But it was Quinn Standing who drew her attention with his chiseled jaw brushed with stubble, the angled cheekbones of a Greek god and a lithe body revealed through a snugly fitted white shirt. He was one of the most breathtakingly gorgeous men she had ever seen. The kind of guy who could easily seep into your daydreams in random moments, she thought.
But when he finished his conversation and turned towards her, the coldness in his chilly blue gaze made her forget his classic good looks.
“Detective Sergeant Remy Knight, I take it? You’re late. Sit down, listen and just take in as much as you can. Everyone else has already been briefed on yesterday’s shooting so you’ll just have to pick up the basics as we go along.”
She quickly decided that Quinn Standing suffered from the delusion that women found nothing more attractive than a man exuding authority and flexing his power. Get real, arsehole, she thought. In her life she had known too many men who angered easily and believed it was okay to intimidate women. You’re nothing more than a prime candidate for a violence restraining order!
Quinn dimmed the lights and played some CCTV footage on the large center screen, unrolling through the shooting as seen by Brian Thrussell’s body camera. With the lights still dimmed, Quinn addressed the group, pacing restlessly from one side to the other.
“From this angle we can clearly see Buster Kaufman’s face, so even though we have no confession, this evidence is conclusive as to the identity of the shooter. Eli and I spoke to Kaufman yesterday but he’s staying mum. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find out if anyone else organized the hit, using Kaufman as the shooter. That means checking through prison records to see what visitors he’s had over the past month. Forensics have released the mobile phone found on the floor of Kaufman’s cell to IT. As soon as you can, Eli, get onto the registered telco to trace back any calls. Idris, I want you to pay a visit to Mrs Kaufman to see what you can scare out of her. Kaufman may have shot at Griffin for revenge, but getting the weapon inside took planning. Somewhere in this past month Kaufman’s had contact with whoever either helped him or planned the shooting.”
“So the phone wasn’t found on Kaufman himself?” Remy called out.
Abruptly Quinn halted his loop around the front of the room before answering.
“No it was not. The phone was retrieved from the floor of his cell. But if you’re in any doubt, check out this footage.”
The video resumed from a different angle showing Griffin lunging at Kaufman, grappling with him through the bars of his prison cell peephole. Quinn stopped the scene, making several abortive attempts to enlarge the area.
“This is where we need Reuben’s expertise,” Eli remarked. “You can’t deny that technology is one of his fortes.”
After cursing the equipment for several minutes, Quinn finally achieved what he wanted.
“Look at the screen. It’s blurry, but now it’s blown up you can see Kaufman’s left hand is holding a phone.”
Remy squinted. A small rectangular object protruded from between Kaufman’s fingers mashed together with Griffin’s as their hands wrestled.
“The phone wasn’t visible at the time of the shooting,” Remy pointed out. “All I saw was the nozzle protruding from between the bars. Are we presuming Kaufman’s right-handed, so he held the gun in his right hand, then picked the phone up in his left?”
“What was he doing with a phone? Taking a selfie?” Eli quipped.
“My guess is he was filming the shooting to prove to whoever hired him that he’d carried out his orders,” Quinn said, ignoring Eli’s levity.
“Is there a forensic report on the phone?” Remy pushed.
Quinn narrowed his eyes and sighed. “Idris, has a report come in yet?”
“Forensics pulled two sets of prints from the phone, one belonging to Buster Kaufman and the other to Griffin Loughborough. The report said there weren’t as many prints as they expected and was an indication the phone had recently been wiped clean before yesterday’s incident.”
“So it must have been bagged straight after the shooting if no one else touched it,” Remy noted, refusing to be deflated by Quinn’s dismissive attitude.
At that moment her phone tweeted from the depths of her shoulder bag like an enraged canary.
“If that’s important enough to disturb our briefing you’d better answer it.” His tone broadcast heavy sarcasm.
He crossed his arms and waited. No doubt anticipating it was a private call which would leave her hopelessly embarrassed, she thought. Fielding three pairs of eyes, Remy dived into her purse to pull out the offending article.
“After I learned I was on this case I set an alert to notify me when Griffin Loughborough’s name came up in the news,” she explained.
Eyes downcast, she swiped through a list of notifications to find the right video. She held the screen out for the others to see.
Against the somber backdrop of gray-clad stone prison walls, Aislinn Scully spoke directly to camera.
“Yesterday morning, an inmate here at Coldmarsh Prison shot and killed prison guard Brian Thrussell. You’ve all heard the news. It was a terrible crime. Now Trending News can report that a reliable source confirms he wasn’t the only casualty. Star witness for the Queen’s prosecution in next week’s trial against the notorious Loughborough family, Griffin Loughborough, was shot and killed in the same incident.
“Without their star witness, the police –”
Remy ended the broadcast. Her eyes locked on Quinn’s.
“You didn’t tell us Griffin was dead,” she accused.
“That’s speculation on Trending News’ part,” Quinn answered. “I doubt very much there’s any such ‘reliable source’.”
“They’re just scaremongering. They care about ratings, not credibility. Anyone who heard the superintendent’s press conference knows that no official statement was made confirming Griffin’s death,” Idris contributed.
“What the hell does that mean?” Eli demanded. “Has the bloke been killed or not?”
“I’ve been ordered by Wynter to keep a lid on this case. The Youth Crimes Team is to remain in the dark about Griffin’s state of health in order to safeguard next week’s trial,” Quinn said.
“You can’t be serious!” Eli exploded. “How are we supposed to investigate if we don’t have all the facts?”
“Don’t blame me, Eli. I don’t run the show! No doubt this is some sort of Yankee sleight of hand and we’re all expected to go along for the ride.”
Remy listened to their squabbling, very aware that the only member of the team not reacting to the news broadcast was Idris Carson.
* * *
When Titus slammed into her office, Bex straightened her slump over the desk to face him with a rigid posture.
“What’s this leak to the media about Griffin Loughborough’s death?!”
His sharp eyes fixed on her, his nostrils flaring as though he was a fire-breathing dragon exhaling flames. Bex swore she could feel the heat radiating from him.
“What the hell have you done? PR tells me media agencies are burning up the lines clamboring for information. The Beeb is offended we didn’t release details through them! Commander Young is hanging my arse over a pot of boiling oil and threatening an internal investigation into the leak. I told you yesterday I wouldn’t condone lying to the media! And now I’m demanding you tell me what’s going on!”
Titus stood behind her visitor’s chair, his white-knuckled hands braced against its back, too wound up to sit.
If Titus was simply covering his ass over their last conversation, Bex had to concede he was doing a damn fine job of making himself the innocent party in their two-way discussion.
“Sir, if you heard my press conference yesterday afternoon, you’ll know that I gave out no details about Griffin Loughborough’s status. I absolutely did not lie to anyone.”
“The reliable source quoted in the social media is a very convenient leak then!”
Bex felt th
e heat rise in a red tidal wave over her pale cheeks.
“What you told me was that I was responsible to ensure Griffin Loughborough stays alive long enough to turn Queen’s evidence! How I do that is up to me, isn’t it?”
“What is up to you is to follow protocol, superintendent!” he barked.
His grip tightened on the chair and he glared at her as though she was a recalcitrant witness on the stand resisting cross-examination.
“You’ve left me in the unenviable position of having to offer all media outlets an official statement to stem the speculation.”
Bex brushed off his rebuke to launch into a desperate counterargument.
“Sir, do we really have to rebut a report from a rogue news group? My guess is PR don’t normally address and respond to every bit of gossip and rumor out there. Sure, Trending News has a viral media following who will believe everything they’re fed. But isn’t it in our favor if the news gets back to the Loughboroughs that Griffin’s dead so they give up trying to kill him?”
She watched Titus absorb her arguments, sensing his easing tension by the unfurrowing of his brow.
“I suppose it’s possible that PR can simply issue a general ‘no comment’ statement to all the news agencies. This is, after all, a classified police affair and we don’t always have to explain our actions. But I still have Commander Young and the Home Office breathing down my neck over this so-called leak.”
“Leave that with me, sir. I can assure you there’ll be no other leaks from Bridesmead.”
Titus relaxed his death-like grip on the chair, but the look he gave her was still hard.
“Very well, Wynter. I’m not so embedded behind my desk that I can’t remember the excitement of being on the scent of a trail. But while that may be intoxicating, you have to remember that you’re at the helm yourself now, not at the coalface. So take this as a warning that I’ll be keeping a sharp eye on how this case pans out, and I’ll tell Sheryl to forward DCI Mackinley’s calls to you.
“Dresden always said you policed by the book, so I don’t expect you to sail this close to the wind with your decisions. This one reeks of a disregard for official regulations that I won’t countenance.” He frowned. “I hope you’re not picking up bad habits from other members of your team.”
Bex didn’t have to speculate about who he was referring to. She was aware of his low opinion of Quinn Standing’s policing, despite the fact they were related through Isla. In fact none of the top brass was enamored of Quinn’s approach to justice.
When Titus departed her office as abruptly as he’d entered, she was left wondering whether exposure over the past nine months to Quinn’s methods had rubbed off on her. Quinn’s catch cry was that the world was separated into black and white, bad and good, and he would do whatever it took to put the bad away, even if that meant bending the rules.
But then she remembered Griffin’s brittle voice when he spoke about being afraid of Jack Loughborough. She considered herself a pretty good judge of character and she was certain his fear was sincere. Griffin truly feared for his life at the hands of his father.
I’m doing the right thing, she told herself, because how could it be the wrong thing to save a young man from certain death?
She quashed the accompanying thought, that this was exactly the excuse Quinn would use.
And then her phone rang. She could see from the caller ID that it was the promised call from Cole Mackinley.
Chapter 13
New Scotland Yard, Wednesday, April 4
Bex refused to give Cole any details over the phone. With all the effort it had taken to get Griffin to a safe house and disseminate the false news of his death, she wasn’t prepared to take the risk that whoever was responsible for the attack on Griffin could be tapping into her phone conversations.
“Cole, this matter is too sensitive to speak about over the phone.”
“Should I be flattered you want to see me in person?” Cole’s soft burr sounded amused.
“No you shouldn’t. This conversation may not be as pretty as you’re expecting,” she snapped.
He chuckled. “Too much protesting from the lady methinks.”
“Cut it out, Cole. This isn’t personal.”
“Alright. Give me fifteen minutes to walk over. It’ll be quicker than negotiating the traffic in a car.” Cole lowered his voice to a dramatic hiss. “I’ll meet you outside the building. I’ll be the one in a trench coat with a white carnation lurking by the eternal flame.”
“You’ve got the wrong movie, Cole. Shouldn’t that be a trench coat and a Fedora?”
Cole chuckled again. “I’m not channeling Humphrey Bogart to please you. I’d rather keep my gran happy, so keep an eye out for a Tuxedo-wearing, martini-drinking Scotsman accompanied by appropriate theme music.”
Bex was glad Cole couldn’t see her because she found herself grinning over the image of him sauntering with Sean Connery’s inimitable style along the New Scotland Yard pavilion.
Bex gave him exactly fifteen minutes and then pulled on a short woolen jacket and headed downstairs. Spring was late making an appearance with the weather barely breaking into two digit Celsius numbers. Add the wind chill factor and the thermometer dropped several more notches.
Cole’s unbuttoned, black coat flapped and billowed against his thighs as he strode up the stairs and met her on the concourse in front of New Scotland Yard. A scatter of rain earlier that morning had left the pavement slick, reflecting people’s shoes as they hurried past.
“I miss Big Ben,” Cole said in greeting, his lop-sided grin evident.
“Is that some sort of code?” Bex damped a returning smile. She couldn’t put a reason to it, but there was something about Cole that lifted her spirits.
“A là James Bond? No. I just miss the sound of Big Ben and being able to tell the time of day without consulting a watch or my phone. It feels like a part of London’s gone to sleep.”
The regular chiming of the clock tower at the north end of the Palace of Westminister, affectionately known as Big Ben, had stopped just a month after Bex’s arrival in London. She had never had a chance to get used to the sound, ubiquitous to most Londoners.
“Come on, it’s monkeys out here and way too cold to stand in one spot,” he said, striding forward so she was forced to keep up with him.
“Stop, Cole, where are we heading?”
“Ever ridden on a double decker before?”
“What? You mean one of those red London buses?”
“Yes, I thought you’d be more comfortable on public transport than hiring a cycle. Come on, I can see one up ahead!”
Cole put his arm through hers and dragged her, protesting, onto a red double decker bus. Once boarded, Cole grabbed her hand to pull her up the stairs.
They found an empty seat and Cole waited for Bex to sit. She did so, keeping her gaze trained out the window. Looking down into the street from the height of the behemoth she wasn’t sure she felt entirely safe as the bus negotiated a tight turn.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cole? I can’t afford to be away from my office.”
“You can’t come to London and not have this experience,” he said. “Besides, you told me you wanted a secure place to debrief me about Griffin. You have to admit, no one could have anticipated this trip. So, what’s behind this morning’s news that Griffin’s dead?”
Despite Cole’s assurances, Bex reflexively swung her head from side to side, scoping out the other passengers. Everyone seemed absorbed by newspapers or their phones and there was no one directly in front or behind them to eavesdrop.
“Before I give you a full run down of what happened yesterday, I need to emphasize that this information is revealed on a need to know basis. I’m only telling you because you already know the truth that he is alive. But for Griffin’s safety that intel can’t be spread to your team.”
“Shit, Bex, you’re asking the impossible! I have a full prosecution team relying on Griffin’s te
stimony to make or break this case. If they think Griffin’s dead they’ll have to revamp their entire strategy!”
Bex sighed.
“Okay, you can share it with a few key players, but I don’t want any public announcements counteracting the news of his death. At the very least I want people suspecting Griffin’s death is true and that the police are covering it up.”
Bex outlined yesterday’s events and her strategy for dealing with Griffin’s threat to refuse to testify.
She watched Cole thread his fingers through his springy black hair, remembering the feel of it between her own fingers. The memory turned her thoughts to their one night of passion.
“Are you behind that false news report from Trending News?”
The sharp tone of Cole’s words brought her thoughts up short. For a moment she studied the traffic below her window making sure her memories were under control.
“Why do you think I had anything to do with that?” she asked.
“It would suit your purposes and it’s rather a convenient way to make his death public.”
“Can you think of a better way to keep Griffin safe until next week’s trial?”
Beside her she felt him stiffen with anger.
“You obviously don’t think my plans to keep him at Coldmarsh HSU did the trick! Why don’t you just say outright that you think I botched it and almost lost Griffin and cost us the case?”
Her immediate reaction was to reach out a hand to still his agitation. Instead she let her arm drop to her side.
“I’m sorry, it’s not fair to blame you,” he said. “I knew Kaufman was in Coldmarsh when I transferred Griffin to their HSU. The fact that they had a vacancy made it convenient, but I should’ve looked harder for a different spot for him. I truly thought their paths would never cross.”
“You couldn’t have anticipated Kaufman would have the means to attack Griffin or that human error would bring them into contact with each other,” Bex said quickly.
“I should’ve known! It’s Sod’s Law.”
“Meaning?”
“The universal axiom: if something can go wrong it will go wrong. Preferably at the worst possible time. I run my life by Sod’s Law. In fact, I’m probably the bloody sod it was named after!”
Bex Wynter Box Set 2 Page 25
