Bex Wynter Box Set

by Elleby Harper

  “Ms. Mitchell, we’re having trouble locating your ex-husband, Liam Mitchell. Could you please call me back. You may have other personal details that will help us track him down, such as a photo.”

  After she left her message, she returned to her office to grab her coat. She could call in at the Met’s forensic services unit on her way to claim the replica weapons, she decided. She had some questions that she hoped they could answer.

  * * *

  Bex forced out a smile to disarm Ellyse Watkins’s snake-like head weaving used to emphasize her rejection.

  “Really, you should have called ahead, DCI Wynter,” she reproved, with an impersonal stare at Bex. “I can’t drop everything to go over a forensic report that’s more than a year old.”

  Ellyse Watkins was listed as the Laboratory Assistant Forensic Practitioner who had conducted the requested tests in the Carrolls’ murder.

  “Besides, wasn’t it an open and shut case? The evidence supported the confessed murderer.”

  Bex’s smile widened as Ellyse disclosed she did remember the case.

  “That’s the thing. We’re reopening the investigation. We don’t want to send the wrong person to jail, after all, do we?”

  Ellyse’s face betrayed concern. Nobody wanted to be caught up in finger-pointing as to blame if wrong-doing was being proved. No one wanted to be the fall guy if civil suits were going to be leveled over wrongful arrests and imprisonments. Ellyse’s gloved fingers played with the mask bunched around her neck. She had dislodged it when she exited her lab to talk to Bex.

  “I just have a couple of questions to clarify. It will only take a few minutes of your time,” Bex urged.

  “I’ll need more time to get the exhibits. They’re in storage,” Ellyse hedged.

  “But you do have digital access to the photos and reports that you can pull up on your computer, don’t you?”

  With an annoyed toss of her head, Ellyse turned abruptly and Bex followed her blue-smocked form inside a room filled with stainless steel and state of the art equipment. Two blue-gowned and masked individuals sat at one end, hunched over microscopes and testing equipment. Ellyse led Bex to a back wall where a bank of computers rested.

  Stripping off her latex gloves, Ellyse tapped with angry precision at the keyboard. Before long, a series of photos streamed into view.

  “Well?” Ellyse snapped the word icily, not even looking in Bex’s direction.

  “The report says that the footprints identified belonged to Harley Carroll, his father Keith Carroll and his mother Andrea Carroll. Four other sets of prints were matched with the Holbrook family who found the bodies. Were there any other foot prints?”

  Ellyse consulted some notes.

  “Some partial prints were taken near the door that had no traces of blood. They were never identified.” She threw a defensive look in Bex’s direction.

  “Male or female?”

  “Male. Actually it’s quite a distinctive print mark.”

  “Can you tell the size?”

  Ellyse keyed several strokes. “I’m running the footprints now. Results should come through in about an hour.”

  “My other question involves the amount of latex at the scene. There were dozens of condoms so I wondered if Andrea Carroll was holding a piece of one of the condoms on the scene?”

  “I did a comparison with the condom on the penis and there was no match.”

  “I know. I read the report. Does the latex in her hand relate to any of the other condoms?”

  Ellyse blew a little puff of air from between pursed lips. “I’ll have to pull up the original analysis report.”

  She tapped busily for a moment.

  “Alright, here it is. The analysis shows the latex between her fingers was a synthetic rubber, whereas all the condoms on the scene were composed of natural latex. The latex between her fingers matches no other evidence pulled from the scene.”

  Bex closed her eyes. It was a small point, and it was impossible to know if it had any significance. The officers involved in the original investigation should have followed through, but it seemed their attention had been focused on Harley. Crime was like fishing, it was a game of patience and perseverance. Not everyone had the right temperament.

  “So if it didn’t come from the scene, what type of item could it have come from?”

  Ellyse’s complexion paled. “No one asked me to–”

  “I know,” Bex cut off her excuses. “But now we’re here, could you fill me in on the type of object she might have grabbed just before she was killed?”

  Ellyse’s body was fairly vibrating with tension. “Any number of items can be made from rubber. Balloons. Balls. Swim caps. Stethoscope tubing. Gloves. Raincoats. Hot water bottles. Carpet underlay.”

  Ellyse fired off the everyday objects so rapidly Bex found difficulty registering them all, but the conclusion was the same: Andrea could have been holding anything. The question was, where was the rest of it? Was it something that Harley had grabbed from her or vice versa? And if so had he disposed of it at the same time he got rid of the clothes he was wearing?

  “Is that all?”

  “Thank you, Ellyse.”

  “Has it helped?”

  “I’m not sure. I need time and some room to think.”

  Chapter 29

  Wednesday 20 December

  The gun shop selling the replica weapons looked seedy and rundown. Bars crisscrossed the glass doorway and roll up shutters lodged at the top of the windows on either side, ready to fortress it at the end of the workday. The street it was on held a range of stores from a bakery and dry cleaners to a disreputable-looking pawnbrokers. Above the stores were accommodations for the store-owners. A group of scruffy boys loitered on the corner, practicing their menacing stares on her.

  Just as she pushed open the door, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a message from Helen Mitchell.

  Sorry I should have clarified. My ex-husband’s name isn’t Mitchell, that’s my maiden name which I’ve kept. His full name is William Downer, although I’ve always called him Liam for short. The only photo I have of him is a selfie Skylar took at their last Halloween together. Hope this info helps.

  Bex felt her stomach dip and had to lean back into the door. She could see how white her knuckles were on the fist clenched around her phone. The facts she thought she knew were already changing shape inside her mind. William Downer was Skylar Mitchell’s father! That was the motive they had been searching high and low for—Downer had been avenging his abused daughter! Harley had admitted that he’d given Downer a detailed account of Keith Carroll’s relationship with Skylar. Eli Morgan had lived through a similar situation only a few months ago and Bex knew first hand the damage that emotional turmoil could wreck on a father.

  “You need a hand?” the store clerk interrupted her train of thought.

  Bex pulled herself together. A few more minutes purchasing what she’d come for wasn’t going to make any difference to the case.

  “I put an order in online. Rebecca Wynter. I’ve come to bring in my ID and pick it up,” she answered, moving towards the counter.

  She flicked her eyes back to the phone in her hand to the photo Helen had sent through. She stared into William Downer’s laughing brown eyes. He was dressed in a skeleton outfit, holding a mask in one hand, his other arm wrapped around Skylar in an identical costume. She recalled Helen’s words: 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.

  Keith Carroll had been murdered on October 31. Had Downer chosen the date deliberately? Her pulse quickened and she took a closer look at the mask in his hand. It was made of rubber. Like the rubber in Andrea Carroll’s hand? Had Downer got Harley dressed in a Halloween costume because it was Skylar’s favorite time of year? Was that the reason that Harley’s clothes weren’t blood splattered because he’d changed into normal stre
et wear afterward? The costume could have been dumped anywhere and nobody would have paid any notice at that time of year, even if it had been covered in blood!

  The clerk placed a cardboard box filled with two replica pistols and a selection of small and large fake knives on the counter.

  “I’ve checked the items against your order and everything’s packed. I just need to see some ID.”

  Bex hauled her wallet out of her purse and flipped it open while the clerk made a note of the relevant details. Tucking the box under her arm, she made her way out of the store, dialing Quinn’s number before her feet hit the sidewalk. Briefly she explained what she had learned from Helen.

  “Now we have a motive to pin on Downer, his actions make more sense. What a sodding bastard to use a kid to do his dirty work for him!” Quinn growled. “Harley trusted his therapist with his darkest secrets and the scumbag turned it to his advantage by planting the idea for murder in his mind while he was under hypnosis.”

  “Quinn, I need you to arrange a search warrant for William Downer’s residence. Harley said he told Downer about Keith’s relationship with Skylar after he’d seen her photo in Downer’s rooms. The fact that Harley recognized her photo must have rung alarm bells for Downer as he began to uncover Keith’s child molesting tendencies. That’s probably when he started probing Harley for details and hatched the plot to plant the idea of murder in Harley’s head.”

  “I’ll get Eli and the rest of the lads onto the search warrant straight away while I visit Downer’s office for a quiet word.”

  “No, Quinn! I want to have any evidence from the search on hand before we make a move.”

  “Bloody hell, Wynter, what are you waiting for? We have enough to charge him with conspiracy to commit murder. If we wait, he’ll scarper. He’s proved he’s a cowardly bastard who doesn’t want to get his own hands dirty. I’m going to hold him to account for exploiting that poor neglected kid the way he did! If you’re so worried, come with me!”

  Bex chewed her lip. Was this Quinn’s idea of being a team player? She had a feeling that if she didn’t agree Quinn would take matters into his own hands. In a state of anger and a search for justice, how far would Quinn go? She remembered Isla once telling her that Vincent Titus was convinced one day Quinn would cut one corner too many in his quest to get results. That was a path that was going to lead him to dismissal and possible prosecution. That was one way to get rid of Quinn, but she wasn’t ready to risk the team’s reputation to see him on the wrong side of the law.

  “Okay, Quinn, we’ll go together.”

  “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you in Downer’s office.”

  The line went dead in her ear.

  Looking down at the blank screen in her hand she swore under her breath. Was today the day Quinn was going to snap and take justice into his own hands?

  Juggling her package, she opened the car door and slid behind the wheel.

  Chapter 30

  Wednesday 20 December

  Quinn stormed through the lobby of the Mental Wellness Clinic.

  “You can’t go in there! Dr. Downer’s with a patient.” The blonde with the messy topknot valiantly stood her ground.

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse if he’s got the bloody queen with him.” Quinn flashed his warrant card.

  The reception room was bursting at the seams. All the nut jobs needing reassurance before facing Christmas, Quinn thought churlishly. He didn’t give a damn if they knew he was a police officer about to haul William Downer back to the station. As far as he was concerned, if his presence ruined Downer’s reputation that was a bonus.

  The receptionist moved away from her desk to block the corridor with her body, arms outstretched and eyelashes blinking in furious rhythm.

  “Step out of the way or I’ll arrest you for obstructing justice,” Quinn said, his voice a surly hiss. He flicked out his handcuffs to make his point and she reluctantly moved aside, watching as Quinn shouldered open the door.

  “I need to speak with you, Dr. Downer, so I suggest your patient leave the room.”

  “This is outrageous!” Downer thrust himself upright to face Quinn, knocking back his easy chair in his haste.

  A woman cowered in the leather sofa, her eyes soft around the edges with unshed tears. Quinn kicked the door closed on a sea of agog faces.

  “Why are you here?” The words came out of Downer’s mouth in a panicked rush.

  “I’ve come to give you a chance to confess to conspiring to entice Harley Carroll to murder Keith and Andrea Carroll. There’s nowhere left to hide, Dr. Downer. We know what Harley told you about your daughter’s relationship with Keith Carroll. You thought Harley would do time for the crime, but I’ve got news for you. If you’re convicted of conspiracy to murder you’ll get exactly the same sentence as Harley Carroll.”

  A look of pure terror broke out on Downer’s face.

  Quinn jerked his head at the woman shrinking back against the sofa cushions even as his fingers bunched into fists.

  “Miss, I suggest you leave because Dr. Downer and I are going to have a little chat.”

  Chapter 31

  Wednesday 20 December

  Bex put her phone on speaker as she forced Georgie’s dilapidated Honda through a series of strategic maneuvers to avoid the worst of the traffic on her way from Lambeth to Chelsea.

  “DCI Wynter, it’s Ellyse Watkins. I’ve got the results from that partial sole print by the doorway. It’s a V-shaped rubber tread, probably used as a combination tap sole. Which means the rubber was added to the forefront of a leather-soled shoe. There was no heel imprint but you can assume that was leather too. Essentially, it’s a way of making sure that a leather sole has a good grip. This particular imprint is from a dress shoe, size ten.”

  “A leather dress shoe?” That didn’t sound like the type of shoe that a sixteen year old would wear. “What size shoe do Harley and Keith Carroll wear?”

  “Size eleven and ten and a half respectively.”

  So the shoe prints belonged to another person who had visited the house.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Bex hung up the phone and concentrated on following the GPS instructions to the doctor’s office. She had only a few more blocks to drive. Stopped at a red light, she dialed Idris.

  “Have you got that search warrant yet?”

  “Reuben’s getting it signed as we speak. We’re meeting him at Downer’s residence.”

  “When you get there I want you to look for a Halloween mask, specifically a latex skeleton mask, possibly with a small piece torn from it. Downer and his daughter had a special connection over their Halloween costumes.”

  “You think he made Harley wear a mask while committing the murders?”

  “I have an idea he wanted to have some part of his daughter present while her molester was tormented and killed. But nothing that would be left behind to connect to him.”

  “We’re right on it,” Idris said.

  Georgie’s Honda roared into the underground parking lot and Bex bolted out of the car, taking the stairs two at a time to reach the third floor.

  A scream echoed through the clinic lobby. Bex had no doubt it came from Downer’s rooms. Anxiety pricked at her like the sting of a dozen wasps and her right hand clenched reflexively, searching for her weapon. She barely noticed the flustered receptionist as she forced her way through the milling crowd of uneasy patients.

  If she called for back up she wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on what was happening behind that closed door, and she couldn’t be certain that Quinn hadn’t taken the law into his own hands.

  Seeking out the receptionist, she asked quietly, “Is there another entrance to Downer’s rooms?”

  The woman bobbed her head. “Past the toilets and turn right. There’s a service corridor so the doctors can take toilet breaks without stepping into the lobby. Dr. Downer’s is the third door along.”

  “Everybody keep back!” Bex barked as people converged around her.
She grabbed the receptionist and put her in charge of herding the waiting patients towards the other end of the building. Then she hustled through the service corridor, ordering doctors to stick inside their rooms and keep their doors locked.

  Reaching Downer’s door, she placed her ear against the wood paneling. Hearing nothing but murmurs she took a risk and gently turned the handle to ease the door open a crack. She placed her eye to the chink.

  Both Quinn and Downer were side-on to her. Downer held a woman in front of him, the sharp edge of a letter opener digging into her soft, fleshy neck.

  Adrenaline flared through Bex and her pulse rate kicked up a notch.

  “I’m not going to prison!” Downer panted, his eyes bulging.

  “Take it easy, mate,” Quinn said, not moving, his eyes fixed on the psychiatrist. “You’re feeling desperate right now, mate, but don’t do something reckless that’ll ruin all your chances. Let’s just have a chat.”

  Quinn was using the tactic every English officer learned in training: use your mouth and the gift of the gab to de-escalate a dangerous situation. Every instinct in Bex screamed at her to pull her gun on an armed offender, but she didn’t have a weapon. Or did she?

  Carefully she inched the door closed and ran back to the exit sign. She hurtled down the stairs to the basement garage. Weaving quickly through the parked cars, she yanked open the passenger door of Georgie’s Honda. Ripping apart the cardboard box she pulled out one of the replica guns. Her fingers wrapped around the butt. It was a good imitation, weighty enough to feel real. As a weapon it was useless but Downer wouldn’t know that.

  She raced back upstairs and burst through the door.

  “Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head!” she barked, forcing Downer to turn from Quinn towards her.

  Holding the gun steady in both hands, her arms extended in front of her, she pointed the nozzle directly at Downer’s head. She watched his startled eyes take in her braced stance as he looked down the barrel of the gun. Beyond Downer she saw the absolute shock in Quinn’s face.