Bex Wynter Box Set

by Elleby Harper

  Bex managed a cheery smile for Georgie, who graciously insisted that Bex take her car for the day. Having made her excuses to abandon the Richards’ family gathering, Bex had no option but to skulk back to Bridesmead, the only other place she could call home in London.

  With the air frosty on her breath and the wind whipping around her legs she was glad to have on her thick leggings, tucked into a pair of combat-styled boots with heavy soles to keep out the cold and her long puffy coat that reached to her knees. She pulled a beanie over her head and ears, but really this winter was a doddle compared to what she was used to in New York.

  What was she going to do now? It would be awkward if she arrived back at Georgie’s too soon.

  At the end of Little King Lane, the Sail and Ale beckoned. She could kill a couple of hours in the local pub. She knew from her previous visit that they even had a roaring fire going. Blown by the wind, she shuffled down the street to enter the warm interior.

  Dark mahogany benches, worn smooth by the seated bottoms of many a drinker, were lightened by the flames licking the inside of a rough-hewn fireplace. It all added to the “old time” atmosphere that tourists expected from a British pub and the Sail and Ale didn’t disappoint. She had learnt from Eli that the Sail and Ale was considered a “freehouse” pub, which meant it wasn’t tied to a brewery so it served its patrons a range of beers.

  Unbuttoning her coat to soak in the warmth, she did a double take at seeing Idris seated in a corner booth on his own. Bloody hell! Why’s he here on a non-rostered work day? She was on the verge of backing out when he glanced up and snagged her eye.

  He raised a curious eyebrow in her direction. Steeling herself, she moved towards his table.

  “Idris! I didn’t expect to see you here on Christmas Eve.” She failed to keep the chagrin completely out of her voice.

  “I could say the same. Don’t you have anywhere better to be than work?”

  “Actually, I do. I have a party to go to. I was just going to grab a quick warm up drink before I head out.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look.

  “Truly!” She found she was defending herself. “Jo, one of the exchange detectives I met at the Police College, is giving an orphans’ party for all the lonely expatriates in London. We’re all going to have a jolly good time telling each other how the first six months have panned out for us,” she said in a bad imitation of an English accent.

  Bex had never gotten around to responding to Jo’s invitation. She still had no intention of going, but it was easier to offer Idris a truthful excuse.

  “Sounds like fun.”

  His words oozed a bite of sarcasm that she hadn’t expected. Bex eyed the half-filled mug on the table along with an empty packet of crisps.

  “Probably more fun than sitting here drinking on your own,” she observed, wondering if Idris’s thoughts were occupied with how Isla and Quinn were spending their Christmas.

  “Who said I was on my own?” Idris snapped.

  Bex’s face flamed. Of course, not everyone was alone like her! Other people had partners in their lives or at least spent time with people they cared about.

  “Just pulling your leg.” He chuckled at the sight of her face. He fiddled with a ten pound note sitting on the table as he admitted, “I’m not in the mood to hear my mother wax lyrical about my father’s generosity for Christmas. We don’t see eye to eye on a man who’s more comfortable showering his family with money than love. That’s why I’m in Bridesmead brooding on my own. I didn’t want to bump into anyone I know.”

  “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone,” Bex said stiffly.

  “Chill out, Boss. If anyone has a right to be defensive it’s me after all the digging you’ve done into exposing my personal life to your criticism.”

  “You’re right, Idris. I apologize. I should have kept my nose out of your affairs.” Bex bit her lip, recognizing that was a poor choice of words.

  He grinned at her embarrassment. “You don’t realize how often you crack the team up with what you say.”

  “Thanks for letting me know I’m good for a laugh!”

  “There you go, getting defensive again.”

  Idris sipped his beer. “Listen, no hard feelings. Why don’t you get a drink and pull up a pew for a few minutes before you have to go to your party.”

  Bex approached the bar and returned with a dry white wine. She couldn’t stand the English beers, too warm and frothy for her taste.

  “You should try a Guinness sometime.” Idris lifted his mug in her direction. “Cheers. Here’s to two lonely losers. Before you get your knickers in a knot, I’m just kidding, after all you’ve got a party to go to.”

  Idris passed the comments off as a joke, but the barb struck home. This was obviously how her team saw her. Lonely loser.

  That’s what she got for not letting anyone in London under her guard. Yes, she actually had a party to go to, but if she turned up alone she would still look like a loser.

  “Neither of us would be lonely losers if we went to the party together.”

  Idris took a moment to sip his Guiness before saying, “Are you asking me on a second date this month, Boss? I have to warn you I’ve given up on love for the time being.”

  “That makes two of us, Idris. But who needs love and romance when we’ve got such a warm and friendly team dynamic in the office.”

  Idris’s face cracked open in a broad smile. “Oh, that we have, Boss, that we have. The other lads and I have been taking bets on how you managed to brush that whopping great chip off Quinn’s shoulder. He’s still not exactly a barrel of laughs but being in the same space with him now is better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick. Care to enlighten me how you created this miracle? I might be in the running to take out the pot.”

  Idris’s pale eyes were crinkled with good humor. In contrast to Quinn, Idris was the strong, silent, dependable member of the team. Any job she gave him he knuckled down and completed without the arguments Quinn put forward or the excuses Eli sometimes offered or the humor Reuben often used to deflect work. She suspected that Idris was far more layered and complicated than her other team members.

  “I can’t give away my secrets, but come with me tonight and you’ll be the first to know Harley Carroll’s plans after his release.”

  After a long gap in the conversation, Idris broke. “What do you mean? I know the poor sod’s had a crappy life but I don’t suppose he’s got anything more than a foster home to look forward to once he’s released into the system.”

  Bex offered him a sphinx-like smile. She lifted her glass to her lips and sipped the last of the wine. Picking up her discarded gloves, beanie and purse, she rose from the table.

  “Guess away. I have a party to go to.”

  “Alright, Harley comes in a poor second to Quinn, but okay, I’ll bite. Just how long do I need to stay at this party?”

  “Just long enough to prove we’re not losers.”

  Idris stood and shrugged himself into a woolen overcoat over an open shirt and gray knitted sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him out of a suit.

  “Deal. Now spill the beans.”

  Idris guided her through the noisy throng gathered around the fireplace. Dusk lowered the temperature outside as they made their way along the narrow street towards the Bridesmead CID offices where Bex had parked Georgie’s car. Bex wrapped her scarf more securely around her neck.

  “Yesterday, Clementine Grais phoned me and said she and her partner had met with Harley and spoken to some authorities to grease the wheels to becoming his guardian until he’s eighteen. They’re happy to pay for the therapy he’s going to need to overcome his abuse issues. They’ve even arranged for him to spend a couple of hours with them for Christmas tomorrow.”

  Idris’s pale gray eyes regarded her thoughtfully.

  “You’ve got a heart on you, Boss. You really care about the teens we deal with, don’t you?”

&nbs
p; “I believe everyone deserves a chance, Idris. Most of the kids we deal with have never really had that. Harley’s finally going to have some support in his life.”

  “He’s still got a long hard road in front of him and he’ll carry a shit load of internal scars, but if he’s a survivor you’ve given him a chance.”

  Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk. She supposed she should offer some friendly banter, but words failed her. Idris’s comment echoed in her mind, reminding her she carried her own emotional scars. Even so, she had survived her first year without Zane. She knew her husband would’ve been proud of her.

  THE END

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  A Preview of Death for Sale

  Book 4

  British Crime with an American Twist series

  About this book

  Are some crimes beyond forgiveness?

  When DCI Bex Wynter answers a call meant for her boss, she’s swept up in the hunt for a serial killer. The trouble is, it’s not her case. But with a little girl’s life at risk, she just can’t let it go.

  With little information and even less evidence, can she convince DCI Cole Mackinley this really is a spate of grisly serial killings, not simply a child's nightmare? Or is Bex's intuition leading her on a wild goose chase?

  Then it becomes clear someone doesn’t want this case solved. With the threat of violence comes a tough decision: track down a ruthless killer or endanger someone close to her.

  If you like realistic crime fiction packed with suspense and filled with richly diverse characters, then you’ll love this page-turning mystery that will keep you glued till the end.

  Chapter 1

  It was a whisper of air that made Fairchild’s eyes pop open.

  She blinked several times.

  The utter blackness of the room was broken at one end by a pale slash of light where her bedroom door was ajar. Every evening her mother would shut the door. And every night Fairchild waited until she heard her mother’s footsteps fade before she snuck out of bed to open it, just wide enough to alleviate the sheer weight of darkness that cloaked the room.

  Her mother said darkness was good. It hid her from the evil that lurked in the world. A world so wicked her parents had to keep her in hiding, until she was old enough to face the world’s badness and conquer it, just like they were doing.

  There was no window in her room to let in the moonlight or the starlight. In fact there were no windows to the outside world anywhere in Fairchild’s home. When she had asked her mother why, her mother turned on the television. Fairchild watched images of one disaster after another where windows in tall buildings were shattered and windows in houses sprouted flame, accompanied by horrific screaming and the wailing of sirens.

  “Windows let in the evil. You’re too young to face that evil, Fairchild. Be patient. Learn what we have to teach you and then you’ll be ready when it’s your turn,” her mother explained.

  Fairchild sat up in bed wondering about the significance of the new air she could taste on her tongue. Could it mean a door had opened somewhere beyond the corridor outside her bedroom?

  Gripping a toy building block tightly in her hand, she slipped from under the soft, warm bedding. Her feet snuggled into her furry slippers. It was always chilly in her home. But when she moved forward she heard the shuffle of rubber soles on the hard floor and knew that she would be heard. She wasn’t allowed out of her room at night. Reluctantly, she removed the slippers. Instinctively her toes curled against the cold rising from the ground.

  Moving to the doorway, she turned her head right and left, searching for the source of new air. To the right, the corridor led to a wet area that accommodated their sanitary needs and a cavernous living area where a wide screen television played story after story of the horrors of the world. From hurricanes and earthquakes devastating cities to strangers invading homes to rape and murder. The television showed lesson after lesson that Fairchild must be vigilant against the outside world. A world where the police struggled, and failed, to tame the chaos.

  The corridor stretched away to the left, curving slightly. Her mother had told her that the walls in their home were curved to deflect bomb blasts in case they were ever attacked. Fairchild had followed the wall once, counting her steps carefully, until the dim overhead light from the flickering neon tubes had faded to pitch black and scared her into returning.

  A shiver of air tickled her cheek from that direction. Her fingers caressed the plastic brick. She enjoyed the feel of the raised bumps. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. She made the decision to turn left. One step. Two steps. She began counting.

  She moved swiftly on silent feet, crossing from light into darkness. A quiver shimmied down her spine and she paused, opening her eyes as wide as she could, but she couldn’t see what was hiding in the blackness. She strained her ears, listening, but she could hear no intruders with evil intent.

  The thin stream of air teased her forward, the steel-lined wall was cold to her touch as she groped her way onwards. In her head she counted out ninety-eight more steps before she turned another curved wall. The darkness was broken by a pencil thin strip of light edging a doorway like a huge letter L. She shifted her hand from the wall to the door, her fingers tracing the lighted edge to the ground. She could feel the wind like a breeze through the crack and enjoyed the play of it over her palm.

  A small rectangular card was wedged between the door and its jamb and was the cause of the door not shutting properly.

  Easing the door open, Fairchild picked up the card. A quick glance was all she needed to automatically record the string of numbers in her head. She barely noticed the accompanying headshot or the words. Carefully she replaced the card to its position as she stepped through a doorway that opened onto a lighted alcove, beyond which the corridor continued and was the source of the moving air.

  The hum of machinery was louder on this side. Normally she wasn’t aware of the air ventilation system filtering their breathing air.

  “It’s a necessity because our home is underground,” her mother had explained. She had bestowed a rare smile on her daughter. “Your father and I will pay any price to keep you pure for your future purpose, Fairchild. You are most precious to us.”

  A metal railing separated the alcove from the corridor and Fairchild peered over it. There was a round opening and steel rungs led downwards to a level below her feet. Sibilent sounds bled upwards. Fairchild cocked her head to listen. She was used to the sounds of her home, but these were new noises. People type noises.

  Her heart jerked and for a moment its beat was so loud in her ears it blocked out the sound of the machinery. Her hand clenched over the plastic block.

  That’s not possible, she told herself. Once her mother kissed her good night, she never saw her parents until she woke up. Her mother called that the morning. Her mother had told her that each day consisted of twenty-four hours. Fairchild liked knowing that the day could be broken into a mathematical concept. It was easier
to process than terms like “morning” or “night” which had no meaning in her artificial environment.

  Maybe the sounds she heard were from another television? But someone had opened the door into this area and dropped the card. Fairchild knew that mathematically the odds were in favor that a person was making those noises.

  She trembled, cold and fear mingling. Had someone broken into their home from the outside? Fairchild considered her choices: she could continue along the corridor, following the thread of air to its source; she could explore the sounds coming from below; or she could return to her bedroom.

  An edgy, anxious feeling filled her and her fingers scrambled frantically over the nubs on the block. One, continue. Two, go down. Three, return. One, continue. Two, go down. Three, return. One, continue. Two, go down. The studs ran out.

  Slipping the plastic block into her pajama pocket, Fairchild scampered lightly downwards, hands and feet grasping the rungs like a monkey. As her head cleared the opening she was able to take in the view. She paused, clinging to the metal rungs and the shadows that harbored her. The ladder led down into a space cluttered until it was an almost unnavigable canyon.

  Along one wall was a row of unmade bunk beds. No pillows or duvets. No blankets or sheets. Just stained and dirty mattresses flung onto metal frames. Climbing the opposite wall were cardboard boxes, metal chests, wire baskets and large plastic tubs with lids. It looked like a mountain of litter hoarded over years.

  Sufficient light bounced from wall lamps for her to see that the bunks were empty except for one on the bottom. The sight forced a shudder out of her.

  The lights cut across a young man’s abdomen, leaving his face in shadow. She could see ugly black stiches crisscrossing his hairless chest, which left him looking like he had been mangled by something with ferociously large teeth.

  Breath rasped from a chest that rose and fell with a regularity that proved he was still alive. His body heaved and the metallic bed frame rattled against the stone floor. Then he fell quiet.