Cole’s eyes narrowed.
“Yabsley, I’m warning you to haud yer wheest. You’ve got work to get on with!”
Yabsley opened the door to let Bex in, while he sidled around her.
“I’ll shut the door on my way out, shall I?” he said with a wink in Cole’s direction and a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows behind Bex’s back.
Cole heaved an annoyed sigh, while tension rode his shoulders ramrod stiff. No one worked harder or played harder than Cole, but since he didn’t want entanglements he always ensured his bedmates weren’t workmates. Still annoyed about Yabsley he greeted Bex with a scowl that she hadn’t earned. He was even more annoyed that Yabsley’s sly insinuations made him look at Bex Wynter like a woman instead of a colleague.
The drab pantsuit she wore didn’t hide the long legs and narrow waist. With a jerk, Cole raised his eyes to her face. Skin pale after a long winter, white-blonde hair cropped short, swept straight back to highlight carved cheekbones and eyes so light a gray they were almost silver. For a moment Cole was lost in their dazzling depths, but what he recognized there made him drop his eyes and concentrate on her mouth.
He was done with tragedy and grief and emotions that burned too deep. He’d had enough of that with Lara. He was done with foolish impulses and disregard for consequences. He preferred life on an even keel, tucked painstakingly into hospital corner tightness so recklessness couldn’t escape.
“DCI Mackinley, I need to talk with you about Bridesmead CID taking on a case,” she said, lowering herself into the seat opposite him.
“Isn’t it time you called me Cole?” Damn! Behind the wooden sweep of his desk, Cole drew in another heavy breath and reined in thoughts that had no business at work.
“You’re right of course.”
“Shall I call you Rebecca?”
“Absolutely not. Only my mother calls me Rebecca when she wants my attention. Call me Bex.”
He noticed her mouth trembled slightly, but refrained from curving into a smile.
“So, Bex, do you realize how busy my team is? We have cases up to our eyeballs.”
A frown creased the pale brows.
“Everyone’s under the pump. But I’ve got a lead on that missing teenager you were chasing down for me. Mikayla Parkinson. And before you say, why don’t we run with it, you know very well that Youth Crimes Team would take it on if we had a mandate. But Dresden won’t have a bar of us solving crimes unless the perps are teenagers.”
“Listen, I’d like to help you out, Bex, I really would. But honestly my guys are swamped. The best I can do is add the case to our files, but it’s going to take a while until we can get onto it. Besides, it’s not like this Mikayla Parkinson didn’t have a bent for trouble. She’s had a number of run-ins with the police so she can probably take care of herself.”
Bex filled him in on her visit to Royal College Hospital and her conversation with Zoe and Twyla.
Cole’s lips pursed in a long, low whistle.
“You think someone killed her for her liver?”
“It looks that way to me.”
“And you’re telling me you’ve got the names of ten other people who are missing and that you suspect may be victims of the same murderer?”
Bex looked grim.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. I’m also hoping that the link to Mikayla will lead back to the child who called me. I’m concerned about her. If her parents really are murderers then she could be in serious danger, especially if they discover that she’s called the police.”
Cole dropped his eyes to avoid the pleading in hers, more comfortable bulldozing his way through dangerous situations than handling female entreaty.
“That’s well shan, as my gran would say.” He hated that he couldn’t take on every case that presented, but his men were only human and it was his job to make sure they got home once in a while. “Like, I said, we’re all bleeding hearts at Bridesmead, but I can’t make the days any longer.”
Bex leaned forward, enough for him to catch a trace of her subtle scent, a mixture of floral essence that was probably her shampoo.
“Cole, please, make this case a priority.”
“To do that I’d have to drop other cases that are just as important.”
“As important as a potential serial killer?”
Her voice was filled with passion and sincerity. Her eyes locked on his and wouldn’t let them go. “What if Youth Crimes Team lends you our manpower? Nominally, you can be in charge of the case, but that doesn’t preclude you asking for assistance.”
Cole’s hazel-green eyes shot fire. It didn’t sit well with him to ask for help with anything. Bex seemed to read his expression like a book.
“I may have phrased that badly. What I mean is, can’t we work together? After all, the most important thing here is solving the crime, right?”
Cole struggled to reconcile his doubts with his instinct for justice. What he couldn’t tell her was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to share a case that brought him into continued close contact with her. He opened his mouth to refuse, but instead found himself saying, “Deal. I’ll take this case on board on the condition that your crew do all the leg work.”
Sod it, he would have to keep this quiet or Yabsley would have a field day!
Chapter 13
Monday March 12
Bluebell Hill Retreat was set in nearly a hundred acres on an estate formerly run by the National Trust. The eighteenth century home had at one time been a World War Two headquarters, according to the information Reuben had scrounged online. Now the retreat specialized in “personalized health consultations”, “access to treatments that would neutralize toxins from the body and repair damage from a life filled with stress by health professionals focused on your recovery.” The website also promised “all programs private and confidential.”
He passed this information onto Bex.
“The website’s pretty minimalist,” she observed. “It doesn’t have any menus about exactly what the programs cover, just a few generic photos of gorgeous women meditating and relaxing stone Buddhas amongst lush foliage. Does it say who runs the place?”
“Dr. Smithson Vitalis.”
“Hmm, odd name. Get in touch with Dr. Vitalis and then you and Eli head out to Bluebell Retreat and speak with him about his patient, Abigail Ewing.”
A frown settled on Reuben’s face.
“And what do we do with the information we get? Just pass it onto Cole’s team?”
“That’s right. This is Cole’s case now and we’re just helping out.”
Reuben’s frown deepened.
“Sod that, Boss! We’re doing the hard lifting, why can’t we handle the investigation?”
His voice was querulous and Bex lifted one eyebrow in surprise. Reuben tended to be the clown of the team, not the grouch, but this time he refused to hide his bad temper. Her stance softened. He thought he read sympathy in her eyes.
“I get that it’s not totally fair, Reuben, but, as I’ve made clear to the team, there’s no evidence of a crime committed by juveniles so it’s out of our jurisdiction. That doesn’t mean we can’t help bring a murderer to justice.”
The news did nothing to improve Reuben’s sulky mood. Nor did the pairing with Eli bring him any joy. As a lowly detective constable with less than a year’s experience on the force, Reuben had no clout in the complaints department.
Barely waiting for Eli, he picked up the keys to a pool car and headed out the door.
“Hold up, Sunshine, let’s take the lift. I’m not in the mood for stairs,” Eli joked.
Without saying a word, Reuben swiveled on his heel and, his footsteps thumping with irritability, moved towards the elevator. Confined to a small cubicle, the tension between them strung out like a wire.
On Friday night, Reuben had dropped in at his mothers with a “take away” chicken masala. He had found Eli ensconced in front of his mum’s telly watching a prelude to the forthcoming royal weddin
g, the cooling wreckage of store-bought fish and chips spread across the table in front of them. Awkward silence had stretched between the three of them before Eli leapt to his feet and took his leave.
Eli cleared his throat.
“About the other night, mate, I just want to explain,” Eli said, nerves shredding his voice.
Reuben turned on him ferociously.
“There’s nothing I want to hear and nothing I want you to have to do with my mum. She’s been through enough heartache for one lifetime and she doesn’t need a bloke like you to cut up her peace of mind! I’m the man of the house and if there’s anything mum needs doing, then I can do it.”
“Reuben, I’m not trying to take over as a father figure. Heaven forbid, I have enough trouble dealing with my girls. But your mum is a lovely person and I find we can have a laugh with each other. There’s nothing wrong with a friendship that can brighten each other’s day is there?”
“Stop right there, Eli. I don’t want to talk about it any more. Bex has given us a job to do, so let’s just get on with it.”
Jangling the keys in his pocket, Reuben strode out of the elevator and climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Eli to settle silently into the passenger side. From the corner of his eye Reuben saw Eli slide his hand into his pocket to extract a packet of gum. Georgie didn’t smoke and it looked like the old man was quitting smoking again! A hard puff of disgruntled air escaped his lips at the thought.
Reuben’s lead foot on the accelerator reflected his conflicted feelings. He had always liked and admired Eli. As a bloke he was a good sort and as a copper he had enjoyed the older detective’s war stories of not always politically correct policing. But family came first and he had promised his dad he would always look out for mum.
Evergreen hedges lined the long driveway to Bluebell Retreat. Reuben pulled into a parking lot next to the only other car, the latest model Range Rover. A slice of gray sky was visible from behind clouds. Reuben pulled his leather jacket closed against the wind. He doubted the temperature had broken double digits on the Celsius thermometer.
A lush garden stretched around the house.
“These gardens would be great for wedding photos,” Eli remarked.
“Don’t go getting ideas!” Reuben snapped. A scowl seemed to be a permanent fixture now when he regarded Eli.
Eli’s face heated.
“I was wondering if they hire out the gardens to make extra quids,” he protested.
“It doesn’t say so on their website. In fact there’s damn little information available online about the entire retreat. Whoever’s in charge of their promotion needs a kick up the bum to get things out there.”
“Unless they’re so exclusive their clientele is by word of mouth only. How much do their retreat packages cost?”
“No list of costs or treatment packages available. Like I said, their marketing team has done a piss poor job.”
As they approached the white stucco building, Reuben glanced around uneasily. There was no sign of life on the premises and the front door was closed. A discreet brass sign beside it proclaimed “Bluebell Retreat”. Eli leaned hard on the brass doorbell until the door was opened by spare man with a gaunt face.
“Dr Smithson Vitalis?” Eli asked.
“Yes.”
Vitalis held the door close to his body so they couldn’t see inside, while his dark eyes checked them both out. Eli and Reuben held out their warrant cards.
“We called ahead,” Reuben said. “I’m Detective Constable Richards and this is Detective Sergeant Morgan. May we come in?”
Vitalis seemed to consider the request, but just before Reuben pushed the point, he widened the opening and they stepped through.
“Lovely grounds,” Eli remarked, popping a new wad of nicotine chewing gum between his lips.
The stone planes of Vitalis’s face broke into a smile.
“Capability Brown originally designed the gardens. They were restored to his specifications by the National Trust and we’ve tried to maintain those standards since taking over the property,” he said. “By the way did you know that ‘Capability’ was his nickname and he was actually born Lancelot Brown? But he was renowned for telling his clients that their properties had ‘capability for improvement’. And of course that’s what we aim for here at Bluebell Retreat, the capability of improving one’s lifestyle and returning our clients to the world with their new health.” Vitalis drew himself up. “Still, I know you gentlemen aren’t here to admire the gardens.”
“No, as I said on the phone, we’d like to ask about one of your clients who attended the retreat last year. Abigail Ewing.”
Vitalis rubbed at his chin, a forceful to and fro action.
“For now we’re just after your cooperation, Dr. Vitalis. But if you want we can return with a search warrant.” Eli played hardball.
Vitalis’s face screwed up like he’d bitten into a lemon.
“Very well, gentlemen, please follow me into the office. I’d prefer to keep this low key as we have a number of guests here who prefer not to be intimidated.”
The house was silent and Reuben wondered where the guests were.
When Vitalis opened the door to his office they were enveloped in soft classical music. He punched some buttons on a console and the music died. He moved to sit behind his desk and Reuben and Eli took seats in front.
“What exactly is it you think I can help with?”
Eli handed over his phone with a photo of Abigail Ewing provided by her daughters. Vitalis’s eyes flickered.
“Do you recognize this woman? Abigail Ewing stayed at Bluebell Retreat from 17 September to 18 October last year.” Those dates had been provided to Reuben by Abigail’s executive assistant, Randall.
Vitalis’s hands moved over his computer keyboard and he brought up a screen showing a patient record. He turned the screen towards them. On the right hand side was a woman’s picture.
Reuben and Eli regarded the photo. The woman’s pallor was pasty, her hair lank and her eyes deeply set in bruised sockets. She looked like a terminally ill woman and bore little resemblance to the photo supplied by Abigail’s daughters.
“Abigail Ewing was booked into massage therapy, detoxification sessions and meditation. She responded well to the program.”
Vitalis’s fingers clicked on keys and he showed an after photo. This woman looked completely regenerated. Reuben wondered if the retreat was also a front for plastic surgery because the difference in the woman’s looks was remarkable.
“Do you offer any other services besides therapeutical?” he asked.
Vitalis looked affronted. “What are you suggesting?”
“Perhaps a little nip and tuck on the side? Clients say they’re going on a retreat and when they return looking ten years younger that’s their excuse. Yours wouldn’t be the first retreat to offer such services.”
Vitalis’s full upper lip curled in a sneer. “Is that what you think? No, I can assure you I have no plastic surgeons on my payroll.”
“Well, Ms. Ewing had a liver transplant around the time she attended your facility. She would’ve required some specialist treatment, including taking a lot of medication to ensure the organ wasn’t rejected. That type of treatment should have been noticed by your personnel,” Eli said.
Vitalis consulted his notes again. “I’m afraid that’s a matter of patient confidentiality.”
“Did she receive any medical attention from you while she was a guest?”
“Again, that’s a matter of patient confidentiality. Can I ask why you’re here?”
“Abigail Ewing is dead.”
Vitalis looked shocked.
“Can I ask what was the cause of death?”
“She died of heart failure. Ironic really, when you consider she just got herself a new liver to extend her life and then her heart gives up on her.”
Vitalis sighed. “Terribly, terribly sad news and what a waste.”
Reuben wasn’t sure if he was
referring to the woman’s life or to the lost liver.
Vitalis stood.
“Do let me know if there’s anything else we can help you with. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I’d like you to leave before our clients commence their outdoor walk around the gardens. Some of our clients are highly stressed individuals and seeing police here might panic them.”
Vitalis escorted them to the front door. Their steps clipped over the wooden floorboards, but Reuben heard no other sounds.
“Don’t your guests drive cars, Dr. Vitalis? I didn’t see any cars in the car park.”
Vitalis held the door open.
“My guests are usually dropped off either by their chauffeurs or family members. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
The door snapped firmly into place behind them.
Reuben paused a moment to take in the property. He could see a small house in the distance, backing onto the Bluebell Hills. It had probably been the gardener’s in some other century.
“Reuben, lad, I want you to know I respect your mum —”
“I said I don’t want to discuss it,” Reuben said with a stony stare at Eli before he took off for the parking lot.
Eli’s jaws worked ferociously on his gum. “So, what did you think of Dr. Vitalis? Not exactly welcoming, was he? I think you can tell a lot about a man by his eyes, and Vitalis’s were as cold as they come.”
“Most people don’t welcome the police to their premises, especially when they charge huge quids for discreet service. That’s the most logical reason for keeping his clients out of sight.”
For eight months Eli had been a mentor and a mate, but now Reuben found himself questioning even Eli’s policing.
Chapter 14
Tuesday March 13
The next morning Bex pulled Idris off an unlawful shooting case.
“Idris, you’re good with details. I want you to check into the backgrounds of Abigail Ewing and Mikayla Parkinson. If their lives overlapped or intersected somewhere I want to know about it,” Bex said. “And go over our old records on Mehmet Sahnan.”
“I remember that turd. A nasty piece of goods,” Quinn spoke up, shaking his head. “If he’s one of the victims maybe there is justice in the world. I always thought he’d escaped his just deserts when he did a runner after sentencing.”
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 8
