Bandages covered the lower left side of Reuben’s face and neck, traveling down his chest and side, where the explosion had left its mark.
Reuben stirred, his eyes opening to stare blurrily around.
“Bex? What are you doing here?” Worry lines creased his forehead. “Josh? Is he okay? I remember there was some sort of explosion.”
Bex pressed a palm against his unhurt shoulder, forcing him back down onto the bed.
“He’s fine, Reuben. Just a few scratches from shattered debris and a slight concussion. They’re keeping him in hospital overnight for observation. He said your actions saved him from any serious injury. I’m so sorry this has happened. But the doctors say you’re going to make a full recovery.”
Reuben moved his head slightly, taking in his surroundings, the long snakes of tubes leading to his arms dripping pale fluids, the soft whirring of machines monitoring his progress. He brought a hand up to worry at the bandages plastered across his face. His eyes danced feverishly, bleak with fear.
“Sure, what’s a little ugliness in the scheme of things.”
Bex recognized the valiant attempt he made to sound light and unconcerned.
“It’s amazing what plastic surgeons can accomplish these days, Reuben. You won’t have to worry about permanent scarring.”
“Where’s mum?” he changed the subject.
“She’s just taking a bathroom break,” Bex lied. Eli had forced Georgie to step outside the hospital to grab a sandwich away from the dismal hours of waiting for Reuben to awaken from his anaesthetized slumber. “She’ll be sorry she missed your wake up performance though.”
“How’d mum take the news?”
“Georgie’s a strong woman. Once she knew you were alive and going to be okay, her spirits bucked up.”
Fat tears ballooned from his eyes, sliding sideways down his face.
“What’s wrong, Reuben? Are you in pain? Shall I call a nurse?”
“Yes, I’m in pain, but it’s nothing that the hospital can help with. I’ve been such a bastard to mum.”
Bex looked shocked. “What do you mean? Georgie’s always singing your praises, she thinks the world of you, Reuben.”
“I know. And I’ve let her down. I forced her to choose between Eli and me because I didn’t think Eli was good enough for her. I thought she didn’t need another man in her life and that’s why she never dated after dad’s death, but now I wonder if she didn’t get involved with anyone because of me. I’m the one that’s stood in the way of her happiness all these years! If I’d been killed tonight mum would be left on her own. I’ve made her throw away this chance of happiness she might’ve had with Eli.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Reuben. Your mom’s an adult, she makes her own decisions. I know she’s so proud of how you stepped up to take your responsibilities seriously when your dad died. And she couldn’t be prouder of your decision to become a police officer.”
Reuben sniffled.
“That only makes it worse. She’s always wanted what’s best for me and I’ve selfishly thought only of my own feelings.”
“I don’t think it’s too late, Reuben, to let your mom know you’ve had a change of heart,” Bex said, thinking of stalwart Eli who had run around bringing cups of tea to Georgie, holding her hand like it was a fragile bird while they waited throughout Reuben’s operation.
A nurse bustled through the doorway and Georgie followed, a warm bundle of puffer coat, coarse woolly muffler and motherly concern. She squirted a blob of sanitizer into her palm, rubbing briskly before she gripped Reuben’s hand. Her mouth trembled uncontrollably while she swiped a tissue over her eyes.
“How is he?” She turned entreating eyes towards the nurse.
“The patient’s dandy, Mrs Richards.” The nurse barely glanced up from her notetaking as she checked over the monitors. “How are your pain levels, Mr Richards?”
“I feel groggy but I’m alright,” Reuben answered.
“Well, you’ve given your mum a right fright.” The nurse nodded severely as though this was a grave transgression. “She’ll be wrapping you up in cottonwool if you’re not more careful!”
“Pity there wasn’t a bomb shelter for you to dive into,” Georgie agreed. “That would’ve kept you safe. I remember those bunkers from the 80s when everyone was terrified of the nuclear fallout from the Cold War. The Staffords next door actually built one in their garden and I used to play with the neighborhood kids in there until Mr Stafford found out and tore strips off us. Those two foot thick walls would’ve kept you safe, my luv.”
Georgie’s words hit Bex like a steamroller. I live in a house with no windows.
“Are you talking about bomb shelters built underground with no windows, Georgie?”
Still holding Reuben’s hand, but now beaming ear from ear, Georgie nodded.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Bex. I remember Mr Stafford telling us kids that it wasn’t a cubby house, but we never thought that. It was much too frightening! We used it to scare the living daylights out of each other.” She turned her friendly smile on Bex. “Thank God those days are over.”
“Were there many bomb shelters in London?” Bex asked.
“Oh, Lord, there must’ve been hundreds built between World War Two and the Cold War! I wonder what’s happened to all of them?”
“They’re probably just moldering away in people’s back gardens covered by moss and dirt,” Reuben said.
“Except for the special ones built to house government officials. They were said to be massive with tunnels that could house hundreds if not thousands of people,” Georgie added.
As Bex swallowed the chunks of information they bandied about, she felt as though her mind was freefalling, leaving her feeling lightheaded. A bomb shelter had to be the answer to the riddle of where Fairchild lived!
“I have to go,” she said, backing towards the door. “Look after each other.” Bex bestowed a meaningful stare on Reuben and he returned it with a wink from his good eye.
As she moved out of the room, she heard his voice, “Mum, I hope Eli’s going to be able to take care of you while I’m stuck here in hospital.”
The door snapped firmly behind her and she moved automatically along the corridor to the waiting room. There was no sign of Eli, so she guessed Georgie had sent him home for a break. A glance at the wall clock showed her it was quarter before two in the morning. She was literally dead on her feet as she pulled out her phone. She sent text messages to Quinn and Idris, giving them an update on Reuben.
Exhaustion washed through her and she struggled to make her brain process Georgie’s information. Where on earth should she start looking for a bomb shelter that might house an eight year old? She couldn’t do it on her own and she didn’t want to involve her team. Whoever had sent that threatening note had declared they meant business and she didn’t want anyone else endangered.
Her finger hesitated over Cole’s contact details. Cole answered after the first ring so she knew he hadn’t been asleep.
“How’s Reuben?”
“He’s pulled through the surgery and is no longer listed as critical,” Bex told him. “On the plus side, his near death experience has given him a bit of an epiphany into human relations.”
“Good news. I always feel like my heart’s in my mouth when one of our boys gets hurt, especially when it’s related to the job.” After a few seconds of awkward silence, he asked, “How are you holding up, Bex?”
“Let’s just say I’m still on my feet. Cole, I called because I think I may have a lead.”
Bex glanced around the waiting room. Most people were absorbed in their phones or deep conversations, still she moved to the edge of the room and lowered her voice.
“Do you think it’s possible we haven’t found any bodies because they could be stockpiled inside an old bomb shelter?”
As the seconds ticked by she found herself growing impatient.
“Cole?”
“Your puzzl
e about the house with no windows,” he finally said. “Any idea where to start looking?”
“I keep coming back to Bluebell Retreat. It’s the only clear connection we have to Abigail Ewing and through her to Mikayla Parkinson. Even though the Vitalises have no children…” She broke off, not trusting herself to speak. Her emotions were worn ragged. She needed to get to bed.
“Bex, you sound exhausted. I’ll come and pick you up so you can get some rest.”
The soft burr that laced his voice trickled around her like molasses. Her eyelids fluttered and she jerked them open with an effort. She was tired and his voice tempted her to surrender and let someone else take charge for a change. A mental image of Cole whisking her off her feet and into bed overwhelmed her before she dismissed the romantic fantasy.
“No need. I’ll cab it back to Georgie’s. I’ll see you first thing in the morning and we’ll work on this bomb shelter theory.”
Chapter 28
Friday March 23
Bex watched Cole’s long, elegant fingers tap over the keyboard. He used the peck and hunt method and Bex had to bite back the urge to take over the task with her own rapid fire typing. She had piled through the door at 7:00 a.m. only to find Cole had beaten her into the office and left a message on her desk to join him upstairs. She wondered if he had headed here straight after their phone call.
“There was a real threat of nuclear war in the 1960s and again in the early 1980s when Reagan and Breschnokov had a massive falling out. Britain was stuck in the middle and bomb shelters made a big come back. Many of them were refurbished for possible use. Mostly they were public shelters, but there were still plenty of private ones built. Ah, here it is.”
He gestured for Bex to join him on his side of the desk, his finger jabbing at the screen.
“What have you got?”
“I’ve gained access to some National Trust archival records on Bluebell Gardens before Vitalis took it over and turned it into a retreat. It used to be open to the public for tours in the late 90s. See these photos here, they’re of the inside of the bomb shelter built into the hills behind the house.”
“Holy shit!” Bex exclaimed. “I hadn’t realized how big an area the bunker took up. It looks like it covers miles of tunnels leading into these big open caverns.”
“The blurb says there were eight shelters of this size built across London during World War Two that could house up to eight thousand people. The one at Bluebell Gardens was repurposed during the 60s as a last resort for the government if a nuclear attack occurred on London. It’s a veritable fortress dug into the hillside. Says here it’s accessible through a fireproof steel door. There are covered air vents and it had a ventilation system to protect it in case of nuclear fallout. It was even fitted with water tanks that could hold up to three months’ supply of drinking water. Some of the tunnels were lined with steel while the rest of the tunnels are composed of the rock face.”
“What are the rooms filled with?” she squinted to get a closer look at the screen. “It looks like some sort of ancient radio equipment.”
“Yeah, could be left over from the war or perhaps installed in the 60s. I doubt they’ll still be usable. But there’s certainly plenty of space to stockpile bodies like a crypt.”
“Perhaps even keep the area refrigerated. The retreat’s bills show above average electricity consumption, that’s got to be used for something.”
“Or they’ve installed an incinerator. Remember my snitch said the bodies he found were due for burning?”
“Whoever wrote the note means business,” Bex said slowly.
“I know. I checked that article you mentioned and only Dresden was quoted in it. Whoever sent that note had some other means of knowing you’re involved in this case. Who could that be, Bex?”
Bex shifted her gaze towards the single window in Cole’s office. Early morning sun winked from the glass on the panes of the opposite building, trickling into a pool on his linoleum flooring.
Iron bands tightened around her chest, constricting her breathing. Her entire team knew of her involvement with this case, but Cole didn’t mean them, of course.
“I spoke to several people who knew Mikayla Parkinson and also Yusef Karim’s family. They could’ve spread the word amongst the neighborhood. Oh, and Lillian Perry knew I was looking into Abigail Ewing’s death.”
“I’ll speak to forensics again to hurry them up about the note. So, shall I organize a search warrant for Bluebell Retreat?” Cole’s voice was guarded, and the fact that he was asking her permission spoke volumes.
“We only have one chance at this, Cole. If we’re wrong about Vitalis’s bomb shelter, all we’ll do is alert our killer that we haven’t stopped investigating and put more people in danger. What I can’t reconcile with Smithson Vitalis being involved is that he and his wife don’t have children. Fairchild said her father did the killing.”
Cole drank from a cup on his desk. As far as Bex could tell it was stone cold coffee.
“Have you ever taken on a serial killer, Bex?”
She closed her eyes for a second, the air compressed in her lungs again and she fought herself free from unwanted images.
“Yes, a serial killing was the first case I was given as a homicide detective,” she managed to say without inflection.
“Then you’ll know we’re dealing with a sick bastard. I’ve had a couple of cases in my career, thankfully no more than that. But enough to know serial killers treat people as expendable objects. If the Vitalises had a child, odds are they’re not bringing her up as an ordinary kid. It could be there’s no record of her birth because they didn’t go through regular channels. Smithson’s a doctor and Orla’s a nurse so they have more than enough medical experience between them for Orla to have given birth at home, and never record the birth officially.”
Bex’s raw nerves trembled. Poor little kid! She hadn’t asked to have killers for parents!
“As I see it, you’re caught between a rock and a hard place, Bex. If we don’t stop this killer, you leave him free to abduct and kill more people.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check into Torben Derichs. He’s connected to Yusef Karim and indirectly through Perry Grais Standing’s law firm to both Abigail Ewing and Mikayla Parkinson,” she argued.
“I already looked into Derichs after our conversation yesterday. Two years ago he had a nervous breakdown and dropped out of surgery. Took nearly a year off, before coming back to do medical drug tests at festivals, for various workplaces, that sort of thing nowadays. He and his wife have no children. They live in a flat in a large complex built about twenty years ago, so I doubt there’s a bomb shelter in their backyard. Of course that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have access to one somewhere to store bodies. But I can’t see that being a viable option for raising a child.”
Bex grimaced.
“Let’s do it. But keep it as low key as possible, Cole. I don’t want the Vitalises or anyone else to get wind of this. It has to be a total surprise.”
“We don’t need to get your team involved at all. I can authorize the warrant for Trojan to sweep the place.” Cole referred to the armed branch of the London Metropolitan Police Force. “We’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning to catch everyone unawares. Fingers crossed we can wrap this whole case up before you leave on holiday. When are you flying to New York?”
“On the 28th, so I’ll be there for Easter. Quinn and Idris are investigating the blast, so I’ll alert them to be vigilant and I know Eli will keep an eye on Georgie at home. Reuben and Josh are still in the hospital. I’ll see if they can keep Josh in an extra night.” She hadn’t been able to save the man she loved, but she would do whatever was in her power to save someone else’s loved one. “Cole, I want to be on the scene when they execute the warrant.”
“You and me both. But, remember, we let the armed squad go in first,” he warned.
“You’ll get no complaints from me. I don’t like going anywhere unarmed,” Bex concurred.
Chapter 29
Saturday March 24
Two mobile armed response units moved with brutal speed through the manor house at Bluebell Retreat after storming the front door. The house was empty except for a quaking housekeeper.
“The Vitalises might be in the bunker,” Bex said to Cole. “We’ve got to get there before they’re alerted to our presence.”
The inspector in charge of the armed police spoke briefly to Cole before leading his men outside.
“We’re going to scout for the bunker now, Bex. I’m leaving an armed officer here in the house with you.”
“I’m not needed in an empty house and you’re not keeping me out of the action, Cole.”
“Listen to me, Bex. Take this opportunity to see what records you can uncover in Vitalis’s office. Once the housekeeper calms down she might have more information for us. If the Vitalises aren’t in the bomb shelter we need some clue as to where they could be.”
Bex felt her chin jut out with obstinate determination. She was certain Cole was fobbing her off, trying to keep her out of danger.
He grabbed her shoulders and she was forced to look up into his eyes narrowed with anxiety and impatience.
“Don’t be stubborn about this. We’ve got a short window of time to catch the Vitalises unawares. I need you to focus, question the housekeeper and discover any other bolt holes they might have. There’s nothing you can do at the bunker. I’m leaving that to the armed crew.”
Weariness descended into an ache at the back of her neck as the adrenaline from storming the house evaporated. It had been more than forty-eight hours since she’d had a decent night’s sleep. Cole was right. She should save her energy for questioning the Vitalises when they were brought into the station.
“Go ahead,” she acceded.
His eyes crinkled. “Good girl! I’ll see you later.”
Bex turned her attention to the housekeeper. Seated in a chair in the foyer, she held a hand to her wheezing chest. Bex crouched beside the woman, who regarded her with a tense, wary stare, confirming her hostility to the police presence. The woman looked to be in her mid-fifties, with a face wrinkled as an autumn apple. Wispy salt and pepper hair was held in place by two large hair clips.
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 15
