Courting Death

by Elleby Harper

  Bex’s chest tightened with sorrow at the futile waste of young life. In a perfect world Clementine would still have her son and Harley would have a set of loving parents to look after him.

  Lights clicked on in Bex’s head. Unrealistic, absurd lights, but she had learned from hours of investigative questioning, you’d never know the answer if you didn’t ask the question.

  “What if Harley got taken in under the wing of some good-hearted, good Samaritan?”

  “Harley has no close relatives to step into the role of guardian. At best he’ll end up in a range of foster homes until he turns eighteen.” Isla stated the facts in her courtroom voice.

  Bex fixed Clementine with a sharp look. “A legal guardian doesn’t have to be a relative. But I think only a mother could understand Harley’s anguish sufficiently to help him.”

  “Wait! You’re not suggesting–” Lillian began, until Clementine rested a hand on her arm, cutting her short.

  “You’re suggesting that Lil and I take on the role of Harley Carroll’s guardians?”

  Bex returned Clementine’s earnest look.

  “It’s just a thought. Maybe you could meet with him, talk to him, talk to the authorities. You’re a lawyer so you’d be perfectly placed to know the ropes he’ll need to look out for.”

  It was obvious that Lillian was shocked, but Clementine’s glistening eyes showed that the idea appealed to her.

  “We’ll think about it,” Clementine said decisively. “It would be a big responsibility to take on board.”

  Lillian spluttered. “We both work full-time, Clem, how could we look after a teenager?”

  “Well, now that we have an additional partner, perhaps one of us could ease up on the workload in the office and work from home more often. It’s doable, Lil.”

  Lillian gave a shrug and a sigh. Her shrewd eyes softened at the look of determination in Clementine’s. “Let’s leave the topic for now and discuss the drop-in club project to help delinquent teens.”

  * * *

  At the end of an hour, Isla walked Bex out of the conference room towards the bank of elevators. Bex watched the heads of two male clients swivel in their direction, lingering on the glorious length of leg revealed by the discreet split in Isla’s pencil-thin skirt.

  “That was a nice thing you did back there for Harley,” Isla said. “I think having two mothers will help him get over his abuse issues.”

  “I hope so. I guess congratulations are in order for you,” Bex said as she pressed the down button. “Making partner is a big deal. Is this a sudden decision? Quinn didn’t mention anything about it at work.”

  “Thank you. Yes, it is rather sudden, but it was an opportunity that I couldn’t resist. While it’s a terrible thing to prosper off someone else’s misfortune, unless that someone is a misogynistic bastard by the name of Ernest Lyons, all’s fair in love and law as they say.”

  “What was Ernest Lyons’s misfortune?” Bex asked after fighting a losing battle with her curiosity.

  “Oh, he doesn’t know it yet, but after Christmas, Perry Grais Standing are making a pitch for a rich Hong Kong client that’s going to blow my old law firm out of the water.”

  Chapter 33

  Sunday 24 December

  By the time Bex stepped outside the Bridesmead CID office, the weather had warmed to a balmy ten degrees Celsius. Used to doing the temperature calculations in her head she knew that equated to fifty degrees in New York. It was unlikely there would be snow for Christmas day, but since she had no intention of celebrating this year that meant little to her.

  She had spent the last two hours wrapping up her report on the youth drop-in center and emailed it to Sophie Dresden a week ahead of the deadline Dresden had handed her. She was pleased with the detail it contained and felt confident that she would receive, perhaps not Dresden’s blessing, but at least her agreement that the proposal could go ahead.

  She knew she cut a lonely figure, being the only Youth Crimes Team member in the office. Eli had taken off for his week in Liverpool to spend Christmas with his daughters, while Quinn and Isla had a formal Christmas dinner ahead of them with the Titus clan.

  Bex had intended to finish her report at home, but Georgie’s older sister and family had descended on the household from Yorkshire to spend Christmas with the Richards. Georgie was putting them up in her bed and breakfast and the house was noisy with merriment and laughter. When Georgie tried to involve Bex, she had resisted her overtures.

  “But you’ll be back for Christmas dinner with us?” Georgie asked with a worried frown.

  “Sorry, Georgie, I have an orphans’ Christmas Eve dinner to go to. All the overseas recruits are having a reunion,” she excused herself.

  “That’s wonderful, my luv. I was so afraid you’d be on your own at Christmas and missing your mum and dad. I promised your mum I’d keep an eye out for you. So nice of her to pop over last weekend.”

  Bex managed a cheery smile for Georgie, who graciously insisted that Bex take her car for the day. Having made her excuses to abandon the Richards’ family gathering, Bex had no option but to skulk back to Bridesmead, the only other place she could call home in London.

  With the air frosty on her breath and the wind whipping around her legs she was glad to have on her thick leggings, tucked into a pair of combat-styled boots with heavy soles to keep out the cold and her long puffy coat that reached to her knees. She pulled a beanie over her head and ears, but really this winter was a doddle compared to what she was used to in New York.

  What was she going to do now? It would be awkward if she arrived back at Georgie’s too soon.

  At the end of Little King Lane, the Sail and Ale beckoned. She could kill a couple of hours in the local pub. She knew from her previous visit that they even had a roaring fire going. Blown by the wind, she shuffled down the street to enter the warm interior.

  Dark mahogany benches, worn smooth by the seated bottoms of many a drinker, were lightened by the flames licking the inside of a rough-hewn fireplace. It all added to the “old time” atmosphere that tourists expected from a British pub and the Sail and Ale didn’t disappoint. She had learnt from Eli that the Sail and Ale was considered a “freehouse” pub, which meant it wasn’t tied to a brewery so it served its patrons a range of beers.

  Unbuttoning her coat to soak in the warmth, she did a double take at seeing Idris seated in a corner booth on his own. Bloody hell! Why’s he here on a non-rostered work day? She was on the verge of backing out when he glanced up and snagged her eye.

  He raised a curious eyebrow in her direction. Steeling herself, she moved towards his table.

  “Idris! I didn’t expect to see you here on Christmas Eve.” She failed to keep the chagrin completely out of her voice.

  “I could say the same. Don’t you have anywhere better to be than work?”

  “Actually, I do. I have a party to go to. I was just going to grab a quick warm up drink before I head out.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look.

  “Truly!” She found she was defending herself. “Jo, one of the exchange detectives I met at the Police College, is giving an orphans’ party for all the lonely expatriates in London. We’re all going to have a jolly good time telling each other how the first six months have panned out for us,” she said in a bad imitation of an English accent.

  Bex had never gotten around to responding to Jo’s invitation. She still had no intention of going, but it was easier to offer Idris a truthful excuse.

  “Sounds like fun.”

  His words oozed a bite of sarcasm that she hadn’t expected. Bex eyed the half-filled mug on the table along with an empty packet of crisps.

  “Probably more fun than sitting here drinking on your own,” she observed, wondering if Idris’s thoughts were occupied with how Isla and Quinn were spending their Christmas.

  “Who said I was on my own?” Idris snapped.

  Bex’s face flamed. Of course, not everyone was alone like her! Other p
eople had partners in their lives or at least spent time with people they cared about.

  “Just pulling your leg.” He chuckled at the sight of her face. He fiddled with a ten pound note sitting on the table as he admitted, “I’m not in the mood to hear my mother wax lyrical about my father’s generosity for Christmas. We don’t see eye to eye on a man who’s more comfortable showering his family with money than love. That’s why I’m in Bridesmead brooding on my own. I didn’t want to bump into anyone I know.”

  “Sorry, I’ll leave you alone,” Bex said stiffly.

  “Chill out, Boss. If anyone has a right to be defensive it’s me after all the digging you’ve done into exposing my personal life to your criticism.”

  “You’re right, Idris. I apologize. I should have kept my nose out of your affairs.” Bex bit her lip, recognizing that was a poor choice of words.

  He grinned at her embarrassment. “You don’t realize how often you crack the team up with what you say.”

  “Thanks for letting me know I’m good for a laugh!”

  “There you go, getting defensive again.”

  Idris sipped his beer. “Listen, no hard feelings. Why don’t you get a drink and pull up a pew for a few minutes before you have to go to your party.”

  Bex approached the bar and returned with a dry white wine. She couldn’t stand the English beers, too warm and frothy for her taste.

  “You should try a Guinness sometime.” Idris lifted his mug in her direction. “Cheers. Here’s to two lonely losers. Before you get your knickers in a knot, I’m just kidding, after all you’ve got a party to go to.”

  Idris passed the comments off as a joke, but the barb struck home. This was obviously how her team saw her. Lonely loser.

  That’s what she got for not letting anyone in London under her guard. Yes, she actually had a party to go to, but if she turned up alone she would still look like a loser.

  “Neither of us would be lonely losers if we went to the party together.”

  Idris took a moment to sip his Guiness before saying, “Are you asking me on a second date this month, Boss? I have to warn you I’ve given up on love for the time being.”

  “That makes two of us, Idris. But who needs love and romance when we’ve got such a warm and friendly team dynamic in the office.”

  Idris’s face cracked open in a broad smile. “Oh, that we have, Boss, that we have. The other lads and I have been taking bets on how you managed to brush that whopping great chip off Quinn’s shoulder. He’s still not exactly a barrel of laughs but being in the same space with him now is better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick. Care to enlighten me how you created this miracle? I might be in the running to take out the pot.”

  Idris’s pale eyes were crinkled with good humor. In contrast to Quinn, Idris was the strong, silent, dependable member of the team. Any job she gave him he knuckled down and completed without the arguments Quinn put forward or the excuses Eli sometimes offered or the humor Reuben often used to deflect work. She suspected that Idris was far more layered and complicated than her other team members.

  “I can’t give away my secrets, but come with me tonight and you’ll be the first to know Harley Carroll’s plans after his release.”

  After a long gap in the conversation, Idris broke. “What do you mean? I know the poor sod’s had a crappy life but I don’t suppose he’s got anything more than a foster home to look forward to once he’s released into the system.”

  Bex offered him a sphinx-like smile. She lifted her glass to her lips and sipped the last of the wine. Picking up her discarded gloves, beanie and purse, she rose from the table.

  “Guess away. I have a party to go to.”

  “Alright, Harley comes in a poor second to Quinn, but okay, I’ll bite. Just how long do I need to stay at this party?”

  “Just long enough to prove we’re not losers.”

  Idris stood and shrugged himself into a woolen overcoat over an open shirt and gray knitted sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him out of a suit.

  “Deal. Now spill the beans.”

  Idris guided her through the noisy throng gathered around the fireplace. Dusk lowered the temperature outside as they made their way along the narrow street towards the Bridesmead CID offices where Bex had parked Georgie’s car. Bex wrapped her scarf more securely around her neck.

  “Yesterday, Clementine Grais phoned me and said she and her partner had met with Harley and spoken to some authorities to grease the wheels to becoming his guardian until he’s eighteen. They’re happy to pay for the therapy he’s going to need to overcome his abuse issues. They’ve even arranged for him to spend a couple of hours with them for Christmas tomorrow.”

  Idris’s pale gray eyes regarded her thoughtfully.

  “You’ve got a heart on you, Boss. You really care about the teens we deal with, don’t you?”

  “I believe everyone deserves a chance, Idris. Most of the kids we deal with have never really had that. Harley’s finally going to have some support in his life.”

  “He’s still got a long hard road in front of him and he’ll carry a shit load of internal scars, but if he’s a survivor you’ve given him a chance.”

  Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk. She supposed she should offer some friendly banter, but words failed her. Idris’s comment echoed in her mind, reminding her she carried her own emotional scars. Even so, she had survived her first year without Zane. She knew her husband would’ve been proud of her.

  THE END

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  A Preview of Driven to Death,

  the first book in the

  British Crime with an American Twist series

  Would you save your daughter’s killer?

  When Evie Butterworth faces every parent’s nightmare, the death of her daughter, the police are brought in to determine whether it was murder. Heading the investigation is American homicide detective Bex Wynter. Abandoning her own train wreck of a life she becomes head of a new investigative team in a brand new country. But not everyone welcomes an American to the London Met. Quinn Standing has a hard time dealing with the failures piling up in his life, and an even harder time adjusting to his new boss.

  As her team peel back the layers to discover what really happened at Richmond Bridge, pressure builds from the media, the killer’s high profile father and Bex’s tragic past. Will she be able to shake off her demons to bring justice to light?

  Driven to Death is British crime with an American twist!

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday 4 July

  Evie Butterworth’s purgatory began the day she learnt her daughter’s closely guarded secret. Within minutes her life switched tracks, like a train jumping to a new spur, one that lead down a dark and dramatic path.

  Her actions that day propelled her, both unwittingly and unwillingly, into the nation’s consciousness via a social media viral thread dubbed “Freakin’ Saint.” Even when the police questioned he
r, it was difficult to remember past the loss and heartbreak she had endured to recall what was important and what wasn’t. For instance, was the Hitchcock movie marathon they had attended important? Or could the catalyst for the day’s events have sprung from some other mundane activity?

  It was sheer luck that Evie had seen the advertisement online for the special screening at the Odeon and that it happened to be her day off from the hospital and Clara had time off from school because of a Teacher Development Day. After a week of rain-soaked, cloud-covered days, the sun made a shining appearance.

  Having worked a night shift, Evie forced herself out of bed just before lunch to make the most of the next forty-eight hours, time that belonged to her not the hospital. The Odeon’s coffee was good, and, although she found Hitchcock’s classics as gripping today as when she’d first seen them, it had helped keep her awake during three back-to-back movies.

  Evie was still musing over the twist in Dial M for Murder, when the heavy glass door swung back from the exiting patron in front of her, so she wasn’t prepared for the weight of it jarring her shoulder. She stumbled one step backwards, knocking against her daughter Clara, who, because she was jamming ear buds into her ears to ward off any maternal attempts at conversation, plowed against a couple behind her.

  “Nice one, mum! Been getting into the vino again?” Clara’s words cut like a blade, deliberately hurtful. Evie blamed adolescence and raging hormones for the stinging barbs that seemed to form her daughter’s conversational gambit whenever they were together lately.

  Clara’s face was a mask of bland innocence as she fished her sunglasses out of her bag. Sliding them up her nose she stalked past her mother into the sunshine.

  Evie offered an apologetic smile to the man and woman behind. The man’s answering smirk squashed the nebulous hope that Clara’s words hadn’t carried. She thought about mouthing the sentiment, “Kids, what can you do?” but decided it wasn’t worth it. If strangers chose to believe she drank to excess when taking her daughter to the cinema, a throwaway platitude wasn’t going to change their minds.