“What about Skylar’s father, did he have much to do with Skylar?”
“Liam?” The word came out with asperity. “Oh, he was a doting dad when he was around. It’s just that he wasn’t around that much. In our early years he was more concerned with getting his career off the ground than spending time at home. We separated when Skylar was nearly five. I’d had enough. If I was going to be a single mum I might as well be on my own.”
“How did Skylar get on with your ex-husband?” Bex asked.
“Liam’s not my ex-husband because we were never officially married. He and Skylar got on like a house on fire. As I said, Liam doted on her when they were together. Being a part-time dad suited him to the ground. He’d pick her up every other Friday night, they’d spend all day Saturday together and then he’d drop her back here on Sunday night. Perfect for him.” There was a touch of bitterness in her explanation. “I think they must have been like two kids together. Liam and Skylar had a tradition of doing trick or treating together every Halloween. They’d spend weeks working on their costumes, sticking things together, making masks. Skylar loved disguising herself. She could hide away behind her masks and fancy dress and no one need ever know about her lisp.”
“How did he take her death? I notice that only you are listed as Skylar’s next of kin.”
“He fell apart. Stopped working. Blamed himself. I couldn’t deal with him. I had my own grief and my own family to look after.”
“We’ll need to talk to him as well. Do you have his contact details?” Reuben asked.
“I’m not sure. As I said, I couldn’t deal with Liam’s dramatics and without Skylar we had no need to keep in touch. I have no idea if he’s still at the same address or has the same phone number.”
“We’ll take whatever details you have, Helen,” Reuben said, handing her a business card. “Send them through when you have a chance. Is there a photo of Skylar we could have?”
“Of course.”
“How did Skylar get on with your present husband?” Bex asked.
“Ted? Oh, just fine. They’d squabble occasionally. Skylar tended to leave her belongings in a trail from the living room to her bedroom and that annoyed Ted. I wouldn’t say they were overly close, but they certainly tolerated each other. That’s why her actions that day when she kissed him were such a shock.”
“Thank you for your time, Helen.”
Bex and Reuben rose.
“Is that it?” Helen rose uncertainly. “What happens next?”
“If there are any further developments, we’ll be in touch,” Reuben said.
* * *
“Wish Helen Mitchell had offered us a hot cup of cocoa,” Reuben groused as they headed for the car. He rubbed his hands together.
“That’s what you get for preferring style over substance,” Bex said, smug in her down-filled coat. “What did you make of Skylar Mitchell’s involvement with Kids Commando?”
“Sounded excessive. Even obsessive.”
“I thought so too. I have a feeling she was obsessed with someone in the club and there was something sexual going on. The type of behavior she exhibited in kissing her step-father in a sexual way out of the blue could have been a ploy to arc up her mother, but it could have been Skylar trying out some sexual moves she’d recently experienced. I’m also wondering if she was testing the appropriate boundaries which might mean she was confused about someone crossing those boundaries with her.”
“Are you thinking specifically of Keith Carroll?”
“I think you need to check back with Kids Commando and see exactly which groups Skylar was in. Was Harley part of those groups? Was Keith a leader? The time frame would have been just before Keith was forced out of his leadership role, so it’s quite possible he had dealings with Skylar.”
Reuben’s eyes widened.
“You think Keith may have touched Skylar inappropriately?”
Bex’s lips thinned. “I think there was more than touching going on for Skylar to throw herself in front of a train. When you talk to Kids Commando again, ask them if it’s usual to hold ‘extracurricular’ activities. We can’t draw any conclusions until we have the evidence, but my gut tells me that something happened to Skylar there.”
Chapter 22
Saturday 16 December
Faint rustling sounds tickled her ears. She heard the gentle sigh of quiet breathing. Yet nobody should be in her room!
That thought brought Bex to instant awareness, her heart rate kicking up a notch with adrenaline. She stilled the urge to leap out of bed, controlled her breathing and kept her eyes closed as she simulated the sleep that had now vanished. Was an intruder watching her while she lay in bed? The sinister thought sent a heated rash crawling over her skin.
She hadn’t heard anyone break into her room. There had been no sounds of broken glass or someone jimmying the locked door. Instead, what had woken her was this eerie sense of another presence in her tiny studio apartment.
Under the pretense of rolling over in her sleep, she slipped a hand under her pillow. In her days in New York, straight after Zane’s death, she had taken to sleeping with her Glock in the bed. Under her hand was nothing but cool linen. Here in London she was without her firearm. Frustrated, she cracked open an eyelid.
Pale, pre-dawn light splintered through curtains closed over the floor to ceiling windows in her studio apartment. Her bed was hidden behind a nib wall separating the living area from her sleeping space. The door to her ensuite bathroom was closed but light filtered around the edges. Someone was in her bathroom!
Throwing back the bedcovers, she tugged the lamp free from its socket and, gripping it tightly, lunged out of bed. Before she reached the bathroom, the door opened.
“Stop right there! I’m armed!” she bluffed to the emerging silhouette
A startled scream rent the air.
“Rebecca Joy Kirwan! You scared the life out of me!”
“Mom?”
“Don’t sound so dumbfounded, Bex. It’s not unheard of for a mother to visit her daughter, especially at a time like this.”
Bex winced. “At a time like this” meant Monday’s anniversary of Zane’s death.
“And it’s not Kirwan, it’s Wynter, mom, Wynter. And most mothers don’t just drop in on their daughters when it involves a seven-hour flight across the Atlantic! Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Sorry, darling, you startled me and your name was reflexive. You’ve been Kirwan longer than you’ve been Wynter, after all. Can I have a hug?”
She opened her arms and Bex was enveloped in her heady scent and comforting warmth. For a moment she let her head drop onto her mother’s shoulder and sniffled back a tear. Maybe having her mother’s company while she navigated this milestone wasn’t such a bad idea.
“Don’t be angry with me for invading your privacy, Bex. I decided at the last moment that you shouldn’t be alone on the eighteenth, but I wasn’t sure I could get a flight, so I didn’t want to say anything. It all happened so quickly, I thought I’d surprise you. Now, let’s open these curtains and get some light in here.”
At five foot eight, Ruth Kirwan was as tall as her daughter, just curvier around the hips and bust. Although only in her mid-fifties, Ruth wore her shoulder length hair in becoming tones of ash blond and gray. She moved with easy grace towards the window to fling aside the drapes while Bex returned the lamp to its original position.
“How did you break into my room?”
“Don’t be annoyed, Bex. Your landlady, Georgie, is it? Delightful woman. I just adore her accent! She let me in with her key.”
Bex scowled at her mother.
“No, I said don’t be annoyed, Bex. At least not with Georgie. I used my persuasive powers on her. Now, let me take a look at you.”
Bex was dressed in her usual night attire of one of Zane’s T-shirts that clung shapelessly to her, ending mid-thigh. Self-consciously she combed a hand through her messed hair to tame it into smoothness.
/> “It’s still so hard to get used to your new look,” Ruth mused. “But I actually think it suits you.”
Bex’s hair had hung to her waist for years. Zane would plunge his hands into its thickness, wrapping strands around his wrists to claim he was tied to her for life. She had hacked it off to the nape of her neck after the car accident because it had been too poignant a reminder of her life with Zane.
“What time is it?” Bex abruptly changed subject. She had no desire to rake up old ghosts.
“It’s ten after eight. Luckily Georgie is an early riser. I thought I could get directly to your little apartment but I had to go through Georgie’s front door.”
When Bex first arrived in London, Reuben had introduced her to his mother. Georgie Richards ran a bed and breakfast premises in Ealing and Bex stayed there for her first few weeks in London while she looked for a suitable rental. Given London’s volatile real estate market that proved a hard proposition until Georgie volunteered to rent her the artist’s studio that was attached to her Georgian house. It was tiny, it was cheap and it was furnished with Georgie’s cast offs. Plus it was close to the Tube for work, close to a gym and Georgie let Bex borrow her aging Honda when she needed it. Altogether it was perfect.
“I need a shower and a coffee. After that I’ll feel alive enough to have a proper conversation,” Bex excused herself.
When Bex emerged fifteen minutes later, dressed in track pants and a fleeced hoodie, her mother greeted her with a frown.
“Put something decent on, Bex, I’m taking you out for breakfast. The food on the plane was abysmal. Tell me, who’s Jo? Is that female or male?”
“What?”
“This text invitation to a Christmas party on your phone.”
Bex had forgotten about the invitation. She had meant to come up with a good excuse for not attending.
“Please stop reading my phone messages. There are a lot of work messages on there relating to my cases and they’re confidential,” Bex said through gritted teeth, reminding herself that this was one of the reasons she had escaped across the Atlantic.
Ignoring Bex’s clenched jaw, Ruth’s smile widened. “Oh, fiddlesticks! I’m a paralegal, do you think I don’t know how to be discreet? Or that I don’t deal with confidential material every day of the week? I’d never have kept my job if I blabbed people’s secrets. Now, chop chop. Put on a nice pair of pants and a decent shirt. Georgie says there are a number of ‘smashing’ restaurants just down the road. I’m looking forward to having a long chat.”
Still seething, Bex ransacked her closet for an ironed shirt that didn’t exist and was forced to settle on a sweater and a clean pair of jeans instead.
“How long are you staying, Mom? You can see there’s barely room to swing a cat in here.” She indicated the living area with a wave of her hand.
“Don’t worry about me invading your space because I’ve already spoken to Georgie about renting one of her other gorgeous rooms.”
“Mom, I’m in the middle of a case. I can’t take time off work to go sightseeing,” Bex blurted desperately, amidst visions of her mother settling in for a long stay.
“I’m not here for sightseeing Bex. Can’t a mother worry about her daughter? I know you’re twenty-seven and well and truly grown up, but you’ll always be my little girl. I’m here to remind you that you’ve still got plenty of life to live.”
* * *
Bex kept her mother out of the house all day. With Christmas a week away, London was festive with lights, carols and Christmas markets. They spent several hours hovering around the Winter Wonderland markets in Hyde Park. Ruth ooed and ahhed over the quaint wooden cabins, stunningly decorated and overflowing with handmade crafts, delicious foodstuffs or glittering pieces of jewelry.
After visiting the Natural History Museum, they stood on the sidelines watching the skaters at the open air ice rink against a backdrop of trees dripping fairy lights and a majestic Christmas tree in the middle of the ice. Bex had to dissuade Ruth from taking part, terrified she would sprain an ankle or break a bone and be forced to stay in London longer.
Ruth bought them tickets for an afternoon tea bus tour, sitting upstairs on the double decker bus, a stiff breeze freezing their faces. Ruth said Bex needed some fattening up and plied her with light-as-air scones stuffed with strawberry jelly and cream and crustless, triangular cucumber sandwiches.
They hopped off to take a stroll along the Thames, soaking in the brilliant hues of the sunset against Tower Bridge before locating a restaurant for dinner.
“I know it’s still early in the evening, but I’m exhausted, Bex. All I want to do is get back to Georgie’s and crawl into bed!” Ruth exclaimed, placing her knife and fork across her plate.
Good, thought Bex. If her mother was asleep she wouldn’t be talking with Georgie! Being Reuben’s mother, Bex was terrified anything Ruth told Georgie would find it’s way back to Reuben’s ear.
“When’s your flight home?”
Ruth sipped her coffee.
“My flight departs Tuesday morning. I don’t want to leave your father alone for Christmas. Now you sound like you can’t wait to get rid of me.”
Ruth’s voice was strained and Bex felt her stomach twist. The last thing she wanted was to hurt her parents. She had always been their go-to daughter, making up for her errant older brother who had gone off the rails and disappeared from their lives years ago.
She decided she was going to have to be honest and make a clean confession.
“Mom, please don’t say anything to Georgie about Zane’s death.”
Ruth shot her a shrewd look. “Why not?”
“Listen, you know I came to London for a clean slate. I don’t want everyone knowing about Zane and the car crash.”
Ruth looked shocked. She demanded, “Rebecca Joy, you’ve been in London since July, are you telling me you haven’t mentioned Zane to anyone here?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Mom. So I don’t want you spilling the beans about my personal life.”
Bex fought the urge to squirm like a microscoped bug as Ruth examined her over the rim of her china cup.
“Bex, please don’t let Zane’s death define you as a person.”
Bex let her breath out in an exasperated sigh. She had gulped her own coffee several minutes ago and now wished she had ordered a stronger nightcap.
“Don’t you get it, Mom, that’s exactly why I left New York. While I was living there, Zane’s death did define me. Everyone knew me as ‘that tragic Bex Wynter, so young to be a widow’. They handled me like a fragile glass vase that might shatter if they spoke to me in normal tones. Being away from all that here in London, people don’t see me as some sort of wretched figure who needs to be coddled through life. If you start telling people, they’ll look at me differently! You’re right, I don’t want to be defined by Zane’s death.”
“Bex, I only want to help.” Ruth’s cup clattered into the saucer as her hand reached across the table for her daughter’s.
“I know, Mom, and I love you for it.” Bex let her own hand squeeze her mother’s for reassurance. “But the best way to do that is to trust me to get on with my life. Am I still grieving? Yes. Will Zane’s anniversary hit me hard? Yes, but I can handle it.”
“And have you given up those conspiracy theories about the crash?”
Bex’s lips pressed together in a tight line. She knew her mother was referring to her insistence when she was hospitalized that she had seen oncoming headlights that forced the car Zane was driving to swerve off the road. The paramedics said it didn’t matter because Zane had died of a heart attack at the steering wheel and the verdict had come back as accidental death.
She had pushed her doubts up the chain to her precinct captain who had listened sympathetically but very firmly closed the door on any investigation into an open and shut case. No one would listen to her, there was no evidence to support her claims and even her counseling sessions threw doubt on what she had seen and whe
ther her memory of the event was reliable.
She fought down the clawing tension in her gut to keep her voice even so as not to alarm her mother. “I’m not in New York forcing the issue to the forefront, am I?”
“Good. I’m glad. Walt was worried you were still harboring suspicions you want the police to investigate.”
“Everyone at the precinct made it very clear they thought my suspicions were the ravings of a crazy woman,” Bex said bitterly.
“You were only crazy with grief, Darling. Survivor’s guilt is a terrible thing. But there was nothing you could do to save Zane. It’s a miracle you came out of the accident relatively unscathed. I know Monday’s going to be a tough day, bringing back your memories. Trust me, Bex, it will get easier with time.”
Bex turned her head away and twiddled with her napkin. “Will it? You don’t know what the pain is like. It’s unrelenting. I feel it here.” She thumped her chest. “And here.” She moved her hand to her head. “My whole body misses him with a vengeance. Are you saying I’m only permitted a certain amount of time to grieve? That once that’s expended I’ll just move on with my life? I don’t think it works like that, Mom.”
“Everybody takes their own amount of time to get over grief. One day you will want to start living again.”
Her heart was so weary, so filled with emptiness, she couldn’t even imagine her mother’s prophecy coming true.
“Can we drop the topic?”
“Of course.” Ruth picked up the check and placed her credit card in the folder. “I’d like you to promise that you’ll come back to New York for a visit some time next year. Your dad misses you, even though he’d rather have his tongue cut out before he told you. Will you promise, Bex?”
Bex felt her shoulders stiffen.
“Just for a vacation,” Ruth wheedled.
“Of course, Mom. I’ll come back to New York for a vacation next year.”
Chapter 23
Monday 18 December
Bex Wynter Box Set Page 43
