“Now, don’t get me started on…”
As Simon’s voice droned on, Bex lost her remaining appetite. Not caring that she was being rude, she rootled around in her purse for her phone. During training it was mandatory to keep their phones switched off. She was scrolling through, checking her messages, when the phone chirped in her hand. Caller ID revealed an unknown number but, glad to have an excuse to leave Simon’s conversation, she rose from the table.
“Rebecca Wynter.”
She weaved through diners towards the exit. On the narrow strip of sidewalk outside, white metal tables and chairs were filled with lunchtime diners. Bex moved to the end of the building for some privacy.
“Look, I don’t know if you remember me. I’m probably being barmy. But I don’t know who else to call.” Bex didn’t recognize the voice, but it sounded young and the short, choppy sentences revealed an enormous amount of stress as well as a strong British accent. “About two weeks ago you gave me your number. At the Tower of London. You said you wouldn’t grass on me. So, I thought maybe I could trust you and maybe you could help me now.”
A vague memory began to resurface. The teenager she had caught lifting a wallet on her first day in London. “Is this Gloria Benton?”
There was a nervous snicker at the other end of the line. “Yeah, right, that’s me. I guess I didn’t give you my name then. It’s Josh. Josh Brymer. The scum have arrested me. But I swear I’m innocent! They don’t believe me. I dunno what to do. This Sergeant Ingram says she’s going to see my arse in jail. My dad’s away. There ain’t anyone at home…” the voice trailed off into a despondent silence.
Bex was supposed to return to the Police Training College to hear a rousing congratulatory speech by Chief Superintendent Vincent Titus on the merits of the graduating class of the first overseas detective recruits to join the London Metropolitan Police.
“Calm down, Josh. Where are you now?”
“Bromley Police Station. Ingram says she’s going to keep me in the holding cell till youth court on Tuesday.”
The terror in his voice made her think of a puppy with its tail between its legs after soiling its bed. At their last encounter, she was the one who had impressed on him the horrors in store for him if he ended up in jail.
Holding a teenager over the weekend till Tuesday seemed extreme. Yet obligation tugged her in the direction of the graduation ceremony. Conflicted, Bex chewed her lower lip with indecision.
“What did you do, Josh?”
“I told you. I didn’t do nothing. But I reckon Ingram’s got it in for me. I’m going to end up in the nick, aren’t I?”
“Not for doing nothing, Josh,” she said with determination. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
No doubt Simon would spend the afternoon whining in the Chief Super’s ear about her absence.
Chapter 4
Bromley Police Station
“He was caught red-handed with paint spray cans in his possession. We’re charging him with malicious mischief. That involves a maximum penalty of two years detention.”
Bex knew her mission was in trouble as soon as she butted heads with the sergeant charging Josh. Carol Ingram was a battleax of a woman. The duty counter was raised two steps up from the floor so even though seated, Ingram had a height advantage. Bulging shoulders sloped under her white shirt while a stiffly starched collar cut into a fleshy neck. She looked strong enough to benchpress Bex with one beefy arm.
“He hasn’t provided us with a phone number for a parent. I consider him a flight risk so we’re not posting bail on him. Believe me, this charge is no laughing matter.”
“Trust me, you’re not giving me any reason to laugh,” Bex snapped. “But seriously, no bail and two years inside for grafittiing?”
As soon as the words left her mouth, Bex knew they were a mistake. The glint in Carol Ingram’s eyes made it clear she relished locking horns. The two other officers sitting at computer screens pretended to tap on their keyboards but Bex was aware she had an audience.
Substitute the accent for a nasal Bronx dialect and Ingram was a dead ringer for some of the old codgers Bex had been partnered with on the beat. They felt it was their duty to harass the young and unruly to keep them toeing a straight and narrow path. They would listen to Bex’s divergent theories on juvenile misconduct and the best way to overcome it with patronizing smiles. Their attitude screamed, “Just wait till you’ve been in the force as long as we have, then see how you deal with the punks.”
“Graffiti is always a crime, by definition. Maybe Americans think it’s about dabbing a few splotches of paint and calling it artwork, but here in Bromley it’s called defacing public and private property and is the first step in a life leading to organized crime. We’ll be doing further questioning to determine if there was a conspiracy to commit these crimes.”
Bex felt her temper rising, but refrained from rolling her eyes at the slur on her American roots and what she considered an outdated police attitude.
“It’s all about broken windows policing. You may not have heard of that phrase across the Atlantic.” Ingram’s tone was condescending. “But graffiti signals a breakdown in social and law enforcement codes.” The sergeant leaned forward, two fists on top of the desk, bringing her face closer to Bex. “We have to keep on top of these kids before they turn into professional crims.”
Bex cut off the lecture. “It’s a police attitude telling them you expect them to do the wrong thing that’s turning teens into hardened criminals.”
“Who did you say you are?” Ingram squinted at Bex, furrowing her eyes so tightly they almost disappeared.
Bex held out her shiny new warrant card. “DCI Wynter from the Youth Crimes Team.” She outranked Ingram and now Ingram knew it.
Ingram bristled. “Are you trying to take over this case?”
Bex paused, unsure of the British legalities of purloining the case from under Bromley Police’s nose. They had charged Josh, so he was in their jurisdiction. It wasn’t a scenario that had been covered in her induction but she was sure she would be expected to confer with her superior, Sophie Dresden, before making any such claim over a case.
What had been hammered home in her training was the art of “de-escalating a situation.” For two weeks, every instructor had emphasized that when a police force tackled criminals while unarmed, talking became one of their most valuable safety mechanisms. It was an especially important point to drive home to a group of recruits who took having a weapon on hand for granted.
“No one’s talking about usurping your authority. I’m just asking for a few minutes to chat with Josh Brymer and also his lawyer. You did get him a lawyer?” Bex made an effort to relax her own tense features. She couldn’t manage a smile, but at least she wasn’t frowning.
Ingram pulled herself back behind the counter and crossed her arms, causing her chest to swell over her forearms. Her eyes were still narrowed suspiciously, but she said, “Of course a duty solicitor’s been appointed. I’ll check if the interview room’s free.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Bex said evenly, hoping she had made enough concessions not to be kept waiting an eternity.
* * *
A young police constable led her through the custody suite to a room where Josh sat on a bolted down chair, his forearms resting on a narrow table. His fingers twitched nervously on the laminate surface. The police officer took root near the door, but Bex dismissed him.
“This is not an official interview, Constable. I’d like some privacy,” she insisted, ensuring her warrant card was in clear view. The pale blue walls of the small, bare room closed around them as she waited for him to leave them alone.
“I didn’t really think you’d come,” Josh said gruffly, almost eye to eye with her even though he was seated and she was standing. Right now his unfilled frame was long and gangly and she judged him to be around sixteen. When he grew older he would be a big man.
She gave him a curt nod before taking the seat opposi
te. “Not sure I should have. I told you to keep your nose out of trouble if you didn’t want to end up in the slammer. Remember what I told you last time, Josh? Even if you get sent to juvie prison the inmates are going to gobble you up like the fresh new meat you are.”
His hands clenched. A muscle twitched near his eye. “I really didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do what, Josh?”
“They say I graffiti’d the Fairhurst Golf Club. It’s not true.”
“Is it true you were caught with cans of spray paint on you?”
“Yes, but they weren’t mine. I was holding them for a mate I was supposed to meet up with.”
“Come on, Josh, that’s a pretty thin excuse. Either be honest with me or I’m walking out of here. Now, start at the beginning and tell me everything.”
His shoulders tensed as though steeling himself to talk. “I got them as a favor for a mate of mine. His face is too well known at the local DIY shop, so I bagged them for him.”
“You mean you shoplifted them?”
“I nicked them, so what?”
She ignored the belligerent tone and refrained from pointing out that what he’d admitted was a crime itself. Instead she gave him a supportive nod, encouraging him to keep talking.
“But I didn’t do the graffiti. He said to meet him at the school at midnight to hand over the cans, but he never showed.”
“When exactly was this?”
“Last night.”
“You mean Thursday, the twentieth?”
“Yeah. It had to be done then because schools break up today for the summer holidays. No one would see the graffiti otherwise. So, I went there like he said. I was late, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, but I must’ve waited another twenty minutes for him to show. And then I started calling his name, just softly like. It was bloody dark and hard to see much.” His thin shoulders shivered. “Actually it was bleeding spooky. There’s not much light around the school because of the golf course that backs onto it. I was just starting to move away, thinking I was in the wrong place, when some bloke nabbed me. At first I thought it was Reece. Scared the shit out of me. But when I tried to turn around and face him, he smacked me in the head and said he was the caretaker and was calling the cops on me. I kicked him in the nuts and ran. Scarpered as fast as my legs would go.”
Bex had first hand knowledge of just how fleet Josh’s legs could be.
“I ran for the nearest lights. Like I said, there’s not much there except the golf course. There was a lot of lights and music. They had some sort of party going on. Anyway, I just ran through there, smashed into a couple of people and some cans fell from my backpack. Some bloke jumped me and before I knew it I had a scrum tackling my back and holding me down. Then the cops came and here I am.”
Josh hung his head and dropped his eyes. “I know it sounds bad. It sounds like I made up the whole story. But I swear it’s true. When I was running I thought I heard a shot, like the bloke took a pot shot at me.” The cockiness faded. He swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and she suspected he was ashamed of his tears.
“Are you positive it was a gunshot and not a car backfiring?” English gun laws were stringent enough that gun crime was minimal, although rising. At least that was her course instructor’s view on the situation.
The bony shoulders rose and fell. “I didn’t hang around to find out for sure. Ingram didn’t believe me.”
“I believe your story, Josh.” She reached out and covered his other hand with one of hers. “Now, I need to ask some questions to get specific details if I’m to help. First, what’s the name of the school?” She pulled her phone out of her bag, preparing to record his answers.
“Fairbridge House College. It’s a private school for stuck up slags. Reece has it bad for one of the mingers there. Fancies her rotten. Thought it would impress her to do some graffiti and leave it like his calling card at the school.”
Bex didn’t understand all his slang terms, but she grasped the gist of the story. Reece had the hots for a private school girl and wanted to impress her with a bit of anti-social crime. Nice.
“Whereabouts is the school?”
“It’s near Hazlehurst Street in Bromley. I dunno the actual name of the street.”
“And the name and address of your mate?”
“He’s not really a mate. Just did me a favor and I was paying him back.” The crafty slide of his eyes from hers warned her he was keeping secrets.
“Josh, I need to confirm your story. The police will too. Have you told them all this?”
“Course not! I’m not going to grass out me mates. It wouldn’t matter. There’s graffiti on the club walls. I’m there with the cans. The scum put two and two together and don’t want to hear the answer’s not four. They’re not interested in the truth.”
“Why did you get the cans, Josh, if you knew Reece was going to do the graffiti?”
His fingers tapped against the edge of the table.
“It’s got to be the truth or I walk out of here and you’re on your own.” Bex’s experience had taught her that street kids responded to firm boundaries.
“He slipped me a bag so I owed him a favor. And I wasn’t going to hang around. Once I gave him the cans, I was outta there.”
“Did you have any drugs on you when you were caught?”
“Nah. Left the baggie at home.”
“Is Reece your dealer?” Bex couldn’t keep the concern out of her voice. She absolutely hated that so many decent kids ended up either dead or in dead end lives because of drugs.
“Nah. Reece is small time. He’s just got himself some rudeboys to hang around with. I don’t know where he got the weed from. Claimed it was Acapulco Gold. The kids in school say that’s the best. Never tried it before and I wanted to give it a go. Do I really have to stay here till Tuesday?” His voice quivered on the last question.
“Sergeant Ingram isn’t prepared to release you to bail because she doesn’t have your parents’ details. Where are your parents, Josh?”
He shook his head. “Me dad’s away. He flew out of Heathrow Thursday night. That’s why I was late getting to the school, because I waited for him to leave the house before I did.”
“Where is your dad? Is he on a business trip?” It always amazed her how blindly trusting parents could be leaving their teenagers alone in the house. It was often too much of a temptation for the kids not to throw parties that escalated wildly out of control, or else, like Josh, somehow end up in police trouble.
A red tide was creeping up Josh’s neck. He squirmed. “I can’t call him. You don’t understand. There’s just the two of us. He does his best. But every now and then he needs a break for himself. You know.”
Bex decided that the fact that Josh was decently dressed and fed indicated he had the kind of father who cared enough to want to know that his son was in trouble.
“Remember, I need honesty, Josh. I can’t help you if I don’t know all the facts,” she pushed.
Crimson stained his cheeks. He threw her an uncertain look before mumbling, so low under his breath that Bex had to strain to hear him, “He’s in Amsterdam. He visits the red light district there a couple of times a year. But please don’t tell the scum. They’ll just crack jokes about him. And I don’t want to call him there. He doesn’t know that I know that’s where he goes.”
He hung his head and she understood his adolescent misery about sharing such information with the authorities. “How about your mom? Or a grandparent? Maybe a close friend or neighbor?”
He shook his head again. “Me mum scarpered long ago. I haven’t heard from her in years. It’s just dad and me. We keep to ourselves.”
“Then your options are to stay in one of the holding cells here or the police will contact children’s services to see if they can find a spot to keep you over the weekend.”
Josh’s mouth pinched tight. It was clear the thought horrified him.
Bex took a deep breath. “There is one final thing we could try.
I can push to go to court today to get you out if I post bail for you.”
She watched Josh’s shoulders slump in relief. Maybe she was being duped, but the law she fought for claimed people were innocent until proven guilty.
“Once you’re released I’m taking you straight home and you stay there and out of trouble until your court appearance. But if you don’t turn up in court on Tuesday morning I’m going to hunt you down myself. And believe me, the consequences won’t be pretty,” she said with mock fierceness. She would prefer to keep a closer eye on him but at the moment she was renting a single room in a lovely Georgian house in Ealing and doubted that she could satisfactorily explain Josh’s presence to her landlady without raising unwelcome speculation.
“I’ve got some spare time this afternoon, I’ll see what evidence I can turn up to prove your story.” Bex damped down her niggling anxiety over ditching the police graduation ceremony. “I’m going to push Ingram for DNA testing to prove there’s no match between the particles of paint from the graffiti to your clothing. There might be CCTV footage from the golf club and the school that could help prove your innocence. I’ll check into the caretaker you mentioned, maybe he can vouch for your presence at the school.
“Give me a few minutes to have a word with your duty…um, solicitor to push for a court hearing on your bail.” She had learned the hard way that barrister was the British term for a lawyer who tried cases in court while a solicitor provided legal counsel to clients. Even so, she experienced an internal cringe saying the word. It still sounded like someone she would be arresting in New York for indecent acts.
Josh swiped his hand over his eyes again but this time she knew they were tears of relief. She wanted to caution him not to be too hopeful just yet, but she was going to fight damn hard to see that justice prevailed.
Bex Wynter Box Set Page 17
