Cole wished he had Isla’s confidence, but the shriek of the siren mauled at his nerves. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the Loughboroughs would stop at nothing to destroy the son who was betraying them.
Chapter 2
New Scotland Yard, Tuesday, April 3
Even though Chief Superintendent Vincent Titus touted her to the press and rabid social media as London Met’s “concerned public face for vulnerable youth,” Bex Wynter suspected her boss didn’t think she was capable of handling her new position. She had become a figurehead to be paraded around to community groups, local authorities, and government departments. The result was she discovered her own passion for the job leeching into rote rhetoric because responding to variations of the same question made her answers sound robotic, not genuine.
Her surprise appointment and the change of mandate for the Youth Crimes Team was a knee jerk response to a series of serial killings, which had sparked public outrage condemning the police’s role in the case.
Fighting to keep the Youth Crimes Team from being ripped to shreds by the hierarchy, she had stepped into the leadership breach after her superior Sophie Dresden’s abrupt departure. She readily agreed with Titus about the benefits of shifting the team’s focus from prosecuting young offenders to investigating crimes against juveniles. What she found harder to stomach was the very public brandishing of their new mandate. But protesting her public appearances had done no good. Titus was determined to regild the police’s tarnished reputation and counteract the frenzied and too frequently virulent headlines.
“Wynter, right now your age is more important in this role than your lack of senior management skills. At twenty-eight you look almost as young as these juvenile victims. It shows this demographic that the police are serious about consulting with young people about protecting their rights. We will not,”—at this point Titus punctuated his lecture with a thump of fist into palm—“be seen to fail to bring justice to our vulnerable youth.” Titus then settled back over a pot of boiling tea. “The Home Office is right behind this decision.”
Bex was not so naïve she didn’t note the limitation he put on their mission: being seen to bring justice was not the same as actually policing to ensure juveniles received justice. She let Titus milk her dedication to her job for his own ends because she still believed she could prevail with her agenda: saving juveniles from becoming mere criminal statistics.
For the past week she had been up at 6:30 every morning, squeezing in a gym session before arriving at the understated Art Deco building known as New Scotland Yard. This morning, fully anticipating another of Titus’s public circuses, she was pleased to learn her schedule today included a team financial meeting with other superintendents.
“You seem surprisingly pleased with the news. You do realize that the point of these financial meetings is to claw back any money your department hasn’t already spent?” Sheryl Dougherty, Titus’s personal assistant, a woman of tight smiles and relentless pessimism, seemed perplexed by Bex’s enthusiasm. “Ground floor meeting room four. Eight-thirty sharp. If you want coffee bring your own. I don’t do drink orders.”
Sheryl finished with a smirk, leaving Bex in no doubt she was aware of Bex’s faux pas in mistaking Titus’s daughter, Isla Standing, as a barista instead of a barrister with a prestigious law firm. On her first day in London she had genuinely misinterpreted the British habit of abbreviating the “er” sound into “ah,” and registered it as a word more familiar to her ear. She had referred to Isla as a barista in front of her husband and other team members.
Nine months after leaving New York’s shores to be one of the first overseas officers in the London Met’s detective exchange program she was still striving to fit in. As her somewhat cheeky junior officer, Reuben Richards, would say, that day she had “dropped a clanger that wouldn’t soon be forgotten!”
After stopping at the upper level canteen to grab the advised hot beverage, the glassed elevator deposited Bex into the bottom floor double-height lobby, which led to conference rooms, the pressroom and smaller meeting rooms. Ignoring her, two suited men deep in conversation skimmed by. As they disappeared through the open doorway she caught sight of other cup-wielding attendees seated around the board table.
Most of the detectives from overseas had settled into sergeant and inspector roles around the city after their British police training. Through the efforts of Sophie Dresden, Bex became the highest ranked overseas exchange officer and her high profile cases had been newsworthy enough for rumors of favoritism to flourish.
The half a dozen faces around the table were unfamiliar to her. Even though no one looked directly at her, she felt their attention slam into her with all the subtlety of a Taser jolt. Heads remained cozied together and conversations, which had sloughed at her entrance, resumed in a frenetic buzz.
She ignored the odd suspicious glance thrown her way. After all, she had not come to London to make friends.
At the head of the table Titus snapped open his laptop. Conversations quieted under the sharp scrutiny of his tawny eyes, so reminiscent of his daughter’s. At his first words, Bex’s heart sank, recalling Sheryl’s warning that this meeting was a cost-cutting exercise.
Such was his commanding presence that Titus had no need to raise his voice to be heard. His accent was what Reuben had once described to her as “public school posh.”
“As superintendents you’re responsible for setting strategies and standards. You’ve all been in the position of making critical decisions during operations, hard decisions that your subordinates can’t fully comprehend. Every team under your command thinks they need and deserve all of our resources. But as superintendents, your job is to manage and distribute those resources based on high level criteria that lower ranks don’t have access to.
“The Home Office has passed on a report about unacceptable delays in response time to 999 calls. We’re talking days rather than hours.”
Titus glared fiercely around the table. Bex watched eyes slither away to laptops and tablets.
“Woods!” he barked. “How do you propose to address the Home Office’s concerns?”
A heavyset man in his early forties whose hair had fled a low sloping forehead, cleared his throat and glanced around for support. None was forthcoming.
“To be fair, Lewisham’s budget has fallen by —”
“Stop right there.” Titus’s voice cracked over his head like a whip. “I don’t want to hear that significant backlogs for emergency jobs is due to financial restraints. You’re being paid to find solutions, not hand me problems.”
Bex felt stress tightening a knot behind her neck as she very quickly learnt she preferred the prospect of danger and mayhem on the streets to the ritualistic boardroom slaying of budgets. During the next forty minutes she developed a churning feeling in her gut as she navigated the choppy and unpredictable waters of an upper management meeting. She thoroughly loathed her new position by the time Titus wrapped up the meeting.
“Let’s not let this new financial year run away with us. We need to start strong, which means keeping our budget under control because we never know what we might be hit with throughout the year,” Titus said. “To that end I’d like to flag some belt tightening in the following boroughs…”
Bex let his voice wash over her thoughts until she recognized her own borough.
“…field, Bridesmead, Bromley, Croydon …”
A shot of adrenaline shot her up straight. Reading between the lines she interpreted everything Titus said to mean the detectives at Bridesmead were expected to perform above and beyond their capabilities without the resources they desperately needed to complete their jobs.
“It’s imperative we find two hundred thousand pounds savings across the boroughs,” he stated flatly.
The woman beside Bex gave an audible gasp.
“I know it’s stringent. But consider, funding restrictions can take the form of sidelining staff members, amalgamating related services to reduce s
taff numbers and free personnel for other roles and cutting any unnecessary services. You are leaders in this field so get creative.”
“That’s going to mean scaling back proactive services like school visits for a start,” someone chimed in.
“We’re already limiting our phone responses.”
“We can’t decide cuts today!”
“Agreed,” Titus said. “Any and all ideas will be put on the table and we’ll figure out the best way forward. A meeting will be scheduled and I’ll get Sheryl to email everyone with a date within the next twenty-four hours.”
Amidst grumbles and paper shuffling, the superintendents left the meeting.
“Tight-arse is living up to his name,” Bex heard someone mumble as they passed.
Titus signaled to Bex to stay. Facing him across the empty table, she tried to gather her woolly thoughts while he lectured her.
“You’re looking overwhelmed. I can understand that. But even though your role is only temporary, you’ll still need to put forth some viable savings ideas.”
“Your cost-cutting is hanging dedicated officers out to dry!” she blurted. “How can we do thorough investigations without resources? If I order budget restrictions for Bridesmead that means detectives can’t order forensic tests or dig into records. How do we prove we’ve arrested the right people? Cases will be thrown out of court! Criminals will keep walking the streets! You might as well hurl the service under a double-decker bus and be done with it!”
Titus’s eyes settled on hers like a lowering boom gate. He spoke in a voice that brooked no argument.
“Don’t lash out at me, young lady. Dresden always said you were direct, but I can’t say I find that a virtue, especially in today’s climate of political correctness. In other words, Wynter, it’s not an asset to your position.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.
“Is that all, sir?” she said through stiff lips, swallowing the bile burning the back of her throat.
“I’m surprised you’re taking this to heart in such an emotional fashion.” He shook his head, disappointment radiating with the movement. “If you don’t want budget cuts to impinge on resources, then your only other option is to reduce personnel through amalgamation. Bridesmead Borough is in the unique position of fielding both a Criminal Investigation Department and the specialist Youth Crimes Team unit and that means duplication in chief inspector and inspector roles. Plenty of room there for savings I should think.”
She held the substantive position of DCI for the Youth Crimes Team and Cole Mackinley held the equivalent position in the CID. Amalgamation meant one of them would have to go.
“Mackinley’s a fine officer. Are you suggesting I sideline him? Or should I fire myself?”
Given that Bex had complicated her working relationship with Cole by a one-night stand two weeks ago, this was not a conversation she relished having with him. Their relationship had been further unsettled by her recent, albeit temporary, promotion to being his boss.
Titus’s brows lowered. “I suggest you take this situation seriously, Superintendent. My commander wants to disband a number of specialist units to move officers to general policing and I’m sticking my neck out protecting the Youth Crimes Team. I don’t want to see it go down the drain but budgets have to be met and as a superintendent you have to make tough decisions under pressured circumstances. Just because the pressure is about meeting deadlines and budget forecasts doesn’t make it any less acute than meeting criminals with weapons or dead bodies.”
“With all due respect, sir, being in a standoff with a budget deficit is not the same as facing down an armed criminal! You’re sitting snug and safe in here while my men are risking their lives every day on the street. All we’re asking for is sufficient money to do our jobs.”
“Life is not black and white, Superintendent!” Titus snapped. “I’m not an ogre, I’m being a realist. Don’t you think I want to provide all the necessary resources for officers on the beat?”
Bex refused to flinch under his stare although she felt her stomach drop. She changed tack. “Then will you consider funding a replacement officer for my team?”
The Youth Crimes Team was minus two members with her upgrade to superintendent and Reuben still recovering in hospital from their last case.
Titus’s eyes glinted in a face as expressionless as a mask. The only tell of his growing annoyance was a faint bloom across his well-shaved cheeks. Bex concluded the man was a master of self-control. She imagined him living an orderly life in a swanky London suburb with his elegant wife, having polite dinner parties attended by other top brass officers. No doubt they negotiated the fate of lower ranks over a post-dinner cigar and brandy. Her lip didn’t quite curl with contempt but her eyes grew steely.
“I’m afraid I can’t stretch the budget that far. Richards may be absent from the team but he’s still drawing sick leave pay so putting another officer on the team is only going to add to your budget woes,” Titus said with finality.
He rose with brusque efficiency and set a brisk pace as he headed out the door. The churning in Bex’s stomach grew worse.
Chapter 3
New Scotland yard, Tuesday, April 3
Bex washed down her queasy feeling with another cup of black coffee. Her landlady Georgie often scolded her that coffee on an empty stomach was a recipe for indigestion and any number of other ailments. But since stepping into Sophie Dresden’s empty shoes she had a hard time dragging her leaden limbs out of bed to make the journey into New Scotland Yard.
The glassed-in cubicle which served as her office left her feeling as exposed to passersby as a septic finger without a Band Aid. No one stopped because no one had time to spare for her. No one offered a friendly approach to the newcomer. In their quest for empire building her temporary status held no value to the other office occupants.
Consulting her office diary, she noted she had thirty minutes to spare before she was expected to front a local authority meeting at a grammar school to expound the new values of the Youth Crimes Team. She crammed an antacid tablet into her mouth as she slung her purse over her shoulder. Prepared to head out she was brought up short when the phone on her desk rang. Noting the incoming caller ID, she was tempted to ignore the call. Two confrontations with Vincent Titus made for a lousy start to the day.
Instead, she picked up the receiver and braced herself.
“Superintendent Wynter, I’m so glad I caught you before you left for your meeting.” Sheryl’s dry tone filled her ear. As Titus’s personal assistant she kept a beady eye on the diary updates of all his underlings. “Chief Superintendent Titus asks if you could please attend his office immediately.”
“I’m sorry, Sheryl, but you know I have a meeting to attend at, er—”
“Finestone Grammar School,” Sheryl completed the blank. “I know, but I’ve been asked to postpone your meeting because this request takes precedence. An urgent situation has arisen.”
The coffee gurgled around in her empty stomach.
“Can’t you find someone else to help?”
There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line.
“The Chief Superintendent requested you specifically. His very words were, ‘get her here, pronto.’ Pronto means —”
“I know what it means, Sheryl. Tell the Chief Superintendent I’m on my way.”
When Bex reached the upper floor, Sheryl gave her a frosty reception, silently indicating she was to head towards the enclosure adjacent to Titus’s office. A group of high backed sofas were arranged to give the impression of privacy to a meeting held in the open plan layout of the floor.
As she approached, Bex was taken aback to see Cole Mackinley in deep conversation with Titus, their heads bent over a laptop. Cole’s face had a comfortable, lived-in look, small lines crisscrossing outwards from his eyes, now focused on Titus. A few threads of gray mingled in the short, inky black hair gave him a distinguished look that belied his thirty-eight
years.
Titus looked up, catching her eye.
“Take a seat, Wynter, while Mackinley brings you up to speed.”
Cole swiveled sharply in her direction. She could almost feel the heat in his eyes when they met hers. Her tiredness disappeared on a jolt of electricity that was accompanied by a rush of guilt. Even after a year of widowhood, she couldn’t think of herself as a free agent.
Well-meaning friends and family would tell her there was nothing wrong with moving on from Zane’s death. That it was only natural for her to seek out someone else to be close to. Her head knew that by sleeping with Cole she hadn’t been unfaithful to her dead husband. But her heart told a different story.
A smile formed on Cole’s lips. She didn’t return it. She couldn’t give him any hope there was a chance to renew their intimacy. She caught the surprise in his eyes at her cool reaction, quickly followed by wariness as his smile died. His gaze flicked back to Titus.
“Sir, I don’t understand why DCI Wynter is here.”
“It’s Superintendent Wynter,” Titus reminded him. “The Youth Crimes Team’s mandate is to secure our vulnerable youth, Mackinley, and Griffin Loughborough is still underage. He needs a full-time babysitter and your unit has its hands full proceeding with the court case next week. It will sound good to the media that we’ve assigned his case to a special unit. Please fill her in on the background.”
Cole didn’t look convinced.
Ignoring him, Bex seated herself on a padded seat between the two men.
Frowning, Cole’s fingers skimmed over computer keys before he held the laptop out to her. The screen was filled with a mugshot of a clean-cut young man: clear eyes stared broodingly into the lens. The photo was tagged Griffin Loughborough.
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 20
