Bex Wynter Box Set 2

by Elleby Harper

  Chesney from Forensics had rushed through his report on the drone pieces Remy had found at Coldmarsh. While two remnants of plastic remained unidentified, a propeller blade belonged to an X-Star premium drone and part of a cross boom was recognizable from a drone made by Freefly Systems suited to heavy lifting with a flying range of around two to three kilometers. That made it a serious contender to be the drone used to carry the gun to Kaufman’s cell, in Chesney’s opinion. What’s more, the remote found in Drake’s bedroom matched the same brand of drone. Chesney hadn’t been able to lift any fingerprints from the plastic because it had been wiped clean.

  Idris moved onto the IT reports documenting the contents of the computers belonging to Jack, Mortimer and Drake. Jack’s and Mortimer’s laptops and tablets were squeaky clean. Drake’s was riddled with pornography and IT had resurrected his deleted and trash items to discover a 3D printer template to manufacture a gun.

  Idris felt a rush of excitement as the pieces of evidence came together.

  A few years ago the Home Office had added a formal ban to the Firearms Act directly related to 3D manufacture of weapons. At the very least they had a good case to pin that charge on Drake and enough grounds to bring him in for another interrogation about the Coldmarsh shooting.

  With his pulse racing, Idris sifted through the IT reports. One detailed the calls made from the second phone found in Kaufman’s prison cell. The most dialed number belonged to Kaufman’s wife. Two calls had been traced to known Loughborough associates but Kaufman had made those calls within weeks of being incarcerated so Idris decided they were unlikely to relate to the shooting. Kaufman had received an incoming call on March 9 from the Guardian Angel Relief Volunteers number that lasted twenty minutes. That was two days after the call from the burner phone.

  Idris carefully scoured the list of calls noted from the second phone. Eighteen incoming calls, none of which had been answered. One outgoing call on March 7. All calls made to and from the same charity number, which looked like being a front to redirect the calls to their proper destination.

  Why hadn’t Kaufman answered the calls? That question bothered Idris. If Kaufman was receiving instructions it didn’t make sense not to take the calls, unless it had simply been too risky. If guards had caught him with the phone it would have been confiscated. If he was using the second phone to arrange the hit, why had he suddenly received a call on his personal phone? Unless that call had nothing to do with Griffin’s shooting?

  His eyes scanned over the contents of Mortimer’s phone to see if he had made or received calls at the times matching Kaufman’s phone, but there was no record of a call at those times. Idris was certain there had to be a connection between Kaufman’s calls and someone in the Loughborough camp. He just had to find it.

  Idris loosened his tie and ripped through the taped interviews with the Loughboroughs and his notes from his trip with Remy to the Old Canning Town Turkish Baths. Something nagged at his attention. He dug through his notes a second time. Wait! There it was.

  Ayaz, the reception clerk at the steam baths, had said that Mortimer was driven to the baths by his grandson who waited upstairs in the lounge for him. Since Griffin had been in jail for the past ten months, Ayaz must have been talking about Drake. If Drake spent time at the steam baths that night could he have fielded Kaufman’s call?

  Damn it, they should have grabbed Drake’s phone as well as Mortimer’s! Working around this snag, Idris found Drake’s number in Moritmer’s contact list and made a note to contact the telephone company in the morning to generate a report on Drake’s calls. If Drake had received one at a time that matched Kaufman’s call, then IT could dig deeper to see if they could trace the redirection and tie the two calls together. So far it looked like the grass was all blowing one way, and that pointed to Drake Loughborough.

  Satisfied with his night’s work, he relaxed in his chair until he noted the time. He had told Aislinn he would call back tonight and technically there was only an hour left before the date clicked over.

  Idris tugged his phone from his jacket pocket and sat it gingerly on his desk. He spent several minutes regarding it as though it was a deadly snake that had slithered across his path. He rubbed a sweaty palm along his pant leg. When he picked up the phone and dialed her number, it rang so long he thought Aislinn had gone to bed.

  When her voice came on the phone she sounded breathless and he heard someone panting in the background, making him think that if she’d gone to bed she hadn’t gone alone.

  “Who is this?”

  Idris hesitated. He didn’t want to talk to her if this wasn’t going to be private.

  “I said I’d call you back tonight,” he said gruffly. “But if you’re busy, I’ll–”

  “Sergeant? Wait!” she snapped. There were some muffled groans, a series of gasping grunts, followed by a crescendoing “Oooooh, bay-bee.” Seconds later he heard thumping sounds as though someone was stomping out of the room, before Aislinn’s voice returned, very business like.

  “Now you’ve got my full attention.”

  “Is this line secure?” Idris found himself glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice.

  “It is now I’m alone,” Aislinn said dryly. “So, are you my unnamed source from the London Met?”

  “If I give you any news on Griffin Loughborough do you guarantee you’ll ignore Sawyer Starling’s connection with my family?”

  “The Beeb and ITV ran with Jack Loughborough’s interview this evening but I held off because I knew you were going to come through with an exclusive for me. Don’t let me down, Sarge, because my editor is squeezing me with a morning deadline to come up with the goods. It’s either something juicy about Griffin Loughborough or Sawyer Starling’s early indiscretions will hit the news.”

  Idris brought a hand to his head, squeezing his temples. His first contact with Aislinn had been instigated by Bex to drop some hints that Griffin hadn’t made it out of Coldmarsh alive. But what he was about to do now crossed a well-defined line.

  He wiped at the beads of sweat breaking out on his face. He couldn’t do it! There was only a small pool of people who knew where Griffin really was, so he was likely to come under suspicion and if he was caught his career could end ignominiously.

  “Come on, Sarge,” Aislinn wheedled. “I can’t wait forever and I’m not known for my patience. I don’t mind which story I go with. ‘Swinger Sawyer Starling in a three-way with mother-daughter combo results in love child Idris Carson’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  “That story is pure speculation on your part,” Idris rasped.

  Aislinn chuckled. “I told you not to mess with me! Straight after I saw you this afternoon I took a closer look into your background. I’m guessing not too many people know your father is Eddie Schmeer, better known as Sawyer Starling. While there’s proof of your birth, there’s no proof that Eddie ever made an honest woman of your mother. Since you’re keeping that information close to your chest, I’m also guessing you’d rather not wake up tomorrow morning as the center of a nice scandal? In that case, you’d better feed me something good, Sarge. Something that’s got legs to run you off the front page news.”

  Idris opened his mouth, the words jamming in his throat. He felt like his life had been claimed by a nightmare.

  Chapter 26

  Fitzrovia, Thursday, April 5

  The night was ticking towards its end when Bex rocked up at Buenos Momentos and found Quinn snoring gently in a booth in a quiet corner of the pub. She gave him a solid punch to the arm to startle him awake. He cracked open a blurry, red-veined eye and squinted at her.

  “Becksh? Whadderyou doing here?” he slurred.

  She placed a double espresso on the table.

  “Drink this,” she ordered.

  Stanley Rigby had assured her the coffee was brewed from Robusta beans and was so high voltage it would “bite ’is ’ighness on the bum.”

  “Perfect,” Bex responded. “A kick up t
he ass has been a long time coming for Quinn.”

  Quinn drank with an audible slurp.

  “Holy crap!” He spat the hot liquid out. “Thish shit ish bitter enough to burn a hole in my tongue!”

  “Don’t look for sympathy from me, Quinn. You need the caffeine hit, so drink up.”

  Stanley sidled over.

  “Listen, luv, I’d really appreciate it if you could move ’im along right soon.”

  “I’m trying, Stanley.”

  Quinn’s wallet was on the table and she flipped it open, checking his driver’s license for his address. She showed it to Stanley.

  “Any idea where this is?”

  “Turn right at the end of the street, four or so blocks over and then it’s into Great Portland,” Stanley answered.

  He drew a hasty mud map for her.

  “Easier to walk than drive from here because there’s no parking in the street there.”

  Bex shepherded Quinn outside. Once they hit the pavement, the strong caffeine kick and the cold air sobered him enough to walk without staggering. He dropped into a brooding mood with Bex restraining him from stepping in front of cars or nudging him to keep moving, reminding herself continually to check right first before stepping off the curb. She was glad that the effort it took him to keep to a relatively straight line kept him quiet.

  When they turned into Great Portland, Quinn’s steps dragged, bringing him to a halt outside a dove gray door in a narrow Victorian façade.

  “If you’re going to barf, Quinn, do it now before I take you upstairs to Isla,” Bex said without sympathy.

  “Not going upstairs,” he said.

  “Sure you are, buddy.” She slung an arm under his shoulder to keep him moving while she negotiated the lock.

  His hand dropped over hers as she fumbled with the door handle. Startled she looked up and forgot to breathe. There was enough light from the street to reveal his glittering eyes, his squared off jaw with its fine dusting of stubble. Quinn Standing majored in being an asshole, but there was no denying his star quality looks accompanied by a good dollop of animal magnetism.

  He dipped his head to hers, so close his boozy, coffee-spiked breath washed over her. “There’s always been chemistry between us. From the moment you stepped into New Scotland Yard you crawled under my skin.”

  His eyes held her in thrall. She blinked, breaking eye contact, but his hand still covered hers and a delicious heat was stealing down her side where their bodies met. Her mouth went dry making it difficult to swallow. Was Quinn making a pass at her? If so, this was her second romantic offer of the night and her poor, scarred heart couldn’t cope with either one.

  She shrugged herself away from his side.

  “Quinn, I think you just called me a bug.”

  “Damned woman, there you go, contradicting me again. When what I really said is you’re an itch I think I want to scratch tonight.”

  “Jeez, Quinn, way to bowl a girl over. Or do you think Yankee girls are so direct we don’t need any wooing? In any case, I don’t call an MO comprised of you acting like a jackass with your boss a chemical reaction that can lead anywhere.

  “If this is your response to an argument with Isla, my advice is to stop being a jerk because you’re only going to make the situation worse. Now, do you think you can climb the stairs and get to bed? Isla must be worried sick about you.”

  A sound, crossed between a choked laugh and a sob, escaped him. He straightened away from Bex, backing up against the grimy stone wall before sagging down its length onto the sidewalk.

  “Isla’s not worried about me. In fact I don’t even know if she’s come home tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She doesn’t know that I found her getting very chummy with Idris. That bastard! Thinks I don’t know he can’t stand my guts and it’s all because he’s got the hots for Isla. I never thought he had a chance. He’s way too uptight and not nearly red-blooded enough to satisfy her. Whenever she walks into a room every straight guy’s dick stands to attention –”

  “Wait, Quinn, did you say you saw Isla with Idris? Are you sure it was Isla and Idris? Doesn’t ‘getting chummy’ just mean being friendly?”

  Bex racked her brain for ways to alleviate the tension radiating from Quinn. It was difficult to categorically deny there could be any wrongdoing between his wife and work colleague because she knew Idris harbored strong feelings for Isla. She believed his desire was one-sided, but was she wrong? Since Christmas she had been troubled that if Idris couldn’t curb his passion it would leach into his work relationship with Quinn and taint the entire team. Idris had promised her he would keep a lid on his feelings. But she knew all bets would be off if Isla offered him any encouragement.

  “I mean getting chummy in a legover context. They were together in her office. I saw the bastard holding Isla as plain as day, and she didn’t slap him away. Can I make the scene any clearer?”

  Bex stood stock still, not knowing what to say.

  Quinn dropped his head into hands resting on his bent knees. His voice was so muffled she could barely hear his words.

  “This time I think we’re finally over for good.”

  “I don’t know what you think you witnessed, Quinn, but any good detective knows that you can’t go by circumstantial evidence. Listen, stay here. I’m going upstairs to have a chat with Isla.”

  Bex moved through the outside door and climbed two flights to knock on the door of Isla’s flat. She had to give several more solidly loud raps before Isla cracked open the door.

  “What the hell, Quinn, did you forget your key…”

  Isla’s voice trailed away at the sight of Bex.

  Isla’s trademark, bold red hair glowed in the soft light flooding the interior of the apartment. She wore a skimpy, silk kimono style gown that skimmed her thighs, highlighting shapely legs and obviously unfettered breasts. She looked like she was just stepping off the set of a high-end porn movie.

  “I’m sorry to wake you, Isla, but we need to talk.”

  Bex shouldered her way inside. The interior was just as meticulous as Isla’s business persona presented. Bex suspected Isla hired help to keep the place that way.

  “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Isla’s voice snarled. “Wait, is this to do with Quinn? Has he been hurt?”

  Bex was gratified to hear concern coat Isla’s voice. She hoped that meant Quinn had grabbed the wrong scorpion by the tail. What he’d witnessed might have stung but maybe it wasn’t going to kill his relationship.

  “I’ll get to that. Listen, Isla, we know very little about each other. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to build a friendship here. We’ve worked together and I know you’re good at your job. Really good. You’ve also got outstanding instincts and I respect that.”

  Isla shrugged, almost dislodging the thin silk from a shoulder. She hitched it back and faced Bex with wary curiosity.

  “I agree you’re also good at your job. At least you seem to solve more cases than you don’t. You definitely have a reputation for being pushy.” Isla laughed at the flash of annoyance in Bex’s eyes. “I don’t say that as a bad thing. If we’re talking similarities I’ve been called worse. That’s par for the course being a woman in a position of authority in a tough male circle. But, compliments aside, I still don’t understand what you’re doing here. It’s close to midnight and I have a full schedule tomorrow. So can you cut to the chase?”

  “Are you having an affair with Idris?”

  One well-groomed eyebrow shot skyward.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. Is there something going on between you and Idris?”

  Isla looked affronted.

  “I think you need to keep your American frankness to yourself!” she said crossly. “By now you should have learned that here in Britain we don’t pry into people’s personal lives. Whatever my relationship is with Idris, it’s none of your business.”

  Bex ignored Isla’s sn
ooty putdown to plow on.

  “It is when it impacts my team. Playing games between Idris and Quinn is screwing up their association and is going to throw my team dynamics into turmoil. I don’t care how beautiful you are or what family connections you have, it doesn’t give you the right to manipulate people’s lives. Now, from what I can see, you don’t give a crap about Idris, but I’m guessing you know how to push Quinn’s buttons. Quinn saw you tonight with Idris.”

  “Don’t hold back! Why don’t you just call me a manipulative bitch?!”

  Isla disengaged her gaze from Bex’s, staring soulfully into the distance. She chewed a trembling lip with ferocious intensity before her face buckled and she abruptly burst into tears.

  Bex’s impatience doubled. Tears might work on some dim-witted guy whose brain had fallen into his briefs at the sight of Isla, but they cut no mustard with her. Bex held her ground, refusing to move closer to provide a comforting hug. They had already established they weren’t friends and she had no intention of playing into Isla’s manipulative histrionics.

  “Listen, Isla. Quinn’s downstairs right now, convinced that his relationship with you is kaput. If that’s what you intend then all well and good. Both of you can move on with your lives. But if you’re just jerking him around on a string––”

  “I’m not!”

  Isla used the sash from her kimono to dab at her eyes.

  “I don’t know why I’m crying. It must be the hormones,” she sniffled.

  Bex fished in her coat pocket and found a tattered packet of pocket tissues, which she handed to the other woman. Taking a closer look, she noticed that Isla’s eyes were red-rimmed from earlier tears, her face harrowed and drawn.

  Hormones? she wondered. Were Isla and Quinn on an IVF program?

  Isla blew her nose noisily. The sound masked the opening door. Quinn wavered, grasping the doorframe to steady himself.