“When’s your flight home?”
Ruth sipped her coffee.
“My flight departs Tuesday morning. I don’t want to leave your father alone for Christmas. Now you sound like you can’t wait to get rid of me.”
Ruth’s voice was strained and Bex felt her stomach twist. The last thing she wanted was to hurt her parents. She had always been their go-to daughter, making up for her errant older brother who had gone off the rails and disappeared from their lives years ago.
She decided she was going to have to be honest and make a clean confession.
“Mom, please don’t say anything to Georgie about Zane’s death.”
Ruth shot her a shrewd look. “Why not?”
“Listen, you know I came to London for a clean slate. I don’t want everyone knowing about Zane and the car crash.”
Ruth looked shocked. She demanded, “Rebecca Joy, you’ve been in London since July, are you telling me you haven’t mentioned Zane to anyone here?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Mom. So I don’t want you spilling the beans about my personal life.”
Bex fought the urge to squirm like a microscoped bug as Ruth examined her over the rim of her china cup.
“Bex, please don’t let Zane’s death define you as a person.”
Bex let her breath out in an exasperated sigh. She had gulped her own coffee several minutes ago and now wished she had ordered a stronger nightcap.
“Don’t you get it, Mom, that’s exactly why I left New York. While I was living there, Zane’s death did define me. Everyone knew me as ‘that tragic Bex Wynter, so young to be a widow’. They handled me like a fragile glass vase that might shatter if they spoke to me in normal tones. Being away from all that here in London, people don’t see me as some sort of wretched figure who needs to be coddled through life. If you start telling people, they’ll look at me differently! You’re right, I don’t want to be defined by Zane’s death.”
“Bex, I only want to help.” Ruth’s cup clattered into the saucer as her hand reached across the table for her daughter’s.
“I know, Mom, and I love you for it.” Bex let her own hand squeeze her mother’s for reassurance. “But the best way to do that is to trust me to get on with my life. Am I still grieving? Yes. Will Zane’s anniversary hit me hard? Yes, but I can handle it.”
“And have you given up those conspiracy theories about the crash?”
Bex’s lips pressed together in a tight line. She knew her mother was referring to her insistence when she was hospitalized that she had seen oncoming headlights that forced the car Zane was driving to swerve off the road. The paramedics said it didn’t matter because Zane had died of a heart attack at the steering wheel and the verdict had come back as accidental death.
She had pushed her doubts up the chain to her precinct captain who had listened sympathetically but very firmly closed the door on any investigation into an open and shut case. No one would listen to her, there was no evidence to support her claims and even her counseling sessions threw doubt on what she had seen and whether her memory of the event was reliable.
She fought down the clawing tension in her gut to keep her voice even so as not to alarm her mother. “I’m not in New York forcing the issue to the forefront, am I?”
“Good. I’m glad. Walt was worried you were still harboring suspicions you want the police to investigate.”
“Everyone at the precinct made it very clear they thought my suspicions were the ravings of a crazy woman,” Bex said bitterly.
“You were only crazy with grief, Darling. Survivor’s guilt is a terrible thing. But there was nothing you could do to save Zane. It’s a miracle you came out of the accident relatively unscathed. I know Monday’s going to be a tough day, bringing back your memories. Trust me, Bex, it will get easier with time.”
Bex turned her head away and twiddled with her napkin. “Will it? You don’t know what the pain is like. It’s unrelenting. I feel it here.” She thumped her chest. “And here.” She moved her hand to her head. “My whole body misses him with a vengeance. Are you saying I’m only permitted a certain amount of time to grieve? That once that’s expended I’ll just move on with my life? I don’t think it works like that, Mom.”
“Everybody takes their own amount of time to get over grief. One day you will want to start living again.”
Her heart was so weary, so filled with emptiness, she couldn’t even imagine her mother’s prophecy coming true.
“Can we drop the topic?”
“Of course.” Ruth picked up the check and placed her credit card in the folder. “I’d like you to promise that you’ll come back to New York for a visit some time next year. Your dad misses you, even though he’d rather have his tongue cut out before he told you. Will you promise, Bex?”
Bex felt her shoulders stiffen.
“Just for a vacation,” Ruth wheedled.
“Of course, Mom. I’ll come back to New York for a vacation next year.”
Chapter 23
Monday 18 December
Hours of Harley’s sessions with William Downer had been divided into batches and each of the team had their own segment to listen to. By Monday the recordings had been sorted by their relevance to the case. The first two months of sessions contained little except Harley talking about minor incidents at school, all of which pointed to him being a lonely teen who interacted little with others in his classes and had almost zero friends.
After Easter, Downer convinced Harley to let himself be put under hypnosis and there were a series of sessions where he spoke about his relationship with his mother and father.
“It’s pretty disturbing stuff,” Idris told Bex. “It bolsters Isla’s theory about Harley Carroll being traumatized. These recordings are now on the list of materials prosecution haven’t disclosed as evidence. Isla really should hear them. Shall I call her to come into the office?”
A pen danced between his fingers and over the tops of his knuckles as he waited for her response. Bex gathered thoughts which were continually straying to Zane. Earlier that morning she’d been forced to leave the office abruptly to run to the bathroom to have a quiet cry. Today was a terrible day to listen to Harley’s disturbing admissions because emotionally she was a mess. She hated to present a less than professional presence to her team.
“Bex, shall I call Isla to listen to Downer’s sessions?”
Blinking her eyes several times to camouflage her welling tears, she battled through the sadness that dogged every action to focus on Idris’s question.
“Sorry, Idris, what did you want to do with the new evidence?”
“We need to make a disclosure to Harley’s lawyer. Shall I call Isla into the office?”
“I’ll handle it, Idris.”
“Right, then, I’ll leave you to it.” Idris’s tone was brusque, but she ignored his reaction.
She was still running interference between her sergeant and Quinn’s wife. Especially now that Quinn hadn’t requested a transfer. The atmosphere between team members after several rounds had been consumed at the Sail and Ale had mellowed sufficiently for Bex to feel comfortable about broaching her plan for a teen drop-in club. After disposing of Quinn’s jest of “Rubbish! All kids need is a bloody good kick up the arse when they stray!” she had persuaded everyone to contribute suggestions and coaxed offers of help. By the end of the night Quinn had grudgingly agreed to chat to his gym-owning mate, Tony, about any cast off equipment.
* * *
When Isla met Bex downstairs at the Bridesmead CID, she felt the other woman was hustling her out of the way when she led her into a closed meeting room barely larger than her office at Ironrod Lyons Freemont. Furnished with a round table and six chairs, it was intimate to say the least.
She settled her briefcase and purse on a spare chair and seated herself opposite Bex. Appraisingly, Isla watched the other woman set up her laptop, wondering why Bex didn’t do more to make the most of her looks. With her blonde hair, white as A
lpine snow, glittering, metal gray eyes and defined cheekbones, Bex would have been a real beauty had her face not been so gaunt. Her eyes raked Bex’s lean, athletic form critically. The loose-cut, dark gray pantsuit she wore, while practical for her line of work, did nothing to enhance her femininity.
While Quinn never had anything good to say about Bex, he sometimes left Isla wondering if he wasn’t too vehement in his negativity, so she was pleased that Bex exuded so little sex-appeal. In that department Isla knew where she stood with her husband.
Reflexively, she ran a hand over her rose skirt with its discreet slit to smooth out the creases, aware that had she followed in her father’s footsteps she might have been relegated to the same fashion choices. In the end, law was a better match for her bold personality and allowed her to play the coquettish card when she judged it necessary. It certainly wasn’t necessary with Bex, she decided, giving her husband’s boss another once over. It wasn’t often she felt at a disadvantage with a woman, but Bex had witnessed Isla when she was at her most vulnerable and that left an uncomfortable residue between them.
“You and Idris looked good together that night at the charity gala. You’d make a great couple. You’re not seeing anyone are you?” Isla spoke with casual indifference, belied by her eagle eyed squint. She was interested to get the lay of the land on Bex’s relationship status.
Bex’s eyes flew open at the suggestion and her fair skin colored dramatically.
“Are you angling to get me sued for sexual harassment in the workplace?”
“Don’t sweat it, it was just a casual observation.” Isla pouted. “Quinn told me you want to set up a club for troubled kids. I’m not sure that’s a recipe for success but I encouraged Quinn to do his bit and ask Tony to sponsor the project by donating his worn out punching bags, if that helps.”
“You did?” Bex’s voice registered her surprise. “I guess I’ll owe you if Tony comes on board because it really will help.”
Awkwardness carved the silence between them. Isla hadn’t had a conversation with Bex since July when she had found herself involved in the sex-slave kidnapping of Morgan’s daughters. She dropped her eyes to her manicured nails as she cleared her throat.
“Actually, I guess I’m the one who owes you. I’m not particularly good at saying ‘thank you’, but, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you were on hand at that school. I really don’t know what would have happened to me otherwise. Let me know if you need any free legal advice in setting up that club. I’d be willing to help out.”
Silence fell heavy between them. Isla doubted for a moment that she had done the right thing. Perhaps it was a case of too little too late and she had offended the other woman?
“I didn’t expect any thanks. I was just doing my job, Isla,” Bex said eventually.
Her voice was loaded with tears and it caught Isla off guard. She hadn’t expected to have touched Bex so deeply.
Bex raked a hand through her thick hair and assumed a business-like manner.
“There are hours of recordings from Dr. Downer’s sessions with Harley, but there are some that are more pertinent to the case than others,” she said crisply. “If you’re ready, I’ll play them for you.”
“Ready when you are.”
The words escaped as more of a challenge than Isla intended. Luckily Bex seemed distracted and didn’t react.
Bex tapped her laptop and a sibilant hiss filled the air between them before William Downer’s voice issued from the speakers.
WILLIAM DOWNER: Sit down in a relaxed fashion, Harley. Place one hand on each of your knees, palm down. Look at one of your hands. I want you to watch that hand. Concentrate on that hand as you listen to the sound of my voice. Remember our trigger word, Harley? I want you to close your eyes, let your shoulders drop and keep focusing on my voice. When I touch you lightly on the hand and say the word ‘sleep’ you will slip into this relaxed state that you’ve been in before. You will feel comfortable and relaxed and drowsy. You will be happy to answer my questions. Go back in time, Harley. Go back five years, ten years. Go back to when you were six years old. Did you have a favorite toy, Harley? What was your favorite toy that you liked playing with the most?
HARLEY CARROLL: Monkey. Monkey is my best friend. He keeps the boogey man away.
WD: And do you play with Monkey when you come home from school?
HC: Yes. I want to take Monkey to school but mummy won’t let me. She says the other kids will tease me. Mummy says kids can be mean.
Isla bit her cheek at the sound of Harley’s voice trembling on the verge of tears. Downer’s words easing Harley into hypnosis had set up a trigger word that she had inadvertently used when she touched his hand at their first meeting. Now she understood how her actions had sent the suggestible Harley into a trance whereby he truthfully answered her questions under hypnosis and then denied his statements when he was no longer under hypnotic control.
She brought her attention back to the voices in the recording.
WD: What does your daddy say about Monkey?
There was silence stretching over several seconds.
WD: Harley, does your daddy like Monkey?
HC: Daddy says I don’t need Monkey to sleep with at night. Daddy says he’ll sleep with me to keep the boogey man away. I don’t want you, Daddy. I want Monkey. Please get out of my bed, Daddy!
Isla found her pulse racing at the sound of Harley’s high-pitched, distressed voice.
WD: Why don’t you want Daddy to sleep in your bed with you, Harley?
HC: (Sobbing.) It hurts. It always hurts when Daddy comes to bed with me. I just want Monkey. Please, Daddy, can I just take Monkey to bed?
Harley’s low, keening sobs increased until they verged on hysteria while in the background were sounds of cushions being pummeled and furniture being moved. Downer ended the session at that point.
Isla found herself gripping her hands in white-knuckled anxiety and dropped them into her lap to hide them from Bex’s view.
“Are you prepared to listen to more? They get more harrowing as Downer progresses with the sessions,” Bex told her.
“Do they detail Keith’s sexual abuse of Harley?”
At Bex’s nod, Isla steeled herself. “Yes, I need to know everything. This contributes towards his state of mind at the time of the murders.”
There were five more sessions, which became a litany of Harley’s abuse at the hands of his father. Isla chided herself for her squeamishness. If it was difficult for her to listen to, then how much worse had it been for Harley to live through? In the last session, Harley revealed more of Keith’s plans to use him in his position as a Kids Commando leader to keep grooming younger kids to serve his perversions.
WD: What is it that you dislike about Kids Commando?
HC: He’s made me become a leader so I can gain the little kids’ trust. I loathe myself. I take photos of the kids on my phone and he looks them over like he’s on a shopping spree. When he picks one out I’ve got to concentrate on that kid until they feel comfortable with me. Until they’re willing to come home with me and then he pounces. I thought it would be better when I got older. That he’d no longer be interested in me. Instead it feels worse. Now, I’m the monster too, helping him to ruin these kids’ lives. I’m the monster too.
The noise of Harley’s harsh sobs echoed around the small room until Bex snapped off the sound. Isla found she was shaking with fury.
“Downer’s as big a monster as Keith Carroll!” she seethed. “He’s totally compromised his professional standing by not reporting this situation to the authorities! Why did he sit on this information and not say anything? I hope you intend to arrest him and charge him for letting Harley continue to suffer!”
“We’ll certainly be talking with William Downer again, Isla. But that’s not the end of it. There are a few more sessions where Harley talks under hypnosis and I think it’s these sessions that Downer meant when he said the recordings won’t help Harley’s defense.”
/> Isla’s tawny eyes flashed. “It sounds to me like Downer treated Harley as some sort of hard luck case, like a guinea pig he could write up in his notes and get published one day in a prestigious journal!”
“Are you ready to listen to more, Isla?”
Isla set her jaw with determination and nodded at Bex to go ahead.
WD: Let’s go deeper, Harley. Go deeper into how you feel about your father. Do you want to stop him?
HC: Yes, yes, I want him to stop.
WD: But he’s not going to stop, is he, Harley?
HC: No.
WD: What do you think will stop him, Harley?
HC: Hurting him?
WD: Do you think hurting him will make him stop? How do you feel about that, Harley? How do you feel if hurting him will make him stop his activities with you and the other kids?
HC: (Panting): Good. Good, because I want him to stop. Even if that means hurting him.
WD: What do you mean by hurting him, Harley?
HC: (sobbing). I want to…I really (sobbing) I want to hurt him back for all the times he’s hurt me.
WD: In what way? In what way would you hurt your father? How far would you go, Harley?
HC: (Panting.) Maybe kill him? Yes, yes, kill him. Kill him so he’ll stop it. He wants me to ask Wolfbane to come home for extracurricular activities. (Laughter). I know what that means. He wants to get his hands on Wolfbane and abuse him. He’s a monster. He’s never going to stop. And he’s never going to let me escape!
WD: How do you feel about that Harley?
HC: Angry. I feel angry. And scared. I don’t want Wolfbane to be hurt. But if dad is hurting him, he’s not having his dirty perverted way with me.
WD: Describe to me how you want to punish your dad.
(Sounds of crashing, stifled sobbing).
WD: Settle down, Harley. Just describe to me how you’d punish your father. What would you do first?
Courting Death Page 13
