Bex Wynter Box Set 2

by Elleby Harper

  She shot him a withering look.

  “Don’t be a dumbass! That’s candy-ass policing because you’re too shit-scared to step into hot water and do your job properly. Does that hold true for all British officers or just the ones aiming for a promotion?”

  Cole skated over her insult with an amused smile that left her seething.

  “Fair crabbit today, aren’t you? Dinnae fash yerself so, hen, as my gran would say.”

  “What the hell kind of language is that? Why can’t you Limeys speak proper English that anyone can understand?!”

  “You’re working yourself into a right bother, Bex,” he responded. “When you’ve calmed down, you’ll see that treading softly is the best way to handle this situation. And I’d get your lads onto investigating Dr. Vitalis tout suite to see just where that leads us.”

  Containing her rage meant her muscles were clenched so tight they hurt. Bex shoved her chair back noisily, scraping rough marks on the scuffed flooring before she marched out of his office.

  Chapter 18

  Monday March 19

  While the wind whistled outside, the scrum of bodies inside the drop in center helped raise the temperature to bearable levels. Josh and another boy sat huddled over hot mugs of cocoa at a table, watching some others play pool. When Bex approached both boys fell silent.

  “Good night to be inside, wouldn’t you say?” she asked them in an easy conversational tone.

  “Yeah, it’s good digs when it’s cold outside, so long as there’s no bare stress going on here,” the unknown boy acknowledged her greeting.

  Bex took that to mean he was happy to be here as long as no one asked him to do anything he didn’t want to.

  Josh eyed her work out gear.

  “Going for a session in the gym?” he asked.

  “Yes, I need to iron out some kinks,” Bex said.

  Her run in with Cole had left her tense and irritable. She had issued orders for Eli and Quinn to notify the hospitals to keep an eye out for the teens’ DNA samples and left Idris and Reuben to check into Dr. Vitalis’s hospital history and employees. Idris reported that he had found no trace of Mikayla’s records on HSA1 forms for an abortion.

  “Where’s Yusef, tonight?”

  “I haven’t seen him since the fight on Saturday,” Josh said.

  “He was supposed to turn up for his court hearing today. But word’s out that he skipped bail,” the unknown youth added. “Boys think he might’ve done a bender. Means his mum will lose her car now, ’cause she put it up for his surety. This’ll be the last straw for her, because they were already parring before this happened.”

  Bex felt a flash of annoyance at Yusef’s stupidity.

  “Damn idiot! If he had concerns, why didn’t he just talk to me? If the magistrate hasn’t postponed the hearing, he’s probably got a warrant out for his arrest. If Yusef’s really unlucky the judge could revoke his right to bail and he could wind up in jail until the whole matter’s concluded! I’ve got to see if I can talk sense into him. Does anyone know Yusef’s last name and address?”

  * * *

  Bex headed back to Bridesmead CID to run Yusef Karim up on the police computer. The data revealed he was due to face court over a break and enter that had ended up in a struggle that led to a further count of assault with a deadly weapon. As she feared, there was an outstanding warrant for his arrest because of his failure to front court that afternoon.

  Bex borrowed one of the two unmarked police cars from the station, driving through a night that held only a ghost of moonlight filtered through threatening clouds, on her way back to Hackney. She had tracked down Yusef’s mother, Gamila, to an address in a rundown part of the neighborhood. Gamila worked nights as a cleaner at commercial offices and stores in a more upmarket block in the area and Bex hoped to catch her before she went to work.

  Shivering on the doorstep, Bex tried to keep an eye on her parked car as a group of youths loitered by. She hated the feeling of vulnerability being without her weapon caused. She rapped more stridently on the wooden door until it opened a crack.

  Gamila Karim was petite, dressed in dark pants, a long sleeved blouse overlaid with a woolen jacket and a black satin hajib. Her dark eyes regarded Bex’s warrant card warily.

  “I’ve already told the police, Yusef’s not here. I don’t have time to stand around yakking over a cuppa, I’ve got to get to work.”

  Bex had to reconcile the woman’s British accent with her Muslim demeanor.

  “I appreciate your time, Mrs Karim. I just need a few minutes. When was the last time you saw Yusef?”

  “Why do you talk like a Yank?” A dark haired boy with deep-set eyes and a belligerent attitude pushed his way past his mother.

  “Well, you’ve guessed it. I’m American, but I’m working in London with the Youth Crimes Team.”

  “You got a gun, lady?”

  “No, I’m not carrying a gun,” Bex assured him, although it didn’t make her feel safer admitting it. “I know Yusef from the drop in center, and I’d like to sort things out so he won’t be in any worse trouble.”

  “He liked that place.”

  Bex found herself smiling. “What’s your name?”

  “Rahat.”

  “Well, Rahat, you should come down to the center some time,” Bex urged.

  “Not if Yusef’s running the place. He said the digs had potential. He had plans to take it over from the bint that was running it. That must be you, right?”

  Bex stifled a gasp. Rahat’s words felt like a jab to the chest. Rahat must be mistaken! She pulled herself together, concentrating on what was important.

  “Mrs Karim, when was the last time you saw Yusef?”

  “Saturday. I came home from work about 7:00 a.m. and cooked myself and the kids some breakfast before heading to bed. Yusef had breakfast with us. He said he was going to the center later. That was the last I saw of him. I didn’t think too much of it. He sometimes stays out with his mates. Acts like he’s the big man of the house and doesn’t tell me what he’s doing.”

  “Has he ever been away this long before?”

  “Not Yusef. He likes his meals cooked and his clothes washed.”

  “Rahat, did you see him leave?”

  “He left here just before lunch. Some of his mates knocked at the door and he disappeared. Haven’t seen him since,” Rahat volunteered.

  Saturday was the day Yusef had arranged for the boxing match between Macca and Vinnie.

  Gamila grabbed a coat from the hallway, pulling it on.

  “Rahat, take the little ones up to bed now. You’ve had your excitement for the day.” Turning back to Bex, she said, “I can’t stay any longer or I’m going to miss my bus and be late for work. The court impounded my car today to pay for Yusef’s bail.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Mrs Karim, I’ll drive you to your job if you miss the bus.”

  Horror tightened the woman’s features. “I’m not getting in a panda car unless you’re taking me down to the nick to book me. Now, please, I have to leave.”

  She waited for Bex to move, then headed up the street with a purposeful shuffle.

  “Rahat!” Bex stuck a hand out to catch the door before Rahat closed it. “Was Yusef at school today? He might’ve spent the weekend at a friend’s place and forgotten about his court hearing.”

  He shook his head.

  “Can you think of anywhere that he might be?”

  “Shouldn’t waste my time if I were you,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Bex asked.

  “No one wants Yusef back. He used to bully mum and me and the littlies around all the time. Why do you think mum put her car up to post bail for him? Because she was afraid of what he’d do to us if she didn’t. He’s just like our old man and it took mum years before she had the guts to move out and leave him. Yusef’s mean for the fun of it. Mum works at night so Yusef’s in charge. He used to wait till the littlies were asleep and then he’d clap his hands in their ears
or thump the wall beside their heads to startle them so they’d wake up screaming. They hated going to bed, never knowing when he’d wake them up and threaten to cut their tongues out if they told mum. He was a right bastard. Good riddance to him. I hope he never comes back.”

  “Do you think Yusef rubbed someone up the wrong way?” she asked, as her thoughts accommodated the new information and shifted her focus.

  Rahat shrugged.

  “Maybe. He was a right mongrel to everyone.” He shut the door firmly.

  Bex’s eyes stung with tears of mortification. She had been so sure she had convinced Yusef to trade in a life heading for crime for one with potential. But Rahat’s words made her wonder if all she had done was convince herself. Had Yusef been smirking behind her back, playing her for a sap? Had he staged his friends’ fight at the center because he was concerned one of them would end up dead, or had it been his way of exerting his power? A step on the journey to declaring himself kingpin of the center?

  She sagged into the driver’s seat. Wallowing in despondency was self-indulgent, she decided. Even if Yusef was the mongrel Rahat proclaimed, he was still a missing teen who needed to be found. She started the ignition and headed back to the station to add his DNA to the hospital checklist.

  Chapter 19

  Tuesday March 20

  Tanya Merriweather’s flat was small but airy. Reuben and Quinn nursed cups of green tea as they chatted informally with Bluebell Retreat’s yoga instructor. Tanya sat cross-legged on a beanbag, while they perched on a low-slung sofa that threatened to swallow them whole if they relaxed back.

  “Bluebell Retreat offers lovely surroundings to work in. You’d never know you were in the midst of one of the world’s largest cities,” Reuben said. He brought the cup to his lips and took a cautious sip. Yuk! It tasted even worse than it smelt! He hastily returned the cup to its saucer. “How long have you worked there?”

  “Three years on a casual basis. Dr. Vitalis lets me know when guests want yoga therapy.”

  “Do you arrange group sessions?”

  “No, never. I work one on one with Dr. Vitalis’s clients.”

  “How often would that be?”

  “About once a week when a client needs me. Most of the visitors stay for around a month to six weeks.”

  “That’s quite a long time to participate in a retreat, isn’t it? I mean, not many working people can take that amount of time off work.” Quinn said.

  He reached out to put his untasted cup on the mosaic-tiled top of the coffee table. With his cup rattling in its saucer, Reuben hastily copied him.

  “Bluebell Retreat specializes in people whose bodies are so poisoned they’re quite sick when they arrive, so they’re usually not actively working. The therapies Dr. Vitalis uses produce amazing results. You should see the transformation by the time they leave the retreat.”

  Tanya sipped her own tea in its delicately thin china cup.

  “Were you there when Lester Emerson died?” Quinn probed.

  Tanya’s face clouded.

  “Yes. It was quite a shock.”

  “I thought his health wasn’t the best, so why was it a shock?”

  “Oh, I only mean, it’s always a shock to suddenly find someone dead after you’ve just had a therapeutic session with them that day. More sad than a shock I suppose.”

  “Did you know Mr Emerson was on the waiting list for a heart transplant?” Reuben asked.

  “As I said, many of the clients who come to the Retreat are very poorly.”

  “Do you know if others were waiting on similar operations?”

  A tiny frown puckered her brow as she eyed their full cups on the table.

  “Green tea is physically beneficial, you know,” she chided them.

  “Don’t want to strain my bladder,” Reuben muttered by way of an apology.

  “So, are other clients waiting on operations?” Quinn pressed.

  “Yes of course. They come to get themselves into optimum health so they have the best chance of recovering from prospective surgery. Others come to recuperate after operations. The retreat offers a perfect environment for that with its lack of stress.”

  “So you could say it’s more of a medical retreat?”

  “Well Orla Vitalis is a nurse and she handles any medications the clients need. She and Dr. Vitalis are always on hand for medical issues.”

  “How does Dr. Vitalis treat his patients?”

  “He has a great bedside manner with them. He jokes and ribs them. They love him because he treats them like they’re not ill.”

  “Do you get much repeat business? I mean, clients returning on a regular basis to rest and recuperate?” Reuben asked. He remembered the eerie quiet of the large house when he had visited with Eli.

  Tanya’s cup paused on its way to her mouth. “Come to think of it, no we don’t. I can’t recall having any repeat clients.”

  * * *

  Idris carefully pulled up his pant legs before seating himself in front of Bex’s desk. His African violet tie perfectly contrasted with his baby powder white shirt and the deep navy of his suit.

  “During his time at London Central, Smithson Vitalis’s patient list was above average for recorded deaths. Dr. West, the hospital’s administrator, defended his record vocally though. He protested that Dr. Vitalis took on cases that were often terminal and that other surgeons wouldn’t touch, so it’s only to be expected that he would have a higher than average death rate.”

  “Does that make Vitalis a humanitarian or a risk taker? If he was in America he’d be opening himself up to some massive litigation suits.” Bex sighed, feeling like they’d struck another brick wall. “How about that ethical research question? What did the administrator have to say about that?”

  “There’s no record of the hospital taking part in any research trials that would have involved removing organs ten years ago,” Idris answered. “And Vitalis wasn’t involved in any medical trials during his time there.”

  “Was he asked to leave the hospital or was it voluntary?”

  “It was voluntary. There’s speculation that he came into some sort of inheritance that enabled him to purchase Bluebell Retreat, and also conjecture from some of the older nurses that he had been encouraged to leave because of his aggressive attitude about getting patients onto the operating table.”

  “What else did you find out about him?”

  Idris consulted his notes.

  “He met his wife while she was a theater nurse at the same hospital. Oh, and he changed his name when he was twenty-one. He was born Frank Smith. Apparently he didn’t feel that was a good monicker for a doctor so he changed it when he enrolled in medical school. Did you know that Vitalis is derived from the Latin for life-giving?”

  “Hmm, appropriate for a doctor I suppose. It also explains Smithson for his first name. So he exchanged one of the most common names for an uncommon one. I’m guessing the man has a giant ego. And you confirmed that he and his wife have no children?”

  “There’s no record of them having a child.”

  Bex tried not to feel deflated. “Any results yet on those other DNA samples we’ve sent to the hospitals?”

  “No matches have been reported. Quinn says he’s been getting some funny looks though when they emphasized the need to verify any organ donations. All the administrators say that’s par for course so why are the police making a fuss.”

  “Thanks, Idris. Can you call Reagan at Perry Grais Standing and ask about those appointment times for Abigail Ewing and Mikayla Parkinson? She should’ve had time to collate the information for us by now. Oh, and send Reuben and Quinn in please.”

  Quinn and Reuben sat opposite her desk, so close together they were jostling elbows. As the senior man, Quinn filled her in on their visit to Tanya Merriweather.

  “We do think it’s interesting that the retreat doesn’t specialize in repeat customers,” he ended. “That could mean it’s a front for black market transplants. Once the patients ha
ve their new organs they don’t need to return.”

  “It could mean any number of things without the right evidence, Quinn. Reuben, did you get access to the retreat’s patient records?”

  “I approached the HSCIC medical database, but it seems like Dr. Vitalis’s patients have opted out of being included in the system. Plus, the fact that Vitalis is not actually practicing medicine means he’s not listed as a medical practitioner at all. Sorry, Boss, I didn’t have any luck in that regard.”

  “So, there’s no easy way to confirm if his clients are on organ donor waiting lists,” Bex concluded. “In that case, work on getting a warrant to do a thorough search of Bluebell Retreat. In the meantime, I want to ask both of you if you noticed anything unusual on Saturday at the drop in center. Yusef Karim seems to have gone missing straight after the fight that day. No one’s seen him since. When was the last time you noticed him around?”

  “I didn’t hang around after the fight,” Quinn said. “I left him talking to Torben Derichs.”

  “I don’t remember noticing Yusef in particular, before I drove you home,” Reuben said. “Is it important? Do you think his disappearance is related to this case?”

  “It’s probably just a coincidence and I’m being jumpy because of it,” Bex admitted. “But he missed a court appearance yesterday and now there’s a bench warrant out for his arrest.”

  Quinn rolled his eyes and Bex felt her hackles rise.

  “Do you have something to say, Quinn?”

  “Only that your ambitions for the drop in center are too high. Yusef’s obviously scarpered because he didn’t want to face his hearing. There’s nothing more sinister to his disappearance than that. He’s a rotten apple and it only takes one to spoil the whole barrel.”

  Bex hid her dismay. Quinn’s complaint echoed Rahat’s words and she felt a fool for being duped.

  “My advice is to keep this information to yourself. Dresden was touting the center’s success to the local reporter on Saturday. This puts a dent in that story,” he continued.