“He left his girlfriend with permanent injuries after that rape, didn’t he?” Reuben added.
Quinn’s jawline steeled into a hard line. “The things he did to her make it one of the nastiest crimes I’ve seen, especially by a seventeen year old.”
Bex remembered Quinn circling Sahnan like a shark with the scent of blood in his nostrils. When Quinn delivered Sahnan to the holding cell with a black eye and two broken fingers, he had written Sahnan up as resisting arrest. New to her role as head of the team and fresh to British policing, Bex was ashamed to admit she had been relieved that Sahnan filed no complaint so they didn’t have to field an internal investigation. Her confrontation with Quinn had been nasty, but he had left Sahnan alone after that.
Idris looked up from his laptop screen.
“Mikayla’s listed with over a dozen charges for shoplifting and an assault on a police officer who was arresting her boyfriend for drug dealing. The assault’s the most serious charge. She stabbed the police officer with a screwdriver, almost punctured a lung. He was lucky to make a full recovery.”
“Kids like that certainly give Legal Aid a run for its money and waste tax payer’s pounds,” grumbled Quinn, who had been assigned the extra workload from Idris’s unlawful shooting case.
“Well, not on that assault charge. Perry Grais actually took her on board as one of their pro bono cases.”
“Is that right? How did that play out?” Bex asked.
“Let’s see.” Idris continued to scan his screen. “It looks like her lawyer got the matter dealt with as a category 2 offence of lesser harm and greater culpability. She got her off with a medium level community order. Less than five weeks later she was listed as missing.”
“The sister, Shayna, thinks Mikayla tried to get her pregnancy terminated. Quinn checked her name against the hospital lists, with no record of admission. Is it possible she attended a private abortion clinic?” Bex asked.
“Any legal termination has to be documented with an HSA1 form. Medical records have to be kept for three years, so I could try to get my hands on them and see if there’s a match anywhere. Her community service was working with a crew to remove graffiti from public buildings. I’ll check with her Community Payback Supervisor to see if he knows anything.”
“While you’re at it, double check the boyfriend’s alibi,” Bex said. “The report states he was drinking with mates, but he’s got to be a prime suspect if there was foul play. With no body, no evidence it seems like she just disappeared into thin air.”
“Well, she’s not a magician so that’s unlikely.”
“I know. And while we still don’t have a body, we do have her liver confirming her death. At the Bluebell Retreat, Reuben and Eli discovered that Abigail Ewing entered the facility a very sick woman and left it on the road to recovery. That puts her liver transplant happening on or before September 17 last year. Mikayla was last seen on September 8. We need to find out what happened in those nine days.”
Bex left the Youth Crimes Team to report to Cole. She found the CID offices humming with activity. Everyone seemed busy with their own tasks, but she had the distinct feeling that surreptitious eyes tracked her walk towards Cole’s office.
Bex gave Cole a rundown on their findings.
He rested his chin on his fingertips and looked thoughtful. “Like you say, Mikayla might have gone to a reputable abortion clinic, but on the other hand she could have gone to an illegal abortionist.”
“Her sister said she approached a surgeon about her abortion, so that doesn’t sound like an illegal activity.”
“I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put the word out on the street and see what comes up.”
Bex looked skeptical. Cole returned her look with one of amused tolerance.
“Oh, ye of little faith! I can tell you’ve come into policing with your college degree in hand and you think that makes you the cream of the crop. But believe me, in my experience, the old ways often turn up the goods. Sometimes you just can’t beat a snitch on the streets to get the heads up in a case or at least let us know where to focus our attention.”
“At this stage in the investigation I’m willing to try anything that might help us catch a killer. Right now there’s an eight-year old girl living with a murderer. We have to do everything we can to make sure she doesn’t become one of his victims,” Bex said. “To do that I’m even willing to work with your old-fashioned ways.”
* * *
Bex arrived at the drop in center wearing serviceable jeans tucked into her heavy soled combat boots and her long puffy coat to keep out the cold. Spring was slow coming to London this year. She had made arrangements with Clementine Grais to meet Torben Derichs at the club at 7:00 p.m.
“Torben conducts random drug testing for us here at the office,” Clementine had told her. “He’s kindly agreed to extend his services to the drop in center. Perry Grais Standing will foot the bill, Bex, because I really believe in this initiative.”
Torn between wanting to keep the kids clean and wanting them to feel welcome at the center, Bex had phoned her former NYPD partner, Walt. If anyone would shoot straight from the hip with his advice it would be him. Using her husband’s life insurance payout, she had set up the Zane Wynter Halfway House for teens in New York, leaving Walt in charge of a dozen wayward boys. His experience was gold.
“I’m afraid the drug testing is going to scare these kids away, Walt,” she moaned. “It’s been an uphill battle to get them to come along as it is.”
“You’ve got to offer them something they can’t get anywhere else, Bex. You gotta dangle that juicy orange carrot in front of them so they don’t see the stick behind them. What do adolescent boys want more than anything?”
Bex groaned.
“Walt, we both know adolescent boys live on their testosterone! But if you think I’m going to set up a dating service —”
Walt snorted down the line.
“I’m not suggesting you dangle pussy in front of them. These kids don’t have much. How about setting up a state of the art gaming station for them? That’s sure to be a draw card.”
“I’m not sure our funds will stretch to those sorts of luxuries.”
“Think about it, Bex, and you’ll come up with an answer.”
Bex had been mulling over his advice for the past couple of days, but she pushed her worries aside when Josh met her at the door of the drop in center.
“How has attendance been?” she asked, unzipping her coat but leaving it on. The radiators dotted along the walls did little to warm the main area.
“Dribs and drabs,” he answered.
“Is Torben Derichs here yet?” She checked her watch and noticed it was five minutes till the hour.
“No, but like you asked, I’ve set up a space for him to —”
The outside door gusted open and they both turned to face Yusef, leading four or five young men behind him. His hands were thrust into the depths of a black hoodie that shadowed his face so Bex couldn’t read his expression. He motioned with his head. Shoving and jostling, the others spread out to take over the foosball and pool tables, while he approached Bex.
“Good to see you and your company, Yusef,” she greeted him. “I take it you’ve decided to take up my offer?”
The door opened and behind Yusef she viewed a stocky stranger in his late thirties. She noted the liquid brown eyes in bloodshot whites, smooth olive skin and a stylish high fade quiff haircut that blended into a short, boxed beard. It was a cool yet professional look.
“Yusef, I’m glad to have you on board. Have a chat with Josh about how things run at the center and afterwards I’ll catch up with you if you have any questions.”
Bex moved past them, holding out her hand to the stranger.
“You must be Torben Derichs,” she said. “Good of you to come.”
He set down two heavy cases and removed a leather glove to shake her hand. His grip was firm and warm.
“Bex Wynter, I’m guessing.”
He spoke with a faint trace of South African accent. Looking around the room, he immediately spotted the moveable screen shielding a bench that Josh had set up near his office. “I take it that’s my designated area to set up my portable lab?”
Bex led him over to the screened area and watched as he unpacked one of his cases, setting down a small square machine. In the other case were a supply of small cartridges and a stack of paper forms.
“How do you envisage this working, Dr. Derichs?” she asked.
“Just call me Torben, please. I’m using new technology that tests fingerprints for cocaine, opiates, cannabis and amphetamines. I use it in the workplace environment, but it’s quite portable.” He tapped the box. “This gadget reads the sweat from fingerprint samples and returns a result within minutes. The whole process is non-invasive and fast. It takes a few seconds at most. The longest part will be having the participants sign the consent forms.”
“I can’t force anyone to take the test, it has to be voluntary,” Bex said.
Torben nodded his head. “Yes, indeed. Informed consent. Ms. Grais gave me the impression that if they didn’t comply, however, you would consider blacklisting them from the center.”
Yusef drifted over to them.
“Yo, this what I think it is?” he asked, his eyes squinting as he took in the equipment.
Torben nodded cordially in his direction.
“Are you interested in learning of the serious impact drugs can have on your internal systems? The stress and damage it causes your heart? The irreversible brain damage you sustain? Organ failure caused by sepsis? The compromises to your immune —”
Torben broke off and they all looked towards the door at the thunderous sound of stampeding feet slamming against the ground in a rush to get outside. The occupied room was emptying faster than a call of free beer in an English pub. Bex felt her heart plummet. Was this in response to the drug testing?
Yusef seemed to read her thoughts. He shook his head, holding his phone aloft.
“Fight on outside. Knives,” he said. “It’s gonna be bad.”
Without hesitation, Bex sprinted forward and yanked open the door. Several hundred yards away under one of the few unbroken street lamps, people gathered three and four deep. Above the muted roar of the crowd she could hear the taunts of one assailant against another.
Calling out, “Police! Police! Let me through!” she fought and shoved her way near the front of the circle.
Through the forest of bodies she saw a young man with a vicious looking blade held in front of him. His opponent faced him with little more than a flick knife.
“Let me through! Police!” she yelled.
There was a blur of movement as the man with the long blade lashed out in two quick slices. Blood spurted and the second man doubled over. The first man let out a fiendish shout of triumph, holding aloft the blade, now dripping red.
Bex used her heavy combat boots to kick the shins of a tough blocking her way. Cursing, he staggered back, but not before the knife wielder fled, disappearing into the crowd like a fish slipping through waves.
Instead of chasing him, she dropped to her knees beside the injured man, writhing on the icy cold pavement, clutching at his belly. Like ghosts, the throng around her dissipated, leaving an opening for Torben to approach. He was panting and carried a black vinyl bag.
“Sorry, I stopped to grab my bag,” he said to Bex.
Bex looked around and spotted Josh.
“Call an ambulance,” she ordered. She turned to Torben. “Can you help him?”
In the arc of light from the street lamp, the youth’s jacket was saturated with blood. Torben unzipped it and his jeans, prying away the youth’s hands to expose the gory gash in his lower abdomen and a superficial slash across his chest. His glassy eyes were wide with shock, his hands kept batting at them ineffectually.
Torben pulled out a syringe. “I’m going to give him a sedative. The more he moves around the worse the bleeding will be.”
He slid the needle into the youth’s neck and then tugged on sterile gloves before examining the wound.
“Shit, it’s deep,” Torben muttered, pulling out handfuls of sterile gauze bandages from his bag and swabbing away the blood to get a better look. “I think his intestine’s been punctured. Poor bugger, he’s going to need surgery, but if he’s not lucky he’ll be living with a colostomy bag from now on.”
“Are you sure?” Bex asked.
Torben nodded. “I used to be a surgeon. Right now I’ve got to do my best to stop the bleeding and decrease the risk of infection in that breached intestine to give him the best chance of survival.”
While he talked his hands moved quickly, taping saline-soaked gauze and trauma pads in place. Gurgling noises flooded the youth’s throat.
“Can you check his airways?” Torben said. “There are latex gloves in my bag.”
Bex snapped on a pair before sticking her finger’s in the youth’s mouth to free his tongue and wipe out gobs of blood where he’d bitten it. Josh brought them a couple of blankets from the center and Bex put one under his head and wrapped a second one around his shoulders.
“It’s just a matter of waiting for the paramedics now,” Torben said, keeping his hands pressed against the wound.
Yusef squatted down beside them.
“Do you know him, Yusef?” Bex asked.
“Seen him around. Name of Snookie. That other one was a Yardie boy, be my guess. Don’t know what he was doing in this area and especially without his posse. Is Snookie brown bread?”
Torben shook his head. “Not dead yet.”
“He’s got a better chance now that Torben’s worked on him,” Bex answered.
Yusef grinned.
“It’s good for Snookie the doc be here with his drug kit,” he said.
“Maybe it’ll be good for all of you if the doc comes around from time to time with his drug kit?” Bex suggested.
“Maybe,” he acknowledged. He inclined his head very slightly in her direction. “Yeah, maybe.”
Chapter 15
Wednesday March 14
For the first time since joining the Youth Crimes Team, Bex turned up late to work. She had traveled in the ambulance with Snookie last night, whose real name turned out to be Ben Turner. She hadn’t left until his emergency surgery was complete which meant she had fallen into bed around 3:00 a.m.
When Bex entered the office, she was greeted by a round of clapping from her team.
“We heard about last night, Bex. Good work,” Eli said, raising his mug in her direction.
“How’s the kid?” Reuben asked.
“They performed surgery on him last night. He had to have part of his large intestine removed, but they think he’ll make a good recovery. He’s got youth on his side and he was damn lucky we had a doctor on site.”
“As long as the kid stays away from knives in the future,” Quinn added. “His lifestyle isn’t suited for longevity.”
Bex frowned.
“Don’t be such an optimist, Quinn!” Reuben ribbed him.
“Did you get a statement from him?” Idris asked.
“Not yet.”
“Doubt if the kid’ll give you any information. He’ll probably say he slipped on the pavement and fell on his own knife,” Quinn said. “That type rarely lay charges and certainly never identify their attackers.”
Bex angled her head towards him, a silent warning. Then she turned away, taking a deep breath as she tried to ignore the headache creeping up behind the back of her gritty eyes.
“You look tired, Bex. It must’ve been a tough night. I’ll head down to Dill’s and grab you a cup of coffee,” Eli offered.
“Thanks. A caffeine hit’s just what I need.”
Ignoring Quinn’s last comment she headed for her office and the packet of headache tablets resting in her drawer. A sleepless night was the least of her worries.
Idris had the decency to wait until she had finished her coffee before he followed h
er into her office.
“Should I be reporting to DCI Mackinley upstairs since he’s officially in charge?” he asked.
“Everything gets passed through me, and I’ll feed the information onto Cole,” Bex answered, triggering a raised eyebrow from Idris. She realized it was the first time she had referred to Cole by his first name in front of her team. Her cheeks pinked, but she kept her gaze steady. “What have you unearthed?”
“I’ve been digging into Abigail Ewing’s background like you asked. First of all, I checked over her bank statements for last year. She took out two large cash amounts, each fifty thousand pounds, two weeks apart in September. They’re the largest personal cash withdrawals she made that year. Most of her spending was through her platinum credit cards or bank transfers, including her weekly payments to Bluebell Retreat.”
Bex lifted her fingers to her temple and rubbed gently, urging the pain to disappear more quickly.
“So, she took out a hundred thousand pounds in September for something she didn’t want documented on her credit card statement. What’s worth that much money to her? Her health?”
Opposite her, Idris sat with an impassive expression. Bex couldn’t help admire his polished calm. His salmon shirt was so crisply starched it looked like it was brand new. He was freshly shaven and his matt black hair sat in a neat cap over his skull. Slip a pair of dark glasses on him and he could pass for a Mafia hitman or a Hollywood accountant.
“It could fit in with your theory of a black market liver transplant. To a woman of Abigail’s substance a hundred thou is a small price to pay for regaining a healthy life.”
“I agree. All the evidence is pointing to her transplant taking place in September when she went to the Bluebell Retreat. I want the team to check into Dr. Smithson Vitalis’s background. See if you can get a warrant so we can check on Abigail’s patient records both at the retreat and with her own physician. Let’s see what turns up. I want to know what’s happening at that retreat in detail, from their phone records to their power usage, from their bank receipts to their staffing arrangements. And find out exactly who their clientele are. I want everyone to dig deep.”
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 9
