Three years ago when he found Lara’s body hanging in their bedroom he had looked for a scapegoat. Maurice Entwhistle fit the bill. Caught pawning Lara’s jewelry – her wedding and engagement rings, the bracelet he bought her when they discovered she was pregnant and the necklace her parents gave her for her twenty-first birthday – Cole had jumped to one conclusion: Entwhistle had robbed Lara and killed her.
He had ridiculed Entwhistle’s claims that Lara had approached him in the street and handed over all the jewelry she was wearing that day to a homeless stranger. He had literally sneered in Entwhistle’s face and promised retribution. Instead of searching for the truth, he had looked for the clues that put Entwhistle at the scene of the crime, doing his best to lock Entwhistle away for life. Almost too late he had discovered Lara’s suicide note. She had tucked it on the mantle beside their wedding photo and it had fallen behind the frame. Only when he had come to pack away the things that reminded him of his dead wife had he found it, halfway through Entwhistle’s trial. Digging further he had uncovered some CCTV footage that showed Entwhistle near Baker Street Station at the time the coroner estimated Lara had been hanged, fully exonerating him.
He grabbed a handful of paper towel and scraped his face dry. Green shards glittered in his hazel eyes. For three years he had been clinging to anger because it was less agonizing than clinging to grief. No longer believing himself worthy of love, it was easier to simply move from one welcoming body to another, never becoming emotionally attached. This was his life now and he embraced it. He didn’t want to be trapped by love again, by the overwhelming guilt when he fell short of a loved one’s expectations.
He reminded himself tonight wasn’t a date and Bex wasn’t Lara. Whatever was hidden behind her eyes, it wasn’t Lara’s pain and being with Bex wouldn’t erase the guilt he carried for failing Lara. His wife hadn’t trusted him to make her world right again because he had selfishly buried himself in his work. Instead she had wiped herself out of his life.
For a moment he wondered what pain had driven Bex from her birthplace to travel half way round the world, but he pulled himself up short. He didn’t want to know her secrets any more than he wanted to reveal his own.
When he returned to the booth, Bex was spooning up the last of her crema Catalina. Cole ordered a double espresso to counteract the booze flowing through his veins and Bex ordered a long black.
“Do you think Dresden would approve a warrant to covertly bug Bluebell Retreat?” she asked.
Cole almost choked on his coffee. He could understand how Bex’s gung ho take-no-prisoners attitude to policing ruffled feathers. On the whole he found it refreshing, but if she wanted to fit into the British policing model she needed to smooth out her rough edges.
“Considering we have absolutely no evidence for any wrong-doing by them, I’m pretty sure her answer will be no.”
“Pity. The only evidence we have of a serial killer is Mikayla’s liver turning up in Abigail Ewing’s body and a stack of ID card numbers from an anonymous phone call.”
Cole relished the hot black liquid as he gulped his coffee.
“I was wondering if we’re going about this the wrong way. What is it that those eleven missing teens have in common?”
“Including Yusef Karim, they all had brushes with the law. That’s what struck me the most.”
“That’s my feeling. There are no other common traits. They’re various ages, they come from different parts of London and they’re a mix of male and female. But every one of them went through the justice system. What if we’re concentrating on the wrong area to find the perp? We think he’s got medical training, but what if we’re wrong? What if he’s just a wannabe doctor who actually works somewhere in the legal system?”
“Like a parole officer or a district attorney who’s come into contact with these kids? Someone who knows this type of kid won’t really be missed if they disappear,” Bex mused.
“Or at least the UK equivalent.” Cole grinned.
“Here’s one connection I can follow up. Mikayla Parkinson had an appointment with her lawyer, Susan Gibbs, at 2:45 p.m. on August 14 last year. Abigail Ewing met with Lillian Perry between 1:30 and 2:30 p.m. on the same day in the same office building. Is it possible that on her way out Abigail met Mikayla and some sort of connection was formed?”
Cole drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the tabletop beside his coffee cup.
“That’s a long shot, but it might be heading in the right direction. Let’s see what other connections we can find that these kids may have had in common.”
Bex checked her watch and started.
“I hadn’t realized it’s almost midnight. Cole, thanks for dinner, but I have to make a move. I have a meeting with Dresden first thing in the morning.”
When she rose from the table she wobbled, just a little off balance. Cole held out a hand to steady her. He felt the heat of her skin against his flesh. Without thinking he dipped his face towards her, so close their breaths mingled. Her startled eyes met his and he quickly rocked backwards.
“That does it, I’m definitely driving tonight,” he said in a light tone, determined not to reveal that their close encounter had floored him. He could still taste her breath on his tongue, more intimate than a kiss.
Chapter 23
Wednesday March 21
As Cole parked behind a large family sedan in the driveway of Georgie’s bed and breakfast establishment, Bex let out a startled squeak. Cole threw her an enquiring glance.
“If I’m not mistaken, that’s Eli Morgan’s sedan.”
“Is he here checking up on your well-being?”
“No, I gather he may be here visiting my landlady.”
Cole insisted on walking her to her door and she led him down a barely discernible side path that led to the backyard and a direct entrance to her studio apartment. As the pathway opened onto the back patio and garden, Bex came to an abrupt standstill that caused Cole to knock into her as they came face to face with Eli.
The outside light cast long shadows of the three of them standing in awkward formation. Eli lifted a hand from which smoke curled. He cleared his throat self-consciously.
“Just having a last ciggy for the night. Georgie doesn’t like smoking in her house and I’ve been trying to give the bastards up, but it’s more difficult than you think.”
“Cole and I had a late night discussing Mikayla Parkinson’s case so he dropped me off on his way home,” Bex announced.
The awkwardness of the meeting wasn’t lost on Cole as the three of them stared sheepishly at each other. The only way to resolve the embarrassment was to face it head on.
“Nonsense, Bex. Tell Eli the truth. We were out having a drink to celebrate your birthday. She did a good job of slipping the day under everyone’s radar, but there’s no denying she’ll soon be an old maid.”
Beside him he felt her stiffen with indignation that he had revealed her secret.
“In two years she’ll be thirty and little does she know it’s a downward spiral after that, isn’t it, Eli?”
Eli relaxed into a chuckle.
“Speak for yourself, Cole! Some of us old dogs have found a new lease on life.”
“Everything okay, Eli?” A woman’s voice called from inside the house.
“Just finishing up, Georgie,” he called. Eli winked in their direction. “I won’t say anything at work if you don’t, Boss. Reuben’s not too keen on having me around, if you know what I mean.”
“Fair shake of the lamb’s tail there, old man,” Cole said. “Your secret’s safe with us.”
Eli disappeared inside, leaving them alone.
Bex pressed her key to the lock and the door swung open. Cole knew it was his cue to leave, but he couldn’t make his legs behave. Bex turned to face him, her hand outstretched.
“Thanks again for tonight, Cole.”
He grasped her hand and tugged her forward. He knotted his other hand into the hair curled against the nape of her neck a
s he dropped his face to hers. Their kiss was long and deep and hungry. She raised her arms to run her fingertips along his sinewy muscles, grasping his shoulders. Their hunger was mutual and fed each other. Without a word and without breaking contact they moved inside. Cole kicked the door to.
* * *
Fuelled by too much drink, tonight had been a moment of madness. Still Cole couldn’t regret the evening or wipe the memory from his mind.
Moonlight fell in a long slice through the open curtains across the bed, allowing him enough light to admire the graceful planes of her sleeping body exposed through the tangled sheets. Lightly brushing her skin he skated his hand over the sculptured muscles of calf and thigh and the washboard flat belly.
Looking at her took his breath away. She was an Amazon princess, or perhaps, given her pale coloring, a Norse goddess.
He ran a finger lightly along her hairline, brushing soft strands back from her forehead. In repose, her face lost its haunted tragedy, her closed eyes no longer hinted at unspeakable sorrow. She stirred, her brow furrowing. Total peace eluded her even in sleep.
Quietly he rose from the bed so as not to disturb her and pulled on underwear, trousers, shirt and jacket. Holding his shoes he tiptoed to the door. With his hand on the lock he paused, taking a final look around her moonlit apartment. The sofa had an air of having seen better days, as did the stools sitting at the bench and the dented wood of the coffee table. The sparse furnishings lent the place a sad and temporary air, rather like Bex, he thought. There was no more potent sign that she hadn’t put roots down in London. His chest tightened with regret, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t searching for permanent. In fact he wasn’t looking at all.
Feeling through his pockets he unearthed a scrap of paper and a pen. He scrawled a few words and left the note on her bench, before leaving.
* * *
Oncoming headlights blinded her and made it difficult to see. Bex felt herself reeling as the car spun out of control, tires screeching, windshield cracking like bullets had been fired at it.
“Zane! Zane! Zane!”
A voice screamed her husband’s name.
She looked across to the driver’s seat to see Zane slumped over the steering wheel. She shook and tugged at his body. She had to wake Zane and get him out of there! She yanked at the inert figure. He was so heavy! And the wind was rushing at her through the cracked glass, fighting against her, pushing her back into her seat.
“Zane! Zane! Zane!”
The shrieks blew past her on a stream of air.
The spinning was making her dizzy.
“Zane.” The sound was barely more than a moan on a fitful gust of wind.
The body under her hands seemed to fold and collapse in on itself, reducing in size. It was no longer a man’s body but a child’s shoulders that she shook.
“I live in a house with no wind.” The thin, reedy voice reached her ears on another gust of air. “I live in a house with no wind — oh, I have to go.”
“Don’t go, Fairchild! I’ve been looking for your house,” Bex explained, panic gnawing a hole in her chest. “Fairchild, I’ve been looking for a house with no wind.”
Bex was shivering from the cold seeping in on the damp air. She began to weep; harsh, ragged sobs tore at the hole in her chest where her heart used to beat.
“I live in a house with no wind — oh!”
Bex reached out to grasp the child.
Suddenly the windshield shattered and glass splintered around them, tinkling like crystal shards.
“No wind – oh!” the childish voice said insistently.
No window!
The thought struck Bex like lightning even as she jolted awake. No window! Fairchild lived in a house with no window!
Her heart was pounding and tears flooded her cheeks as she slowly let the nightmare dissolve around her. It had started out with the familiar flashbacks of the auto accident that had killed Zane and left her in hospital, before morphing into current anxieties. Trembling, she jerked the bed covers back into place, covering her nakedness. She rolled onto her side and lay quietly trying to sort her foggy thoughts.
Her treacherous body still ached from the night’s delicious activities, but she thrust those memories aside and buried them under a tsunami of guilt.
Her eyes were gritty and her throat was dry. That will teach me to drink too much! She felt a vicious pleasure at her own pain. Experience had taught her that going back to sleep only risked more nightmares, so she pulled on a pair of sweat pants and one of Zane’s favorite T-shirts and moved into the kitchenette.
Switching on the espresso machine, she leaned against the tiny bench top, dislodging a scrap of paper. It fluttered to the floor at her feet. She stooped to pick it up.
Don’t let Dresden get you down this morning.
There was no signature, but she knew who it was from. She glanced around the apartment, which was really a large room divided into a cooking area and a nook for her bed, checking to see she was alone.
She scrunched the paper into a ball and lobbed it into the trash. When she straightened her eyes fell on a small, ornate box wedged against the sliver of wall between the microwave and the fridge. Her fingers traced the wooden grain of the lid. Inside was a packet of rose seeds named after Zane that her mother had bought to commemorate the first anniversary of his passing. She planned to take half the seeds with her to New York for Neil and plant the rest here in London, an evergreen memory.
Her tears fell thick and fast. She felt hollowed out and couldn’t shake the guilt of betrayal.
Zane, what have I done?!
She probed, waiting for Zane’s familiar, reassuring voice inside her head. There was only silence. A chilling weight settled in the pit of her stomach and she told herself that last night had been a terrible mistake and she needed to make sure that Cole knew there would be no repeat performances.
Chapter 24
Thursday March 22
Dresden’s office was a sterile glass cube, bare of even a single personal touch. Behind her desk shelving units housed legal books and precedents, folders of case law, but little else.
She removed her reading glasses to reveal a heavy scowl tramlining her forehead.
“Let me get this clear. This entire public relations disaster has been sparked by an anonymous phone call from a child?” Dresden’s words dripped with disdain.
“The numbers she provided matched eleven missing IDs.”
“And from that you jumped to a serial killer on the loose?”
Bex felt herself flushing under the scornful tone. Dresden was grilling her over the scant information Cole had provided and Bex was beginning to wish she hadn’t elaborated.
“I commend you for passing this case officially to DCI Mackinley because, as far as I can determine, there are no grounds for the Youth Crimes Team to be involved. If this child’s call wasn’t a prank, and I’m not yet convinced that’s not the most likely explanation, she hasn’t committed a crime.
“I’ve recommended to Mackinley that he put this case to bed. We don’t have the resources to waste on a wild goose chase. Unfortunately young people run away from home all the time because they don’t like to follow rules or they’ve had a bust up with their parents. They seem to believe that living on the street is better than following a few rules.”
“There is the evidence of Mikayla Parkinson’s liver —”
Dresden cut her off with an irritable wave of her hand, her eyes narrowing into a mean-spirited glare.
“I take it that’s the cause of this wave of panic that every single missing person in London is now a target for depraved killers reaping organs from unwilling victims. Your conduct with the hospitals shows a ridiculous lack of political nous for someone of your rank, Wynter.”
Dresden pinched the bridge of her nose and heaved a noisy sigh.
“I’ve issued a statement that hopefully allays the alarm Trending News has been stirring up and puts a lid on it escalating furthe
r. I have to say you have a knack of attracting publicity, Wynter.” Dresden didn’t sound happy about it. “That’s all very well when it’s for the right reasons, but this time you’ve created a hell of a mess. This isn’t the way we police here.”
As the silence pressed down, Bex felt uncertainty flood her. She was used to trusting her gut, raw emotions often led to discovering the truth. She had thought she was doing the right thing, but Dresden made her second guess herself. Had she let down, not only her team, but the entire London Metropolitan Police Service?
“I think the problem is you got overinvested in these missing teens.”
Bex looked Dresden squarely in the eyes. She wondered if Dresden was going to make this case disappear simply because of the bad publicity.
“But isn’t my empathy for at risk kids the reason you hired me for this role in the first place?”
Dresden toyed with her glasses.
“Your qualifications do make you ideally suited to lead the Youth Crimes Team, but I think this time you’ve let your emotions cloud your judgment. I understand you’ve got leave at Easter, so take time then to unwind and come back with fresh eyes. In the meantime, I’ll smooth things over with the top brass. Remember, Wynter, that I expect my chief inspectors to police by the book, otherwise I would’ve put a rogue like Standing in charge.”
* * *
After a confrontation like that, it was difficult not to feel like a deflated balloon, Bex mused as she returned to Little King Lane and the Bridesmead CID. Reuben hovered by her door as she settled herself into her office.
“What is it, Reuben?”
“You look like you need a coffee. Can I buy you one downstairs at Dill’s?”
His usually cheerful face was strained, hinting that he was about to burden her with his problems. Her hands clenched over the back of her chair. She didn’t know if she could stomach any more setbacks today.
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 13
