Bex’s senses snapped to high alert.
“What makes you say that?”
“I saw my dad cut a boy’s heart out. And then he cut him into pieces.”
Bex fought to stifle her shocked gasp. If what Fairchild said was true, it certainly sounded as though she’d witnessed a murder. On the other hand she might have watched some particularly violent show on TV and simply had a nightmare. With children it was difficult to gauge just how much was truth and how much was gruesome imagination.
“Fairchild, where are your parents right now?”
“I don’t know. They’re fighting evil on the outside, I guess.”
Fairchild’s words made her parents sound like superheroes and Bex again wondered if the child simply had an overactive imagination.
“Do they know you’re calling me?”
“No. I tricked my mother into leaving her phone with me. But when she discovers it’s missing she’ll come back for it. Detective Superintendent Dresden, I think they might’ve killed more than one boy.”
Bex’s pulse raced.
“Why do you think that?”
“I also found some cards that belong to other people.”
“Do you know what type of cards?”
“They were different colored cards. Mainly blue and pink.”
“What kind of information did the cards have on them?”
“Numbers. I memorized a lot of the numbers. I think they might have also had names and pictures. I’m not so good with those. But I can tell you the numbers if you want.”
Bex’s skin prickled with goosebumps. Was the child telling her she’d found a cache of identity cards and driver’s licenses belonging to people who could have been killed?
“Okay, Fairchild, give me the numbers you remember.”
She rattled off strings of numbers and Bex jotted them down. Could an eight year old really remember that many numbers? A swift count of her list showed eleven sets of numbers.
“You did the right thing calling the police, Fairchild. Listen, in case you need it here’s my direct phone number.” Bex said the numbers slowly and clearly. “Can you remember that?”
“That’s easy,” Fairchild sniffed.
“Now, can you tell me where you live?” Bex’s concern was that Fairchild truly inhabited a house with a murderer. What would happen to her if her parents discovered she’d made this call?
“In a house with no wind — oh, I have to go.”
The line went dead.
Chapter 3
Thursday, March 1
Bex toyed with the pen on her desk, doodling around the numbers she had written down. The girl’s voice with its sweet childishness, haunted her.
I think my parents killed someone. I saw my dad cut his heart out. And then he cut him into pieces. I think they might’ve killed more than one.
Could the call be a prank by one of her team members? She recalled Reuben’s cheeky face. He might possibly think something like this was funny. Or could it be one of Cole Mackinley’s detectives hoping to get one up on the Youth Crimes Team by sending her off on a wild goose chase?
Yes, more than likely that was the answer.
No, the voice at the end of the line had been too sincere, too genuinely childish to be a prank!
Anxiety clutched her with a cold, hard grip. The only way she was going to put Fairchild’s words to rest was to check into it.
She opened a new tab on her computer and logged into the national police database. She tapped in the first number. It matched a driver’s license for James Holbrook, aged nineteen. Holbrook had an impressive rap sheet for a nineteen year old. He had numerous break and enter charges, one count of assault, and a charge of causing death by careless driving for knocking down and killing a pedestrian during a joy ride in a stolen car two years ago. Released on bail he had never returned to court. After two years he was still listed as a missing person.
Bex typed in the second number Fairchild had given her. It turned out to be a youth identity card for sixteen-year-old Mikayla Parkinson, reported as missing by her boyfriend, Caeron Meadows. There was a note in the report that the girl might be pregnant. Her rap sheet listed numerous charges for shoplifting plus an assault on a police officer at the time he was arresting her boyfriend for drug dealing. The officer had been stabbed in the back with a screwdriver, but luckily had survived. Mikayla had been missing since last September.
The third number belonged to Mehmet Sahnan, aged seventeen, under arrest for rape and deprivation of liberty. Sahnan had been sentenced to juvenile detention but had done a runner and was listed as currently missing. She remembered the case. It was an early one for the Youth Crimes Team and she had had to pull one of her officers, Quinn Standing, into line for leaning too hard on Sahnan.
Quickly she went through the other numbers in Fairchild’s list, her fingers flying over the keyboard, her eyes darting through screen after screen of personal information. All the numbers matched licenses or ID cards for young men and women aged between sixteen and twenty-two at the time they went missing. Most had been missing for years.
Eleven numbers.
Eleven missing people.
Eleven potential murder victims?
Bex closed her eyes for a moment, anxiety sweeping through her body on a rising tide. Her mind buzzed like a raging swarm of bees, racing to make sense of the information before her. Gory wounds. Severed body pieces. Her heart was stuttering as flashbacks assailed her from her first case as a New York Police Department detective. A raw rookie to the homicide ranks, she had been paired with 55-year-old veteran Walt Slusarczyk to tackle an unsolved serial killing. It had been a bonding experience she never wanted to repeat, but the incident had honed her investigative skills and taught her to trust her instincts.
It took a conscious effort to calm her heartbeat and banish the lingering images, but she couldn’t ignore the tension wedged tight in her gut. She returned her attention to the information she had just gathered, but she didn’t need to read it over again. Her skin was crawling with dread because her instincts screamed she had stumbled across a serial killer.
Each of the missing persons had a pattern in common: they had all been through the criminal system, many of them multiple times. These kids were tough cookies and had faced serious charges ranging from armed burglaries and assault to rape and murder.
There were two big problems though. The first was the lack of bodies, which would make it difficult to convince the top brass that the department’s stretched-to-breaking point resources should be redirected to this case. The second was Dresden’s unwritten but rock solid mandate that the Youth Crimes Team only investigated crimes committed by offenders under eighteen. She had no interest in them taking on crimes against kids and in fact had almost fired Bex’s inspector, Quinn Standing, when he defied her directive.
Bex knew Dresden wouldn’t let her tackle the investigation, despite the evidence giving credence to Fairchild’s claims that she had watched her father murder someone in cold blood. How safe was Fairchild in his care?
Bex jolted upright, leaving her cramped office to seek out Reuben. He was hunched over his computer, one ear bud embedded deeply as he listened to whatever sounds were thundering out of his smart phone. She tapped him forcefully on the shoulder to get his attention.
He looked up eagerly, obviously hopeful of being reassigned more interesting work.
“Reuben, please see if you can track down the origin of the call you just transferred to me.”
Doubt flashed in Reuben’s eyes. He raised a hand to scratch at his artfully tousled locks. “I’m not sure if that’s possible, Boss. I had the impression that call was forwarded through multiple departments.”
“Well, it originated from a number that was used on television for people to volunteer information.”
“That would’ve more than likely been the 101 number. It’s an automated system that fields thousands of calls every day to appropriate switchboard operators. I don’t
like your chances unless we can somehow pin a time frame on the call.”
“Do your best, Reuben. Oh, and can you think of a location around here that isn’t windy?”
His face scrunched into a frown as he considered the question.
“Jeez, Boss, England’s an island in an archipeligo off a large landmass next to the gulfstream. There’s always a breeze floating past.”
Bex left the office, taking the stairs two at a time to the next level. Normally she avoided Cole Mackinley’s domain. She had enough testosterone in her own backyard without looking for more, but this time she was hoping to put Cole to good use.
She pounded on Cole’s closed door.
When he opened it, irritation flared across his features. “Haud yer wheesht, as my gran would say!” he greeted her, hands on hips. “You were banging so hard on my door I thought it was the tax collector breaking in.”
Bex grimaced. “Enough of the pleasantries, DCI Mackinley. Can I come inside?”
“Life’s very sad without some pleasantries, but even so, I’ll invite you inside if that’s what all the noise is about.”
Bex normally phoned him when they needed to converse, but past experience had often led to her being fobbed off by Cole’s minions and her mission today was too important.
She couldn’t help checking out Cole’s office and comparing it to her own poky premises as Cole lowered his huge frame into a padded leather captain’s chair behind a cherry wood desk. He even had a window, albeit the view was of the bricked wall of the neighboring building.
Being a likable fellow in the London Met obviously rated its own rewards. The thought triggered a flash of annoyance.
Cole wagged a finger in her direction.
“Now, now, DCI Wynter, I can read in your face where your thoughts are going. Let me pass on some advice for free. Take advantage because I normally charge. If you want better trappings than the Met hands out, you need to squirrel your own possessions in bit by bit when the brass aren’t looking.”
Bex cursed her open face.
“No doubt you’re here to ask for a favor.” Cole sat back comfortably, his hands laced across his stomach, the green glint in his hazel eyes sharpening with anticipation. She could almost see his mind ticking over into a tit for tat situation. Cole was never one to let the flies settle if he could gain some advantage.
“No, not a favor, just asking you to do your job,” she retorted, taking her own seat in the padded visitor’s chair.
Mehmet Sahnan and Mikayla Parkinson were the most recent missing persons out of the eleven names Bex had turned up, so she hoped theirs would be the easiest leads to follow.
“I need to know if any unidentified John and Jane Does have turned up since August last year. Jane Doe to match for a sixteen-year-old, possibly pregnant, female and the John Doe a seventeen-year-old male.”
“Can I ask why?”
“I’m looking for two missing teens.” She gave him a run down on their particulars, even though she knew it was a long shot, since both teens’ DNA was on file from their criminal records.
“Do you mean just in the local borough or London-wide?”
“London-wide.”
“I’ll look into it and let you know. Now that we’ve established I’m doing you a favor, I’d like a little information in return. There’s a whisper doing the rounds that Dresden may be moving on from her position. Since you’re close to the horse’s mouth, I thought you might have some news on that front?”
His request made Bex suspect Cole was keen to put his hat into the ring for promotion if one presented itself. Well he was welcome to any promotion on hand. All that meant was more hours spent on risk assessment and occupational health and safety issues rather than actual policing.
Cole also seemed to think she was closer to Dresden than she actually was. Dresden was much like herself in that she wasn’t an easy woman to get to know and the two women had never shared confidences. Dresden’s office in New Scotland Yard was barren as a desiccated bone and yielded no insight into what made the superintendent tick.
All Bex had gleaned about Dresden’s private life was that she was married to a former police officer who now lived life in a wheelchair. But it wouldn’t do her cause any good to reveal that paucity to Cole.
Bex rose to her feet before she was tempted to give too much away.
“Tell you what, I’m meeting Dresden tonight so I’ll see what I can tease out of her. Hand over your info tomorrow and I’ll do the same.”
She gave him a curt nod before heading back to her office.
Continue reading Death for Sale on Amazon now!
Want more from Elleby Harper?
British crime with an American twist series
Driven to Death
Would you save your daughter’s killer?
When Evie Butterworth faces every parent’s nightmare, the death of her daughter, the police are brought in to determine whether it was murder. Heading the investigation is NYPD homicide detective Bex Wynter. Abandoning her own train wreck of a life she becomes head of a new investigative team in a brand new country. But not everyone welcomes an American to the London Met. Quinn Standing has a hard time dealing with the failures piling up in his life, and an even harder time adjusting to his new boss.
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Stolen Daughters is British crime with an American twist! 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.
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Only your therapist knows your darkest secrets…
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Hot shot lawyer Isla Standing believes the truth belongs in court, even if that means risking her own career.
After overturning a police conviction and shattering a family man’s reputation, Harley Carroll’s case becomes an emotionally charged investigation full of unexpected twists for the Youth Crimes Team. DCI Bex Wynter must follow a long-dead trail of evidence, secrets and hidden agendas to solve this murder mystery.
But truth comes with a price and just who will pay?
In a story that mixes legal suspense with realistic police drama, Courting Death is a character-driven crime mystery that will keep you glued till the end. Part of the British Crime with an American Twist series, packed with realism and filled with richly diverse characters.
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Death for Sale
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 b
ecomes 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.
Death for Sale is British crime with an American twist! 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.
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Blood Lines
When murder runs in the blood…
A police officer is forced to question whether blood and loyalty are stronger than truth and justice in this riveting and emotionally charged crime mystery.
Bex Wynter thought she could run away from her husband’s death by saving the lives of young teens. But can she save a teenaged prisoner from his father, one of London’s most vicious crime kings? A key witness against his own family, when he becomes a victim, Bex is pulled into a world of deceit and betrayal.
To save his life, Bex must team up with newcomer to the Youth Crimes Team, DS Remy Knight. But Remy’s keeping secrets and she isn’t the only one. Secrets that could blow their entire investigation to pieces.
The closer Bex comes to the truth, the less she can trust those she counts on. Is she about to find out that blood and loyalty are stronger than truth and justice?
The most epic British Crime with an American twist novel yet, Blood Lines is both a gripping mystery and the riveting next installment of Bex Wynter’s new life in London. If you like realistic crime fiction packed with heart-pumping suspense and emotional plot twists that leave you breathless, this page-turner will keep you glued till the end!
Bex Wynter Box Set Page 51
