away with this!” Imogen screamed even louder to top the wails from the other girls.
The man tossed Hannah aside and she crashed against the metal tubing of the bus seat, smashing her braces against her lips and drawing blood. He swung his gun in Imogen’s direction, raising his arm so the barrel pointed directly at her. Hannah felt bile fill her mouth and thought she was going to vomit.
“No, no, no!” Her lips formed the words but only a bubble of blood issued from between her split lips. Tucking herself into a tight, fetal curl, she wished she could slide through the rectangle of sunlight blotting the floor and disappear, taking Imogen with her.
Imogen stopped abruptly as though she had crashed into a glass wall. Visions of the bus driver’s brains exploding out the back of his head crowded Hannah’s mind. Her heart hammered wildly. The man’s finger caressed the trigger. Hannah felt a warm dampness spread across her school skirt as her bladder released.
Chapter 2
Third floor, New Scotland Yard
“Ever been seriously injured on the job, Eli?” Reuben Richards asked the most experienced member of the Youth Crimes Team.
“Me? No way, Buttercup! I’ve got a nose for trouble and you won’t see me in that kind of doo doo. But I do remember one copper that got hurt bad.” Eli Morgan took a sip of sweet, hot tea from his favorite mug. Its slogan, “Keep calm and call a policeman”, rarely failed to raise a smile.
“Stabbed? Shot?” Reuben paused his quick fingered typing to probe for answers, looking up eagerly. When Eli was forthcoming with his police stories, sometimes they were gold.
“I thought you didn’t like blood and gore, Reuben?” Idris Carson interjected. Seated next to Eli, Idris’s neatly knotted silk tie and fresh shirt highlighted Eli’s slightly grubby attire that left him looking like he’d dressed in a shirt just pulled from the laundry hamper.
“I don’t mind as long as it’s not mine!” Reuben retorted.
The office space the Youth Crimes Team had been allocated at New Scotland Yard while they awaited their permanent offices, had a breathtaking view over the Thames from the long floor to ceiling windows, but absolutely no privacy. Several seats away from them, Quinn Standing was listening to the team’s conversation with only half an ear, his finger poised over the laptop keypad. One simple strike of the key and he would gain access to his boss, Detective Chief Inspector Bex Wynter’s, classified file.
“No, nothing like that, Buttercup,” Eli snorted. “Sounds like you’ve been talking with our esteemed leader. No doubt Yankee cops get shot at on a regular basis, but not a London bobbie. At least not while they’re just doing their beat. In this case a perp deliberately mowed a constable down. Literally. On one of them fancy ride on mowers. Stolen of course. She sustained some pretty serious injuries and a long stay in hospital.”
As the acting head of the Youth Crime Team in Bex’s absence, Quinn was also filling in for Detective Superintendent Sophie Dresden who had traveled to Birmingham to sit on a police panel explaining the new overseas recruitment process. In that role he could access the team’s classified files, which were off limits to lower ranks.
Gaining a glance at Bex’s file was a serious temptation. On the other hand he was ninety-nine percent sure that classified files were flagged to note any access and that would point directly to him.
“She was pretty badly banged up so the brass popped into hospital for a visit. Commander Trent Daly-Waters it was if I recall correctly, plus a chief super or two and a swag of local reporters.” Eli chortled.
“What’s so funny about that? It’s right and proper they should show some concern if she was hurt on the job.”
“If highly out of character,” Idris added.
Quinn’s attention returned to his screen. He was a vocal opponent to the overseas recruitment scheme that had pulled Bex across the Atlantic. That he had ended up working as a subordinate to such an officer, rankled. No, it more than rankled, he was positively brassed off with his situation because he had fully expected to be promoted to Detective Chief Inspector. Instead that role had been handed on a plate to Bex
Wynter, a woman who, in his opinion, did things all arse about face. Her ineffectiveness had almost botched up the Dunreath investigation. He preferred to dwell on that fact, rather than acknowledge he had been impressed when she salvaged the case at the last minute.
“Anyway she was off her trolly on morphine. Didn’t have a clue what she was doing. Probably thought her husband had come to see her because she greeted the top brass by pulling up her hospital gown and showing off her tits and lady bits!” Eli chuckled again and Reuben and Idris joined in.
“What did the commander say?” Reuben asked.
“Couldn’t say a word, he was gobsmacked. Didn’t know where to look and shuffled out of the room faster than a drunk chases a free drink. We all called her Fanny Annie after that. She never lived it down!”
Beyoncé’s “All the Single Ladies” chimed loudly and Eli fumbled through his jacket pocket. “Sorry, lads, I’ve got to take this. It’s the trouble and strife on the blower.” He brought the smart phone to his ear and stood up. “Hello, darling,” he murmured, moving out of hearing range to talk to his wife.
“I’ll be glad to get Bex back from training,” Reuben grumbled. “Trust her to leave us with all the paperwork from the Dunreath case. There’s more documents to process than a real estate purchase order.”
“Well, let’s just hope she comes back knowing more about British policing than when she went in,” Quinn responded, but the gripe was automatic. His attention, just like his hand, still hovered over the keyboard. Was it worth the risk to delve into Wynter’s file? he wondered.
He recalled Bex’s glittery, steely gray gaze that stripped him of any bluster and left him feeling exposed. He rarely doubted or second-guessed himself and hated that she made him feel so defensive. He believed he was the right person to lead an investigative team. So why had the position gone to an outsider? Was the answer somewhere in that classified file?
“DCIs don’t do the paperwork, anyway, Reuben. That’s left to grunts like us,” Idris said with conviction. “Trust Eli to skive off on a phone call. He’s always finding some way to get out of work. The man spends more time getting mugs of tea than anyone I know.”
Quinn glanced down the long desk when he heard Idris’s annoyed tone. He and Idris had been stationed together for a short time in Hackney CID so he knew Idris was like a bulldog when he sunk his teeth into a case, digging until he came up with the goods. No one could fault him for his energy. But Idris never took the chances that Quinn did. Sometimes those chances got him into deep shit, but sometimes they paid off and that’s why he was an inspector while Idris was still a sergeant.
Sensing Quinn’s look, Idris turned in his direction.
Quinn offered him a grin. “Don’t expect me to blow smoke up your arse, Idris. If you’re waiting for a compliment on your hard work, you’ll have to wait till Wynter returns. Now both of you need to get on with it. Coroner’s court is looming.”
Quinn caught Reuben checking him out to see if he would pull Eli into line and back to work. No one was fonder of gossip, technology or stirring up trouble. Quinn remained silent until Reuben dropped his eyes to flick through his smart phone. After a few moments he raised his head with a gleam in his eyes.
“Oh, say, Quinn, your ex-missus is in the news again, looking very chummy with some Chinese bigwig. Apparently she got kicked out of court this afternoon.”
“What?” Reuben’s words hijacked Quinn’s internal debate. His attention snapped to Isla like an elastic band. He resented it, but he couldn’t resist the power she still held over him.
“The story’s just come through on Trending News. ‘Barrister Isla Standing’s address to Bromley Court magistrates was interrupted this afternoon by a group of right wing extremists, calling themselves England for English’,” Reuben read aloud.
“Not the effing EFE!” Idris exclaimed. “They were in the news last week for attacking a van outside a mosque in north London. They seem to have really ramped up their activities. What happened?”
Reuben read out the report. “‘Representing Chinese businessman Li Jian, who is fighting extradition and termination of his investor visa due to a technicality with a speeding ticket that could result in a criminal conviction, Ms. Standing said her client had no comment to make on the extremists. The court was cleared for nearly thirty minutes. Detective Chief Inspector Rebecca Wynter apprehended two men who were subsequently charged.’ Woohoo, Bex is in the thick of it again!” Reuben crowed.
Quinn snapped the lid of his laptop shut with an irritated click. “How in hell did Bex Wynter end up in court with Isla?” he demanded. “She’s supposed to be at the Police College finishing her training.” He held out a peremptory hand to Reuben for his phone.
Quinn scrolled through the report, eyeing the video footage of Isla leaving the court in the company of Li Jian and a young Chinese woman. Quinn replayed the footage, concentrating on Isla’s body language as she took Li’s elbow. Always the consummate professional when she was on the court stage it was unusual for her to touch a client. A flare of jealousy burned through him. Was Li Jian more than just a client?
“Sorry, Quinn, I’ve got to leave work. There’s a family emergency.” Eli burst into their circle, his short hair standing on end as though he’d run his fingers through it. Several times. With a jerky motion he reached for his jacket hanging on the back of the office chair.
Quinn handed Reuben’s phone back and stood up, moving to Eli’s side. “Steady on, Eli. You don’t look in a fit state to drive anywhere. Care to tell me what’s up?” Quinn shepherded an agitated Eli aside so they were out of direct hearing. “Take a deep breath, mate,” Quinn advised the older man.
Eli heaved a sigh as he rubbed both palms over his face. “Sydney called. The girls never arrived home from school this afternoon. It’s last day of term and they were due home around lunchtime. Sydney took a half-day off from the bank so she could be home for them. She was going to surprise them with a shopping trip. Imogen’s been bugging her about some new clothes for summer.” He paused, swiping a hand through his already ruffled hair. “Sorry, mate, I’m getting off track. The main point is the girls aren’t home. Sydney’s phoned some of their friends, only to find out those girls haven’t arrived home either. She phoned the school. All the staff have gone apart from Mrs Malone, the admin manager. She consulted the records and said the girls had been marked as boarding the bus straight after lunch today. I got the name of the bus company and called their office. They have no reports of the driver calling in a break down, but he hasn’t returned to the depot.”
“Steady on, Eli,” Quinn said again. “Let’s ring around to find out if there’s been an accident so we can rule that out first off.”
Chapter 3
Riverside House, London
“What is it with these Limeys? If they say shed-ule instead of sked-ule, why don’t they say shool instead of skool?” Simon’s nasal voice was a penetrating whine in Bex’s ear. The familiar tomarto-tomayto argument was one that he had propounded in some variation almost daily during their two-week training course as the international detectives transitioned to British policing. Bex was at a loss as to why they had recruited Simon from across the Atlantic to help bolster the London Met’s flagging detective numbers.
Bloody hell, put a sock in it, Simon! she fought the urge to snap at him, relishing her favorite British oath. Nothing expressed frustration quite so aptly she had learned on her first day at New Scotland Yard.
A roar of laughter from the other end of the extended table drowned out the rest of Simon’s complaint. Bex couldn’t resist a longing look towards the noisy group aged in their mid-twenties and early-thirties. Drawn together, the group of young officers treated their new roles like an exchange vacation with London being the first stopover in their European tour.
Although she was in their age range and knew everyone’s name, she deliberately excluded herself from their banter. She didn’t want a repeat of the well-meaning kid-gloved trea
tment handed out by family and friends tiptoeing around her recent widowhood, so she kept to herself. That way she didn’t have to answer their questions as to why she had traded a promising career filled with poignant reminders of her husband, for a new start in London.
Jo, one of the brashest trainees, was cracking raucous jokes in her strong Australian accent. “Hey, meant to tell you, Ranga, nice hair cut! Did you get run over by a lawnmower?”
Peals of laughter greeted the corny joke, and none laughed more loudly than the ginger-haired Brett who had been flirting up a storm with Jo throughout their daily sessions. He lobbed a bread roll in her direction. “Jealous, Jo? Maybe he could fit you in for your own ’do.”
I used to be fun once. Zane was always cracking up at my one-liners, she thought.
Wistfulness brought a lump to her throat and an unexpected desire to shrug off the desolation that had dogged her since the car crash that killed her husband, Zane. A memory of him holding her down under the bedcovers and tickling her mercilessly while she squirmed with helpless laughter caught her like a sucker punch out of the blue. She gulped down a sob and ended up choking on her burger.
“You’re too young to be coughing up a lung, aren’t you?” Simon said with jocular humor, ignoring her teary eyes.
There were a couple of polite chuckles beside her. Bex found herself gritting her teeth. Simon was the type of person you’d invite home for dinner only to be roundly criticized because you didn’t cook the meal the way his wife did.
Giving up on Bex’s steadfastly downcast eyes he began talking animatedly to her neighbor.
Relieved that this was their last day together, she fingered her newly issued warrant card on the lanyard around her neck. Finally, she was official! She could return to the Youth Crimes Team on Monday morning and take charge of investigations with her credentials intact. This lunch at the trendy restaurant downstairs from the Police College was their spontaneous celebration for passing through the grueling police induction course.
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