Bex Wynter Box Set 2

by Elleby Harper

  “Thank you for attending the office when I know you’re officially on leave.” His tone made it clear the words were a mere courtesy and that he had expected no less of a subordinate. “I thought you’d appreciate being brought up to date on the Vitalis case.”

  “Thank you, sir, I do.”

  “The fire set by Dresden completely destroyed that part of the bomb shelter that seemed to be the living quarters for their daughter and the structure above it, which I believe had been the gardener’s house, and whatever evidence it contained before the fire department arrived.

  “The good news is that, having fire resistant steel doors to seal off sections, the rest of the bomb shelter survived intact. Furthermore, the Vitalises seem to be hoarders. There’s no doubt they destroyed the majority of items that would have provided evidence against their crimes in a medical grade incinerator they had installed below ground.

  “However, Mackinley and the authorized firearms officers did manage to salvage the contents from two metal chests that the Vitalises hadn’t got around to incinerating. They’re filled with ID cards and personal effects like jewelry and electronics. Our forensics team is also hopeful that they might be able to salvage DNA from the incinerator’s ash. Since we recovered no bodies, our best guess is that Vitalis disposed of the bodies in there. Apparently bones and teeth are extremely strong and can leave an identifiable residual powder.

  “A preliminary examination of the salvaged items points to at least a hundred victims. Three of them have been identified as former offenders dealt with by the Youth Crimes Team, including Sahnan. This is a massive case and I’ve no doubt this number may be the tip of the iceberg. I think it’s safe to assume we’ve captured one of the UK’s most prolific serial killers.”

  Titus paused to sip his tea. When he set the cup down, he pursed his lips, emphasizing the heaviness of his cheeks and the puffiness around his eyes.

  “It’s frightening when you think about how much we trust the medical profession to take care of us when we’re vulnerable and in no position to take care of ourselves. Breaking that trust is worse than a cold-blooded killer attacking you on the street. I only hope Vitalis and his wife survive to face trial and be convicted for several life sentences.”

  “What is their condition, sir?”

  Distantly, muffled through the thick glass, came the bleat of a honking horn, the constant hum of traffic flowing by several stories below them.

  “Orla Vitalis is still in a coma. It’s doubtful she’ll recover consciousness. Apparently Smithson sacrificed her while he tried to make a getaway. Once she’s officially listed as brain dead, we’ll apply for a court order to unplug her life support system. Vitalis sustained three shots to the upper torso and is still listed as critical, but he should pull through.”

  “What about Dresden?” Bex asked.

  There was an ominous silence while Titus finished his tea. Bex jammed her hands between her knees, hidden under the tabletop, to stop herself reaching forward to shake answers from him.

  “Thanks to your statement an investigation has commenced into Sophie Dresden’s role in the serial killings. I can confirm that she and her husband are currently at large. There’s no record of them leaving the country under their real names, but we can’t discount the possibility they used fake IDs.”

  Bex’s gut twisted with urgency. The more time that passed the harder it would be to track their movements.

  “Sir, we need to concentrate on medical institutes specializing in exoskeleton development. Wherever in the world they’re situated, that’s where the Dresdens will be.”

  “It’s not the police service’s problem any more. Dresden’s file has been taken over by the National Crimes Agency. They have the authority to deal with this case on an international level to bring Dresden to justice. Trust them to do their job. They’ll check into your statement about large amounts of money going to medical donations and fake IDs.”

  “But, sir –”

  “I know, Wynter, it’s a hell of a shock to everyone in the service. Dresden was a force to be reckoned with. The top brass had her pegged as a woman with ambitions who planned to get to the top before she retired.” He shook his head, as though still coming to grips with the news.

  A sinking feeling swallowed Bex. She couldn’t help thinking that Dresden was going to get away with her part in the serial murders. Although she had never actually lifted a hand to slice and dice her victims, she had carefully selected and judged each one and passed their names onto her executioner.

  “Talking of Dresden, there’s another issue that we have to address.”

  Titus’s ominous tone and deep set eyes settled on Bex like a weight. Was a reprimand forthcoming? He began speaking with brisk efficiency.

  “Wynter, the Youth Crimes Team was Dresden’s brainchild. It’s beginning to look like the whole idea of the new unit was her way of identifying young criminals as fodder for Dr. Vitalis and their black market organ scheme.

  “Above me, commanders, commissioners and deputies are muttering and I can already feel their scrutiny bearing down on the Youth Crimes Team. The Vitalis story is leaking to the news channels, so recriminations and bad publicity are going to rain down on the team and the police service in general. A well-respected doctor and a high-ranking police official are supposed to protect society not prey upon them.

  “Juveniles are a highly vulnerable category and even before this case the police have been criticized over our handling of missing teens. We’ve been lambasted for not taking these cases seriously. To survive this crisis of confidence in us, we’re going to need to change the media’s view of how we approach juvenile crime.”

  He paused, scratching his nose as he meditated over his next words. Bex’s nerves felt pinched with anxiety and she steeled herself for the bad news that she was out of a job.

  “I’ve reviewed the team’s mandate and I want to make a change to allow the unit to investigate crimes against juveniles, not just juvenile offenders.”

  Bex blinked as she adjusted her perspective, keeping her expression neutral. What did his words mean?

  “I’ll be honest and tell you that I’m fighting an uphill battle with the higher ups to get this idea approved. Some of them are so short-sighted they can’t see past the bad publicity that Dresden’s actions have dragged us into. It’s going to take several weeks, if not months, to fill Dresden’s role and I’m afraid that without a strong leader at the helm, the nay-sayers will win the battle to dissolve the Youth Crimes Team. Unless…”

  Bex’s pounding heart hurt her chest, which had been left bruised and battered from the impact of Dresden’s bullet. Was Titus hinting that she still had a job or not?

  “Are you prepared to step into the breach? Temporarily of course. It means taking charge of the entire Bridesmead Borough but I’m prepared to guide you through the ropes. I understand you have a trip to New York planned. If you took on this role that would have to be cancelled. If I leave the leadership vacant for longer than a day the team won’t survive the wolves baying for blood. What do you say?”

  Astonishment kept her silent. Titus held eye contact with her. His expression was difficult to read, but he had been explicit that if she refused his offer the team would be disbanded, individual team members’ reputations left forever under a cloud, tainted by Dresden’s name.

  He either couldn’t or wouldn’t prevent it. She chewed the inside of her cheek. She poured every scrap of energy and whatever scraps of her heart she had left into policing. It had taken exhaustive months to wield the squad into an efficient team. What would she do if the Youth Crimes Team was dissolved? But if she took the role she would also be in charge of Bridesmead CID and that meant being Cole’s boss.

  Out of her brother and herself, she had always been the dependable child in the family. This time it couldn’t be helped. She was going to disappoint her parents by not returning home for Easter.

  As the silence lengthened, Titus said, “I can give y
ou twenty-four hours maximum to think about this. Any longer and I really won’t be able to hold the vultures off. I understand if you don’t want to take on this responsibility. You’re very young for it, but I need a quick solution. And I assure you, you will just be a temporary placeholder.”

  “That’s fine, sir, I don’t need any more time. And I agree that a more inclusive mandate can only be beneficial.”

  Titus relaxed his measuring look with a brief nod.

  “Good. I’ll make the announcement about the new direction of the Youth Crimes Team. Leave the PR spin to me. Dresden’s office is being combed for evidence, but once it’s clear it’ll be ready for you to move into. As I said, don’t get too comfortable. We’ll be interviewing prospects as soon as possible.”

  Chapter 36

  Wednesday March 28

  Bex’s hand trembled as she pushed open the door to the carcass that had once been her teen drop in center.

  Ringed by police crime tape, graffitied outside walls, smashed windows and residual rubble from the explosion gave the place a derelict air. It looked like it had been abandoned for months rather than a week. Vultures had scoured the building, ripping away anything not bolted down. That included the new gaming equipment, snooker and foosball tables, hot water urns, the mini refrigerator and stove. Broken chair frames littered one room like a series of skeletal remains. The punching bags had been slashed and pitted with shards so they hung like battered, dismembered torsos. Crockery had been smashed, ceramic pieces blending with debris, dust and wreckage.

  She had come to see if there was anything to salvage, but now she regretted her visit.

  She passed into the office where Josh had lived briefly. The room was at the front of the building and had taken the brunt of the explosion. His laptop was a melted plastic and metal puddle on the floor.

  Poor Josh. Moving in here hadn’t done him any favors. Reuben had come to his rescue by allowing Josh to housesit his flat while he remained in hospital. Josh’s father had promised to fly back over Easter to see his son, but hadn’t offered any assurances to return to London for good.

  Shaking off her misgivings, she stepped out of the building. Her next port of call was London Central Hospital and she was hoping for better news.

  * * *

  Trish and Clive Farnham waited patiently outside Fairchild’s hospital room. Bex sized them up as earnest, hard-working, respectful and law-abiding. Clive was a professor of economics at the University of West London and Trish was a curator at the British Museum. They held hands as they stood side by side waiting for the social worker to allow them inside. They exchanged a glance and tentative smiles.

  Trish shivered like a whippet and Bex wondered who was more nervous, Fairchild or the Farnhams. Clive used his free hand to push his wire-framed glasses up his nose.

  “Can you tell us a little bit about her, about our…daughter.” Trish’s words were hesitant, but she said the last word with heartfelt emotion.

  “What I know about your daughter is that she’s a brave girl. If it hadn’t been for her phone call we may never have caught the serial killer. Innocent lives have been saved because of her. I’m sorry, Mrs Farnham, but I don’t really know much more than that about her. I was asked to be here because I’m one of the few people who she recognizes so I might help alleviate her anxiety.”

  The Farnhams were the couple who had won the DNA jackpot and could now rightfully claim Fairchild as theirs. Their eyes sought each other’s again.

  “Libby told us what she’s been through,” Trish whispered.

  “Shut away from the world for the past eight years! It’s appalling what that nurse did to us, letting us believe our baby was dead and the life she’s forced our daughter to live!” Clive spoke with unexpected authority.

  “Yes, it is,” Bex agreed. “Do you have any other children?” She wasn’t sure how Fairchild would assimilate into a family environment composed of noisy, rambunctious siblings.

  “No we don’t.” Trish’s eyes misted. “You see I only fell pregnant with our daughter after three attempts at IVF. After her death, we gave up. It didn’t seem to be God’s plan for us to be parents. We can hardly believe this miracle.”

  Libby, the social worker, bustled out of the room. She shook everybody’s hand with a business-like grip before addressing the Farnhams.

  “I think Fairchild’s as ready as she’ll ever be. Just remember what I told you earlier. She’s registering with autism-like symptoms, but I’m confident the reason for that is her lack of social interaction, especially with children her own age. It means her reactions to you may not be what you’re expecting. With professional help, I hope she’ll be able to develop stronger emotional bonds and appropriate reactions. She’s made an attachment to a building block she picked out of the toys I brought her.”

  Libby stood back, allowing the three of them inside.

  Fairchild sat up in bed, the covers tucked around her waist. Her hair had been combed into a neat plait to sit on her shoulder. Under it her face was pinched and pale. Bandages showed through her nightgown, traveling down one arm. Her slim fingers played constantly with a red plastic building brick and her lips moved silently as she counted to herself.

  Bex gave her an encouraging smile and a friendly wave.

  “Fairchild, do you remember what I explained to you?” Libby gave the girl a supportive squeeze on her uninjured forearm.

  Fairchild’s eyes darted to Trish and Clive. She nodded in answer to Libby’s question.

  “These are your real parents,” she continued gently. “Do you want to say hello?”

  Tears were spilling down Trish’s cheeks and Clive cleared his throat as they rounded the bed. Trish’s hand reached out timidly to touch Fairchild’s fingers, but she jerked her hand away. Trish bit her lip and withdrew her hand.

  “Hello,” said Fairchild.

  “Hello, Chrislynn,” Clive said, as his wife sobbed beside him, her palm pressed against her mouth.

  Fairchild cocked her head.

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Chrislynn? It doesn’t actually mean anything. It’s the name we gave you before you were born. How do you feel if we call you that? Perhaps you can think of it as a brand new start to your new life?” Clive said.

  Fairchild looked thoughtful.

  “I don’t know. My mother says Fairchild means a child who’s pretty.”

  Clive cleared his throat again.

  “I see. You’re asking me what’s behind the name. Well, it’s a combination of names. My mother’s name is Christine and your other grandmother’s name is Lynette. Your mother and I combined the names. We think it’s pretty.”

  “Chrislynn.” Her childish voice lisped over the name. “How many letters does it have?”

  Clive swallowed a nonplussed look. “It has nine letters.”

  “Fairchild has nine letters too.” She sounded satisfied.

  Although she looked calm, when Trish reached for her hand again, uncertainty crossed her features. She turned imploring eyes towards Bex.

  “If you’re not sure, why don’t you try the name for awhile until you make a decision?” Bex suggested. “You don’t have to decide right now.”

  Libby gave her a brief smile and a nod. She drew Trish and Clive to one side and Bex edged towards the bed. She bent closer to the girl.

  “It’s alright to be scared. It’s going to take awhile to get used to new people in your life. But Trish and Clive will teach you about the real world.”

  “I don’t want to know about the outside.” Tears gathered in the corner of her eyes. “It’s scary. Bad people do bad things.”

  “That’s true, Chrislynn.” Bex refused to lie. “What you haven’t experienced yet is good people doing good things. I think your real parents are good people and they’re going to do their best to ensure your life from now on is more good than bad.”

  Chapter 37

  Wednesday March 28

  The sound of a pla
ne overhead brought Bex to an abrupt halt in front of Bridesmead CID. A shielded glance into the opalescent gray sky caused her a moment of regret. The British Airways Boeing 747 winging its way across the Atlantic to New York was minus one passenger this evening.

  Rolling her shoulders to relieve the stress that had built up over the past forty-eight hours, Bex strode through the reception office. Holding the archive box she had brought under one arm, she hit the elevator button for the next level. Titus wanted her moved into New Scotland Yard pronto so she had to clear her personal belongings from her office at Bridesmead. She didn’t relish the thought of occupying the bare glass cubicle that would always be associated with Dresden in her mind and had waited until the end of a long day to make the move.

  “Congrats, Boss!” Eli welcomed her entrance into the Youth Crimes Team office.

  Heat stole up her cheeks as she awkwardly acknowledged the compliment.

  “Two minutes into the new job and your face is already plastered over the news as the heroine of the hour.” Quinn made the snarky comment without looking up.

  Idris’s pen did a series of acrobatic somersaults over his knuckles. “What does Mackinley think of Titus handing you all the glory with his spin on police ‘keeping our children out of harm’s way’?”

  Bex’s discomfit deepened as four sets of eyes fastened on her. It had been Titus’s idea to claim Vitalis’s arrest for the Youth Crimes Team to bolster its new image of police protecting society’s most vulnerable. She hadn’t seen Cole since Sunday, when he’d supported her decision to conduct the DNA search for Chrislynn’s parents. She felt she owed him an apology, but she wasn’t sure what her reception would be.

  “Titus did a good job of obfuscating matters. If you listened to him, you’d never be aware that it was one of the so-called protectors murdering kids for their body parts. I doubt the tabloids will be as kind. That story’s got killer headlines all over it. I can’t wait to see what the press come up with,” Quinn said.