The sight drew her forward like a magnet through her red mist. Someone clutched her sleeve. Maddened, she ripped her arm away. She must focus. She was good at focusing. She did it every day at work. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel as she rushed down the steps into the water.
“Hey! Stay away! The car could collapse any second!”
She paid no attention, plunging on through water up to her hips, now her waist until she was level with the back of the car. She pushed herself through the water to get around to the driver’s window, fighting through the broken splinters of one of the skiffs. Her breathing was so loud in her ears she couldn’t hear anything else.
She could see the back of Bon’s head slumped out of the window, resting on the water, strands of darkened blond hair floating like a halo around his head.
She reached forward, grabbing Bon’s hair to lift his face up, feeling the car rock precariously as she did so. Water streamed from his pale skin. His forehead was lumpy and bruised, blood leaked from his broken nose, diluted by the water into a pink rivulet. Straining to hang onto him with one hand and balance herself against the boat with the other, she struggled to see if he had a pulse. Had Bon survived? The thought pounded in her head and throbbed through her veins. Had Bon survived?
* * *
High above, on Richmond Bridge, people gathered. “Look at that! The crazy woman in the water!”
“What’s she doing?”
Strangers drifted over. Someone pulled a smart phone from a pocket, training it in the direction of the car.
“It looks like…”
“Is she giving him mouth to mouth?”
Their words rippled through the crowd, attracting more people to the edge, pushing and shoving to get a look. The sinking sun cast long shadows across the dappled gold-streaked waves. Street lamps flared with illumination, sparkling along the edge of the riverbank and across the bridge span. Eyes strained through the expanding gloom to see more clearly.
“She’s trying to resuscitate him!”
“Who is she? Why doesn’t she wait for the paramedics?”
“Isn’t that dangerous? Oh, my God, what if the car tilts over and drowns both of them?”
“She’s risking her life to save that guy! The woman’s a freakin’ saint!”
Chapter 3
Wednesday 5 July
The glare of sun bouncing off the stonework of London Tower stung Bex Wynter’s tired eyeballs but didn’t stop her noticing the lanky youth with the navy Wimbledon cap pulled low over his forehead to hide his eyes. Despite the warmth of the day, which had tourists in summer dresses and short sleeves, he was wearing a denim jacket over a torn T-shirt.
Sandwiched between hundreds of other tourists as she snaked her way towards the Chapel Royal of Saint Peter Ad Vincula, Bex saw him casually bump against a woman as he passed through the line, then disappear into the crowd. She had noticed him earlier, prowling around the edges of the line.
Relax, she told herself firmly. Suspicious behavior didn’t always equate with crime. Today, she just wanted to be a tourist.
Her British Airways flight had arrived in London shortly after 7:30 a.m. and she had caught the express train into the heart of the city where she had reservations at the Parkwood Hotel. Too early to check into her hotel room, she had dropped her luggage with the porter, grabbed a handful of tourist brochures from the lobby and, after a few minutes’ perusal, decided she would visit Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress, the Tower of London.
For the past six months this had been her mantra: keep occupied with trivia, keep putting one foot in front of the other. Move so fast there was no chance for past memories to creep up on her, no opportunity to dwell on the black hole of despair that had replaced her future.
Like an annoying fly, the youth in the Wimbledon cap buzzed back into her peripheral vision, approaching her line from behind and cutting straight between Bex and the woman ahead.
“Excuse me, just passing through,” he muttered.
The woman in front of Bex had a tangled ponytail curling down her back and a big straw tote hanging from her shoulder. Lanky Youth knocked against the bag. Bex kept her eyes peeled to his hands, seeing one flash against the bag as though to steady it before slipping inside his jacket. No one else had noted the quick movement, especially not the woman.
“Hey, there, you haven’t accidently misplaced something have you?” She tapped the teenager on the shoulder as she spoke, so he knew she was addressing him. Beneath her hand, she felt his muscles tense under the denim.
He jerked his head back so that for a second she had a clear view of his face under the brim of his cap, his eyes wide with shock. He was young, barely fifteen or sixteen, Bex guessed. Around the same age as the young offenders she accommodated in the halfway house she had set up with her husband’s life insurance money back in New York. She read fear and uncertainty in the youth’s face and that was enough for her to know he wasn’t yet a hardened crim.
Then he twitched out of her grasp, lunging into the crush of tourists.
Bex leapt after him, her eyes fixed on his gangling body as he darted between sightseers. She had no doubt his spider-long legs would have outrun her with no problem, but he hit a bottleneck as they approached another archway. She noted an opening to his left and, anticipating his dash sideways, squirmed between bodies to ram into him with a sharp elbow to the ribs.
As she tackled him, she could feel his frame hadn’t yet filled with muscle, so she managed to use her bodyweight to slam him against the rough brickwork wall of the archway, knocking the breath from his lungs. Wrenching his arm up his back she kept control over him, forcing him to his knees.
There were a few squeals of alarm and apprehensive mutters from those standing around.
“It’s okay, he’s my brother. We’re just having a little family disagreement.” Bex bared her teeth in what she hoped passed for a smile, and nodded in the direction of the nervous, suspicious looks. “Right, bro?” She squeezed the tender part of his elbow until he gave a yelp of agreement. As people moved aside with wary misgiving, she tugged his collar to bring him to his feet, manhandling him along the tunnel to a quieter spot.
She could see his clothes were good quality, his shoes worn but not castoffs, leading her to assume he wasn’t homeless so he didn’t need crime to survive. More than likely he was simply hooked on the excitement of thumbing his nose at the law, unless he needed money to fuel a drug habit. She wondered if his parents were even aware he wasn’t at school.
Using her free hand, she patted him down to ensure he was unarmed. Then she ran her hand over his jacket, yanking a wallet from his inside pocket between her fingertips.
Still using her fingertips, she flipped open the wallet, checking the driver’s license in its clear plastic sleeve.
“I suppose you’re going to insist your name is Gloria Benton?”
The youth grunted. “Who are you, lady? You the scum? I ain’t done nothing.”
Bex poked a thumb into a pressure point on his shoulder until he was squirming. Scum? That was a name she hadn’t been called before.
“Okay, okay, ease up,” he panted. “You want the wallet, take it.”
“Why aren’t you in school?”
“School’s for losers.”
Her experience had taught her that street kids didn’t appreciate leniency, they needed tough love and a tight rein or they simply walked all over you.
“You’ve got it wrong. Jail’s for losers. And it sure seems like you’re doing your best to become some inmate’s favorite girlfriend.”
“I ain’t never been caught. Scum’s not going to send me away for a first offence.” His voice was cocky with conviction.
“Maybe not the first time, Gloria. But you keep lifting wallets and jail’s where you’ll end up before you know it. Even youth prisons are full of murderers and rapists and they like to screw the young and vulnerable. I’d say you’re going to tick all the boxes for them. You know what young i
nmates tell me? That the hardest part is no one comes to your rescue when you scream. You have no friends or family in jail.”
The teenager stood still under her hands while she spoke and she was hopeful he was absorbing her words.
“I don’t want the wallet. I want you to show some respect for hard-working people who earn the money that goes into wallets like this. What you’re going to do now is walk back to that line, find Gloria Benton and hand back her property.”
In answer, he expelled a string of obscenities as he bucked his loose-limbed body, almost breaking her handhold. She jabbed her elbow sharply into his back, then clipped him around the ear.
“Quiet down! What did I just say about showing respect and some gratitude? I caught you red-handed with Gloria’s wallet and I’m an eye-witness to you taking it. But let’s just say I give you the benefit of the doubt that you came across this wallet accidentally. What’s the right thing to do?”
“You’re crazy, lady! I’ll never find that woman again.”
“Oh, I think you will. Those lines don’t move that quickly and I have a very good eye for a face. You’d better hope we can find her, otherwise I’m dragging you into the nearest police station to hand it over. Then you can explain just how it came to be in your possession. Are we agreed?”
“Okay, okay. Just get your elbow out of my back.”
Bex was satisfied by the resigned tone. “Respectful people use the magic word.” She knocked his cap to the ground, grabbed his hair and tugged his head towards her. “Please.”
“Please,” he repeated, mimicking her American accent.
She allowed him away from the wall, but insisted on frogmarching him out of the tunnel towards the Chapel Royal. When she picked pony-tailed Gloria Benton out of the line up, she released him, placing the wallet in his hand.
“What do I say?” She heard panic and indecision in his voice.
“First, you apologize. Then you explain that when you bumped into her you accidentally knocked her wallet out of her tote. Don’t worry, she’ll be so impressed at your honesty and pleased to have her property back, you won’t have to say anything more.”
Hovering two steps back, she watched him shuffle forward. His head flicked both left and right. She tensed, rising slightly on her toes, prepared for another sprint. She saw his chest rise as he sucked in a deep breath before mumbling a few words as he held out the woman’s wallet.
When he backed away from the line, he threw Bex a nervous glance. She nodded reassuringly as she approached him.
“Now, didn’t that feel good, Gloria?” She knew better than to ask his name. He’d more than likely provide something fake. “Here.” She held out a scrap of paper. “This is my cell phone number. If you ever feel tempted to break the law again, give me a call. I’d like the chance to talk you out of it.”
Without the cap he looked much younger. His long legs and skinny arms reminded her of a foal. After a few seconds, he reached out to take the paper. “You really not going to grass on me?” When she shook her head, he said, “If you’re scum I can’t figure you out.”
“Just don’t let yourself down again.” She called to his retreating back as he sped away. She doubted she’d ever hear from him again, but she hoped she’d had some impact on his future direction.
* * *
Bex forewent the idea of joining the back of the queue to gain entry to the Royal Chapel in favor of a cup of coffee. Buffeted by sightseers sporting navy Wimbledon caps, her eardrums battered by little kids with big voices, she headed in the direction of a coffee shop. As she joined a line that straggled outside the café door and around the corner of the building, her phone caroled an incoming call. She dragged it from her pocket.
“Walt, what’s up?” Walt was a tough as nails ex-detective who had been her mentor back in New York and one of her husband, Zane’s, closest friends.
“Bex! Glad to hear you’re alive and well on the other side of the world. How was the flight?”
“As expected. Cramped airline seat. Sleepless night. Guilt trip over leaving mom and dad’s fourth of July celebrations early to head to the airport. Mom’s left half a dozen text messages already.”
“They just worry about you. We all do. Especially now you’ve landed yourself a job without a Glock.”
Bex knew that uprooting herself from her friends and family to travel half way around the world had most of them convinced that she still had a long way to go to recover from Zane’s death. What they failed to understand was that they were part of the reason for her needing to escape to a place where there were no memories of her husband. In New York, every single person she knew reminded her of a life she’d shared with Zane for the past five years, a life that had disappeared in the blinding glint of oncoming headlights.
“Well, I’m guessing you haven’t called to check out the phone signal. Since it’s not quite 7:00 a.m. in New York, are you going to tell me what’s up?”
“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news but the hot water system has spouted its last shower. The boys are howling like pussies even though it’s been in the nineties every day this week and I reckon cold showers will help keep their dicks in check. But I know how you spoil them, so I’ve already had the plumber check it out. He’s given me a quote for a replacement. Trouble is we’re going to have to pay for it up front so I’m just warning you I’ll need to dip into the trust fund.”
Walt had been at a loose end since his retirement and it had been a cinch to talk him into managing the halfway house she’d set up three months ago for kids being released from juvenile detention. The idea behind the home was sparked by something Zane’s dad, Neil, had said when reminiscing about Zane’s somewhat wayward boyhood.
Convinced Zane would approve of giving young offenders a second chance, she had staked the project with a trust fund set up using Zane’s life insurance money. Blood money so thoroughly tainted in her eyes she had been tempted to throw it into New York Harbor if it would bring Zane back.
“You know you don’t have to check in with me on every decision, Walt. I’m going to be away from New York for awhile, that’s why I made Neil a signatory to the account.”
“Good, because I’m sick of fielding complaints from the boys and they’ve only been out of bed for an hour.” On the end of the line Bex heard Walt chuckle, before his voice turned serious. “Taking a chunk of cash out like that isn’t going to leave you short?”
“The money’s meant to be spent, Walt. Hot water’s a necessity not a luxury, no matter what you think.”
She had signed a long-term lease on a run down motel on West 94th Street and everyone in her precinct who had known either her or Zane had chipped in hours they couldn’t really afford to help with the renovations. The facilities were basic, but provided a clean and safe environment for the kids. She had few rules, but they were ironclad: No drugs, no alcohol and no girls on the property. One warning only, then they were out on their own.
“The boys toeing the line okay?”
“Don’t tell me you’re missing the little hellraisers already!” She heard Walt’s throaty chuckle again. It was heartwarming to hear the life being pumped back into him. Being involved with the house had given him a new purpose after retirement, one he was ideally suited for. “I’ve only had that one run in with EZ and the warning seemed to shake him up.”
“Good. I’ll let you get back to the boys, because I’m just about close enough to smell the coffee. Or at least what passes for it here.”
As the line inched forward, her attention was hooked by an overly loud comment. “OMG, was it a car crash?”
The words “car crash” scraped against her nerves, sending her senses into overdrive verging on a panic attack. For a moment she flashed back to bright beams shining straight through the windshield, Zane slumping over the steering wheel, her hands yanking control out of his as they skidded off the road, metal shrieking savagely, sight blurring into a jumble…
She closed her eyes, gripping her
fists tightly as she fought to control the urge to hyperventilate. Deliberately she slowed her breathing, bringing her heart rate back to normal.
“…giving him mouth to mouth. ‘Freakin’ Saint’ has got over five million views so far…”
Bex did her best to block out the raised voices behind her as her phone buzzed in her pocket. She was now only one customer away from placing her order and was tempted to ignore it. It was probably just her mom checking up. Taking a quick glance she noted it was a private number.
“An espresso.” She placed her order with the girl behind the counter as she swiped her screen, bringing the phone to her ear. “Rebecca Wynter,” she answered, her voice as crisp as tiredness would allow.
“Detective Superintendent Sophie Dresden here, Wynter. I believe you’re in London already?”
“Yes, ma’am. I arrived this morning.” Juggling her coffee in one hand and clamping the phone to her ear with the other, she headed into the open, away from inquisitive ears. It was impossible to find a private spot for conversation but at least by ambling through the crowds she was less likely to attract attention.
“I realize you don’t officially join the team until next Monday, when your two week transition course kicks in, but a high profile case has landed on my desk that I’d really like to have your team handle. I’ve contacted the others and made arrangements with their current supervisors so they can come on board early. Can you adjust your plans?”
Whether it was the kick from the espresso or the anticipation of a new case, Bex found her pulse racing again. “Certainly, ma’am, the Hampton Court Palace Flower Show will just have to wait.”
The frosty silence on the other end made her curse her odd sense of humor.
“When do you want me to report for duty, ma’am?” She loaded her voice with earnest responsibility.
Courting Death Page 20
