Bex Wynter Box Set

by Elleby Harper

  “Bleeding bitch! You almost blinded me.” His next kick struck her hip bone.

  Biting back a groan, she twisted her body tighter to hide the phone clutched in her hand.

  Bald-headed and thickset, the man stood between her and the door, the light from behind blanking his features. He cursed her as he swiped feverishly at his eyes with his free hand. She guessed his vision was impaired and his eyes must be stinging, but he still managed to point the gun in her direction. “The boss said you’d be here. You’re bleeding lucky you’re too good looking to end up like the bozos in the cupboard.”

  Blindly her fingers probed and swiped over her phone’s screen, while she kept her eyes glued to the man in front of her, providing no hint to her activity. Maybe she could contact someone who would help. She began talking loudly to cover the sounds of the connecting call.

  “Are you a teacher at Fairbridge House College? I’m DCI Rebecca Wynter and I’m warning you to put your weapon away. If you cooperate with the law then things might go easier with you.”

  He gave several grunts of laughter.

  “Who are you? What do you want? Did you kill Ron Thompson? What for? What are you after?” Bex fired questions at him, knowing he wouldn’t provide answers, hoping only to alert the listener at the other end of the line to the danger she was in.

  The man grunted. “Shut up! There’s nothing I’d love to do more than shove my fist into a mouthy bitch like you.” Leering, he leaned over her and she got a closer look at his swollen, red eyes as they noticed her hidden phone.

  Before she could retract it, he stomped down. Bex screamed. He lifted his booted foot and she ripped her hand away as he smashed his heel down again, shattering the phone. Two more stomps and it was in pieces. He was breathing noisily as he belted her across the face hard enough to shove her backwards. She struck the cadavers and they toppled against her like two stiff, store mannequins. She grappled herself free.

  Red eyes pulled out his phone and dialed. His eyes were cemented to hers as he spoke into it. “Yep. Same one. Dumb cow’s already identified herself as a pig. What do you want me to do with her?” There was a pause as he listened. “Alive? Are you sure?” Another pause. “Alright, alright. Yes I can handle her. I get it. No major damage to the goods.” He said the last words glaring at Bex. Still holding the gun steady on her, he pulled a hypodermic needle from his pocket.

  Chapter 23

  Unmarked police car, in transit

  “What’s next on the agenda? Tracking down Lenny’s bookie?” Reuben asked Quinn as they took the rickety elevator downstairs and headed to the unmarked police car.

  “That’s your job, Reuben. Plus I want all the background you can dig up on the shipping company that uses those containers. What I have to do next is drop in to see Eli.”

  Quinn’s phone chirruped and he let Reuben take the wheel to drive back to New Scotland Yard, while he accepted the call. He couldn’t ignore Dresden forever.

  “Sorry, Ma’am, I couldn’t take your call earlier because I was in the process of interviewing a witness,” Quinn said smoothly. “How is the conference going?”

  “Are you having a laugh at my expense, Standing? Because I told you very clearly that I didn’t want any negative media attention focused on this case.”

  “Certainly not, Ma’am. Believe me no one at this end is laughing.”

  “Then you’ve made a balls-up of it, Standing. I’ve been left here in Birmingham with egg on my face. Commissioner Durch took great delight in replaying Trending News’ interview with Detective Sergeant Elijah Morgan that managed to get broadcast over national TV. How could you let him run his mouth off to that poxy doxy Aislinn Scully?!” Dresden’s normally implacable tone rose to an irate squawk.

  “Is that right, Ma’am?” Quinn made his voice politely disinterested.

  “Don’t provoke me, Standing! I want you to ensure that Morgan is stood down from any official duties. Now, read him the riot act because an officer with his years of experience in the job should know better than to be talking with reporters!”

  “To be fair, Ma’am, he is under considerable stress,” Quinn interrupted.

  “That’s the job he signed up for!” she barked. “He allowed that reporter to provoke him into conduct unbecoming a police officer. If this gets pushed further he’ll be facing disciplinary action and possible dismissal.”

  “In his defense, he is off duty.”

  “You, better than anyone, Standing, should know that being off duty is no excuse for a police officer. Once you’re sworn in you’re never off duty again. You’d better make sure everyone on the team remembers that.” Dresden ended the call with those blistering words.

  “Couldn’t help overhearing,” Reuben ventured. “Dresden sounds a little miffed.”

  “Yeah, the joys of having two female bosses,” Quinn quipped. “It’s like living in PMS city every day with never any let up on the sniping.”

  Reuben pulled the car up in front of the New Scotland Yard sign. “Anything I can do?”

  “Just do your job, Reuben.” Quinn slid over into the driver’s seat. Blending with the traffic, he headed straight to Bromley.

  Eli’s house was one of a number of almost exact duplicates: fake Tudor facade with two bay windows on the ground floor and two sash windows above, a high pitched roof sloping down to a shallow portico giving access to the front door from a side driveway. Several cars were parked on the cemented front verge.

  As he hopped out, he caught a movement at the front door. By the time he’d locked the car, Eli was headed along the path to one of the parked cars. Quinn stepped in front of him.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need to know what’s going on, Quinn! I spoke to Reuben on the phone and he won’t spit shit.”

  Quinn shot a hasty look around the neighborhood. Now that Eli had been targeted by the media, he was going to be an easy mark.

  “Let’s go inside and discuss this.”

  “Have you got news?” A hopeful gleam sprang into Eli’s eyes, causing Quinn to flinch as he was forced to shake his head.

  “Then I take it you’re here because you’ve seen the footage already? The vultures didn’t waste any time getting it to air. I didn’t expect to get fired until later this afternoon.”

  Eli’s mouth closed in a jagged line of pain. His hair was disheveled, standing on end. His jawline was stark under the stubble outlining his chin. The sunken cheeks emphasized the boney hollows under his eyes.

  Throwing another uneasy glance around the street, Quinn tugged on Eli’s arm. “Can I just come in, Eli?”

  “Why not? It’s like King’s Cross Station in here.”

  The noise of a dozen people enveloped them as they stepped into the narrow hallway. The sound was a river of low murmurs coming from the living room visible from the hallway. Quinn saw someone handing round a tray filled with mugs of tea and sandwiches.

  “Sydney’s turned the place into an impromptu haven for all the bus parents. They drop in here to commiserate with each other, try to pump me for information that I don’t have, and generally rally round each other to keep our spirits up. But, you know, with every hour that passes the odds of recovering our girls fades. Eventually it’ll be non-existent.”

  “It’s been twenty-four hours, Eli. We still have time.”

  He glanced across the hallway to where a petite woman in a cotton dress watched them intently through haunted eyes. Quinn had never met Eli’s wife, but he guessed he was looking at Sydney Morgan. A brief lick of mascara had run at the corners of her eyes, giving them a strangely exotic cast in the shaft of light that flooded through the front window. She was poised like a deer in the cross hairs, hope written across her face.

  Eli followed Quinn’s gaze. His lips tightened with despair as he gave a brief shake in the woman’s direction. Her shoulders slumped and she turned her head as though she couldn’t bear to look at either of them.

  Chapter 24

  Eli
Morgan’s home, Bromley

  Eli ushered Quinn through the house to a room that looked like a combined study and spare bedroom. He moved some clutter off a sofa that doubled as a foldout bed and invited Quinn to sit down with a brusque wave of his open palm.

  His eyes glassy with unshed tears, he launched an offensive attack on Quinn.

  “Before you lecture me about disciplinary action and wasting my twenty-five years on the force by getting myself kicked out of the Met, let me tell you that I don’t regret what I said on camera. I meant every word. If, no, when, I find the bastards that have kidnapped my girls I’m going to rip their balls off and string them up by their necks.”

  He watched Quinn avoid a large stain on one cushion, to ease himself onto the thin foam support. “I get it, Eli.”

  Eli sagged onto a facing office chair with a broken castor and turned despairing eyes towards him. “No you don’t, Quinn. You don’t have the foggiest what we’re going through,” he stated with quiet dignity.

  Raking a hand through his already tufted hair, he pointed to a glass frame on the edge of the desk. Two young girls stared out, one with a toothy grin covered in braces, her brown hair scraped back in a ponytail and the older one with a resigned expression, the desire to roll her eyes in exasperation written clearly over her features.

  “You’re not a parent, so you have absolutely no idea what it’s like to know your kids are out there at the mercy of God knows what monster. My sweet girls. They’re the joy of my life.” His voice rose as raw emotions took over. Fists balled, murderous intent seeped from every pore. “You can’t know how much I hate the bastards who have taken them!”

  At Quinn’s look of alarm, Eli dropped his eyes to his hands. White knuckled they fought each other as he struggled to control his rage.

  “It breaks my heart that I can’t reassure my girls, can’t tell them we’re doing everything we can to find them. They’re sitting some place, scared to death with no idea of what’s going to happen next. And that’s the good scenario. That’s if they’re still alive! I heard Phyllis Trenby’s voicemail from her daughter Gillian. That’s Imogen’s voice, I swear. No other kid on that bus has a parent who’s a cop. It was Imogen that some lowlife tosser threatened to kill!”

  Breathing hard, Eli let his head slump into his hands. His hunched shoulders shook with soundless sobs. He loathed feeling impotent. He was grateful for Quinn’s silence. After a few moments he raised his shattered, tear-streaked face. His Adam’s apple gulped several times underneath the whiskered expanse of skin.

  “Have you managed to get any sleep at all?” Quinn’s voice was concerned.

  “What do you think?” Eli growled.

  Quinn nodded. “Just where were you headed when I arrived?”

  Eli’s body squirmed as he avoided Quinn’s glance. His goal had been to lean on Lenny Dalton. Hard.

  “If you must know I was going to pay a visit to a few bookies in Lenny Dalton’s neck of the woods.”

  Quinn’s eyes speared him with disbelief. “You said Reuben gave you squat! Eli, you can’t be part of this investigation. Reuben must’ve told you we already interviewed Lenny Dalton and he’s shat his pants, so he won’t be opening the door to anyone else any time soon.”

  Eli met Quinn’s strictures with surly silence.

  “There are plenty of things you can do to contribute to finding the girls. Like talk to the parents. God knows there are enough of them and I’m finding it difficult to get the manpower to do everything that needs doing in the time we want.”

  “Do you think I haven’t already talked to every one of the parents involved?”

  Eli thrust a wad of gum into his mouth, his jaws moving rhythmically, almost ferociously. He was staring down the abyss of despair and platitudes from Quinn weren’t going to bring him back into line.

  “Eli, what did you learn talking to the parents? Perhaps there’s a clue we can latch onto.”

  Heaving a sigh, Eli pulled his thoughts into investigative mode.

  “During term times there are normally two buses transporting girls to and from school. But in fourth term the numbers drop drastically. Sixth form finish early. GSCE students leave after exams and that just leaves the younger kids still going till the last day.

  “Two girls who would normally go home on the bus were picked up by their parents yesterday because they were going on holiday, taking advantage of the early school closing: Olivia Renshaw, that’s Hannah’s best friend, and Justice Davids.

  “Several parents had made plans to be home when the bus arrived, while others arranged for their kids to be at a friend’s house because the school day ended earlier than usual. Some of the older ones were going to be home alone till parents returned from work.

  “Sydney took a half-day from the bank to be here when the girls arrived. So, whoever hijacked the bus, must’ve known the school’s closure time. No parent received a phone call or a message from their child yesterday on the bus apart from Phyllis Trenby and she sent the recording to you.

  “I spoke to the parents about the teachers as well, in case there was anything they’d noticed out of the ordinary. Two of the dads mentioned that Ben Watson, who teaches media studies, had a new car. They said it was the latest model BMW. Mark spoke to him about it and Ben said he’d come into a recent inheritance.

  “Ava Stidolph was dating someone who turned up at the school a couple of times to either pick her up or drop her off. Before anyone knew they were an item, he was seen waiting in the carpark and one of the mums thought he was taking rather too much interest in the girls. She was going to report him to Ms. Stidolph when she let slip that he was her ‘partner.’ Rather awkward for the mum.

  “It might be worth digging a bit deeper into the teachers’ backgrounds and find out about this chap Stidolph is seeing. Might be something there.”

  “You’ve made some good points, Eli.”

  “Let me check into the teachers, Quinn,” Eli begged. “I’ll just do background checks, maybe bank details. See if anyone’s getting a pay off that can’t be explained. I won’t talk directly to any of the staff.”

  He dropped his forehead into his hands, gouging the palms against his eye sockets. He spoke in a muffled moan. “They’re my girls, Quinn. Soddit, Hannah’s only twelve years old! Remember the Rochdale case? Forty-seven girls used and abused by sex gangs!”

  “Different MO, Eli. Those were vulnerable teens from deprived backgrounds. All individually groomed.”

  “So?” Eli spat the word out, his eyes glaring. “Perhaps this gang has gone upmarket to target innocent, middle class girls. My girls could be trafficked right now, working in some sleazy brothel, servicing a dozen men a day!” His voice broke on a desperate note.

  Quinn reached out a reassuring hand but Eli shook it off.

  “Keep it together, Eli. Everyone outside the door will hear you. The last thing you want is to upset Sydney and the other parents unnecessarily.”

  Eli’s face scrunched into a scowl. His eyes circled the room restlessly. “Everyone’s thinking exactly what I’ve said, but no one wants to talk about it. You can’t stop me, Quinn. I have things to do.”

  Before he could launch himself out of the chair, Quinn’s hand clamped down roughly on his shoulder, holding him in place.

  “Ease up, Eli. You can’t go out questioning people on your own.”

  His jaws tensing and relaxing as he chewed his gum, Eli returned Quinn’s stare with stony determination, refusing to back down. Quinn’s brows furrowed. His expression was troubled. Eli could read the consternation in his eyes as he wondered how much of a ticking time bomb Eli was. He was sure all Quinn really cared about was that Eli wasn’t going to be a loose cannon likely to fire his own career aspirations up in smoke, taking the entire team with him.

  Quinn was right to be worried, Eli realized, because he really didn’t give a rat’s arse about the consequences if it meant he could destroy the men holding his daughters.

  Chapter 25r />
  Unmarked police car, in transit

  “Where’s your car?” Eli asked as Quinn unlocked the unmarked police car.

  Quinn had decided that the safest way to keep an eye on Eli was to have him close at hand.

  “Left it at the Yard.”

  Since he’d split with Isla a few weeks ago, Quinn hadn’t had the heart to put down roots anywhere. Instead, the trunk and back seat of his car were filled with his portable belongings as he couch-surfed between mates. Most often he ended the night bunking in the gym run by his mate Tony. It was handy because he could take out any aggression he had built up during the day on a partner as they trained in Brazilian jiu-jitsu or against the punching bags.

  Quinn’s phone buzzed. He recognized Isla’s number.

  “You drive,” he told Eli, slipping into the passenger seat.

  “Sainsbury’s,” he answered the call, buckling his seat belt with one hand. “New arrivals in store this week include our premium collection of women’s knitwear. What size suits, Madam?”

  “Cut the comedy, Quinn. I saw the coverage on Eli Morgan. I know he’s one of your team members. Please don’t tell me you’ve taken on another high-profile case?” Isla’s voice had the fluid grace of an expensive instrument. He was amazed at how easily her silken timbre pierced his heart. He must be more highly strung than he realized, or else his emotions were already rocked after the emotional whirligig he had just been through with Eli, he thought. Either way, letting Isla inside his guard was a dangerous road. The woman knew too well how to manipulate his passions. The caressing tone of her voice alone was enough to conjure images of luscious curves and tight satin Teddies. His safest course was to remain flippant.

  “Certainly not, Madam. As usual, our privacy policy prevents me from sharing sizes of our personnel. You know how sensitive we men can be when we’ve put on a few pounds around the waist.”

  “I’m serious, Quinn. This case has the potential to go pear-shaped very quickly. You’re still acting head of the Youth Crimes Team, aren’t you? Remember the Rochdale case? The police were crucified for failing to investigate properly. This could be the nail in the coffin of your career.”