“Maybe you should bale out of the job then, Quinn,” Idris said. “No point staying on a sinking ship is there? That’s not your style.”
“I wouldn’t know about style, Idris, because I’m not a clothes horse like you,” Quinn’s voice drawled with insolence.
In her cubby-hole, Bex tensed, wondering if there was going to be a show down between the two men. Despite the disparity in their sizes with Quinn being a running back to Idris’s all-star offensive tackle size, Quinn never flinched from tackling conflict.
“Say, Idris, how do you afford those expensive suits you wear to work on a detective’s salary?” Reuben’s cheeky question broke the brewing friction and Bex blessed his irreverence.
There were a few seconds of silence, before Idris answered with mocking condescension, “Sacrifice, boyo, sacrifice. I live on bread and dripping and I don’t splurge on the expensive techno toys you’re addicted to.”
“Let’s get back to work before the boss starts breathing down our necks,” Eli said.
“I still don’t understand. Doesn’t a confession make further investigation irrelevant?” Reuben persisted.
“Listen, mate, just because someone confesses doesn’t mean they’re always guilty of the crime,” Eli countered. “A guilty charge needs to be backed up by evidence. I well remember a case I was involved in as a young copper. Estevan Olmo, on a visit here from Spain. Walked into our police station one day claiming to have killed three people, namely his travel companions. Ran us around on a merry chase trying to track down his three ‘victims’. In a strange coincidence an unidentified body turned up in the district and some of the lads were quick to put two and two together and make six. Poor sod suffered from mental illness. Only when his companions saw the story in the news and came forward, alive and well, to disprove Olmo’s story did we finally realize he’d dreamed up the whole crime and released him.”
“Bizarre!” said Reuben. “Hey, Quinn, is it true that your missus is the lawyer involved in Carroll’s case? Is she the one we have to thank for this additional workload?”
“Can the negative comments,” Idris interrupted. “If Isla thinks there’s something worth investigating then maybe the police missed something the first time around.”
“It’s not your job to defend Isla, mate.”
At the sound of Quinn’s voice bristling with hostility, Bex’s stomach clenched. Relations between team members had never been easy, but for the past ten days, since her run-in with Quinn at their last drug raid, Quinn had made it his mission to build the pressure to exploding point.
She flipped her laptop shut and stood up. She was the team leader and somehow she had to find the means to soften the building tension. It was a leadership role she was still coming to terms with. The Youth Crimes Team had never possessed a particularly harmonious working environment, but life in the office was becoming unbearable.
She stuck her head through the open doorway of the briefing room.
“Quinn, I need you to sift through the evidence on that illegal firearms haul.”
At the request, Quinn swung his head in her direction to shoot her a venomous look before erupting from his chair like a missile. He stormed out without a word, leaving behind a cloud of awkwardness the others covered by busying themselves with the evidence bags spreading like a fungus across the wooden tabletop.
Silently Eli lifted his mug in her direction before taking a sip. Reuben caught her eye and gave her a wink. These small acknowledgements caused a quick sliver of relief to lodge in her chest. Not everyone on her team was a grade A asshole who hated her.
The brewing tension had made it impossible to broach Quinn about seeking his friend’s input of gym equipment as she had promised Dresden. She had been stewing over how to ask him about possible donations since the charity event. Several times she had steeled herself to talk to him, only to find herself sidetracked by some sniping argument. Every time she thought she had overcome some obstacle with Quinn, the man seemed determined to find something new to criticize.
Idris examined Harley Carroll’s clothing. A black T-shirt and sloppy blue jeans. A pair of sneakers and mismatched socks. Even his underwear had been provided. Bex moved closer. She didn’t relish returning to the office where she would have to face Quinn so soon.
“Anything stand out to you?” she asked, noting his puzzled expression.
“Yeah. I’ve checked the forensics report which states his clothes have only two areas of blood. See here on the knee of the jeans is a handprint in red, as though he rested his hand there while he was sitting down or rubbed his hand over the area. And here near the cuff, but that might have been when he brushed against the body. No blood splatters, which means he couldn’t have been wearing these particular clothes at the time of the murder.”
“They asked him if he’d changed and he said he couldn’t remember,” Bex responded.
“But why change if he was going to stick around until the police came and then confess? And where did he dispose of the clothes he was wearing during the murder? There’s no record of them being recovered on the property or in the rubbish bins. Why go to so much effort to hide the clothes but not the weapon?”
“Maybe he didn’t intend to go back,” Reuben said.
“Sometimes killers are drawn back to the scene to admire their handiwork,” Eli offered.
“Anything else strike you?” Bex asked.
“There were multiple condoms and latex gloves scattered around the scene. A variety of colors, textures, you name it. The father’s severed penis was sheathed in a condom. Latex was also found between the mother’s fingers. So, did she have something to do with the condoms? Was she touching her husband’s penis either before death or after? She was fully dressed. The son was fully dressed. The father was naked. Is there a sexual association in the scene?”
“You mean, you think the son lost his peanuts when he found his parents having sex?” Reuben asked.
Quinn shoved through the doorway. “I’ve just finished accessing the national database. It shows a discontinued charge against Keith Carroll for indecent dealing that occurred at a public swimming pool.” He looked around the room, avoiding Bex’s eye. “Eli, grab your coat, mate. Let’s see if we can interview the girl and her family.”
Bex felt a tide of anger rising in a red flood up her cheeks. She was used to Quinn riding out his time on a wave of snide remarks but giving orders as though he was in charge of the team was an insult she couldn’t ignore.
“Quinn, what happened to the illegal firearms investigation I asked you to continue?”
“I pissed that job off in favor of doing something worthwhile.”
At his challenging tone, Bex could almost feel the steam hissing from her ears as Quinn defied her in front of the team.
“I need Eli to collect the Carrolls’ personal records and return them to the office,” she snapped.
As Bex and Quinn exchanged dagger looks, Eli hauled himself out of his seat and ran a hand through his grizzled hair before loping out of the office.
“Permission to take an officer with me to tackle this interview. This information could have a bearing on motive for the murders if it turns out Carroll senior was into child molesting.” Quinn’s voice was cutting, but she couldn’t deny that he had a point. Although it was sarcastic, he had asked for permission this time.
“Idris is working on the evidence matrix so you can take Reuben with you. Reuben’s easy manner will get people to open up and reveal more than an aggressive attitude.” She decided it was safer to keep Idris and Quinn apart.
Quinn disengaged his eyes from hers and she felt the tension draining from her muscles as he backed down.
“Like you said, Reuben’s motor mouth is good at chiseling secrets from people’s dark pasts. Get your jacket on, mate, it looks cold enough to snow out there!” Quinn peeled away from the group and Reuben rose to follow him out of the room.
Chapter 13
Monday 11 December
“Please don’t tell me Quinn made your knees go weak,” Idris said straight-faced. “I know he has that effect on women, but I thought your Yankee genes might have made you immune.”
Bex offered a half-hearted chuckle. “The only effect Quinn Standing has on me is to raise my blood pressure to unacceptable levels,” she said. “Sorry, Idris, it’s just been a tough week.”
Idris raised an eyebrow. “Work?”
She shook her head, biting down hard on her lip as if to stop secrets spilling out. He had a feeling she’d like to unburden herself but was resisting. The lads had speculated about what had brought Bex across the Atlantic but no one had any clear idea and it didn’t look like Bex was going to make him her confidant today. Not that he could blame her. He had his own secrets and no intention of spilling them today or any other day.
Idris shifted his attention back to the evidence bags in front of him while Bex sat watching. She looked wilted as though she couldn’t muster the energy to return to her office.
Finally she broke the silence with a sigh. “I’d better get back to it. No matter how many hours I work the files are never depleted. I’ve still got to follow up on those prosecution cases for last week’s drug dealing and illegal firearms and Cole Mackinley has passed on some more intel on suspected youth-related crimes as though we’ve nothing else to do.”
When the door flew open, Idris expected to see Eli or Quinn and was caught off guard at the sight of Isla Standing in a red woolen coat that met a shiny pair of black leather boots at the knee. The buttoned-to-the-throat garment made her look like a demure princess, the length of leg hidden in black leather made her look like a sexy hooker.
Damn, but Isla Standing was a fine looking woman! Whether he liked it or not, he couldn’t get rid of the thought.
There was also no denying that she radiated a raw, primal hunger that compelled men to her. In response, he felt the blood pound through his veins as he soaked in her presence.
Without thinking he leapt to his feet. “Isla?” He knew it was a mistake the minute her name escaped his lips because he couldn’t disguise the longing in his voice.
He hated himself for coveting Quinn’s wife, especially when he knew Isla could be nothing but a rich white bitch when she was tired of pretending and manipulating to get her own way. He had no doubt people would say they didn’t belong together. Yet he had a feeling her vicious edge was just sharp enough to strip away his uptight, protective shield and lay bare his raw emotions. It was a giddy thought.
“Oh, sorry to disturb, there was no one in the office and I was hoping to catch Quinn.”
Just the throaty sound of her voice left him reeling with images of her gloriously pale skin flushed with a sheen of sweat as she lay across his bed. His breath quickened in response.
“He’s out door knocking,” Bex answered.
Isla avoided Bex’s gaze and flashed a smile at Idris.
“How are you, Idris? I like that color on you,” she purred, referring to his crisply starched, duck egg blue shirt.
The compliment sent Idris into a spin and he fought down the feeling of being an overgrown, tongue-tied schoolboy because she had noticed his good taste. As much as he despised his father’s money, he made good use of it.
“I’m fine, Isla. Since Quinn’s not here, can I help you with anything?”
Isla’s Titian locks swung softly as she shook her head. “Any idea if Quinn will be home tonight?” she asked.
“Probably,” Bex answered.
“Do you need a lift home?” He felt Bex’s anxious eyes swivel in his direction. Damn! She had noticed his hopeful tone, like a kid wishing for an early Christmas present.
“Thanks, but I might as well head back to the office and see if I can catch up on some paperwork.”
Idris ran a hand over his close-cropped curls as he watched Isla’s red coat sway through the closed door.
“How long have you felt this way?”
“What?” Idris dropped his startled glance to where Bex was sitting at the table.
“You shouldn’t be so obvious with your feelings if you don’t want people to notice,” she said.
Idris pursed his lips, letting his attitude radiate annoyance.
“How long have you had feelings for Isla? Does Quinn know?”
He could see by her concern that she was clearly afraid of a love triangle that had disaster written all over it.
“Damn it, Bex, there’s nothing to know!” Idris barked. “I’m calling it quits for the day.”
He started jamming the evidence into their neat plastic bags.
“I’m just saying if I can see how you feel about Isla, so can others, including Quinn.”
“Stop prying into my personal life!”
Idris’s strong, square jaw jutted ominously. Two deep lines erupted between his brows. Her hand flew out to touch his. He shook it off.
“If your personal life impacts the team I’m going to offer advice. I’ve already watched one team member’s marriage fall apart since I’ve been here, I don’t intend–”
“There’s nothing going on between Isla and me!” Idris spat the words out. “You may think of me as some insensitive black bastard but I’d never poach someone else’s wife. I won’t need to. Quinn and Isla already separated once and, just because they’re back together at the moment, doesn’t mean they’ll stay together.”
“And what? You’ll be standing on the sidelines waiting to comfort her?”
“I like her. So what?” Idris ground out. “I told you, I’m not going to make a move and break her marriage up. I won’t need to do that. Pretty soon Quinn’s going to mess up all by himself. A leopard doesn’t change its spots.”
Bex nodded her head like she understood exactly what he meant, but he doubted that. He was convinced she was prodding and poking to see if his feelings were going to explode the already tense situation within the Youth Crimes Team. He could see it in her face that she wanted to warn him away from Isla, so he spoke first.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let my feelings affect my performance at work. Maybe you should pay more attention to your own backyard. You’ve got your own issues to sort out with Quinn.”
Bex winced at the unvarnished truth of his words.
“If you want to go, I’ll put the evidence back and stay on till Eli returns with those the files.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when Eli huffed through the door, hauling a cardboard box.
“Two more downstairs, mate,” he puffed to Idris. “Big lad like you should be able to haul both of them upstairs in one go.”
Anger filled Idris’s chest. He prepared to brush past Eli. “Sorry, but I’m going down the road for a drink.”
Eli looked indecisive. “I thought this case was urgent? Isn’t this one of Vincent Tight-Arse’s pet projects?”
“Don’t call him that!” Idris exploded. “Isla hates that nickname,” he explained more calmly at Eli’s shocked expression.
“Take a break if you need it, Idris. I’ll stay and go through some of these documents with Eli.”
Idris heaved a sigh. Behind his eyes floated an image of Isla’s sleek veneer. Working on this case was as close as he could get to working with her.
“Oh, sod it, I suppose I can wait for a drink. Come on old man, let’s go downstairs.”
“Look on the bright side, Idris, this is the sort of detail work you can really sink your teeth in. Credit card records. Bank accounts. Receipts. It’s right up your alley. I’ve even brought the downloaded data from their home computer,” Eli said, obviously wanting to get a rise out of him.
Idris didn’t mind. It was good to see a hint of the old Eli in his words, after their last major case had left him personally devastated.
* * *
Bex’s phone buzzed. She checked it as the two men went bickering downstairs. It was Walt, her former police partner and
her husband’s best friend.
“Hey, Walt, I’ve been meaning to give you a call. I want to pick your brains about the best type of programs to coax wayward teens back from crime. I’d like to set up a drop-in center in London to help problem kids. Keep them out of trouble before they jump into it.”
Walt ran the boys with a tough but fair hand. The job of overseeing the New York half-way house had given him a new lease on life after his retirement from the detective ranks.
Walt gave a low whistle. “Damn it, Bex, you’re not trying to set this up on your own are you? It took us months and plenty of help from the boys in blue to get Zane’s House going. Will that team of low-brow Limeys you’re in charge of lend a hand?”
She was touched by the concern in his voice.
“Don’t sweat it, Walt. Right now I’m just drawing up a proposal to run by my superior.”
“Well, my recommendation is to take your crew to the pub, get them rat-assed and then spring the idea on them. You’re their boss and they need to impress you with their enthusiasm, don’t they? Read them the riot act if you have to.”
On the surface it wasn’t a bad idea to get the team warmed to her idea. But in reality if she asked them to go to the pub with her she would likely leave them more stunned than a blast from her Taser.
“I’ll think about it, Walt.”
“You can’t go wrong with beer for a Limey,” he coaxed.
“Okay, Walt, I get the picture. How are the boys?” She changed the subject.
Courting Death Page 7
