“Miss, I suggest you leave because Dr. Downer and I are going to have a little chat.”
Chapter 31
Wednesday 20 December
Bex put her phone on speaker as she forced Georgie’s dilapidated Honda through a series of strategic maneuvers to avoid the worst of the traffic on her way from Lambeth to Chelsea.
“DCI Wynter, it’s Ellyse Watkins. I’ve got the results from that partial sole print by the doorway. It’s a V-shaped rubber tread, probably used as a combination tap sole. Which means the rubber was added to the forefront of a leather-soled shoe. There was no heel imprint but you can assume that was leather too. Essentially, it’s a way of making sure that a leather sole has a good grip. This particular imprint is from a dress shoe, size ten.”
“A leather dress shoe?” That didn’t sound like the type of shoe that a sixteen year old would wear. “What size shoe do Harley and Keith Carroll wear?”
“Size eleven and ten and a half respectively.”
So the shoe prints belonged to another person who had visited the house.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Bex hung up the phone and concentrated on following the GPS instructions to the doctor’s office. She had only a few more blocks to drive. Stopped at a red light, she dialed Idris.
“Have you got that search warrant yet?”
“Reuben’s getting it signed as we speak. We’re meeting him at Downer’s residence.”
“When you get there I want you to look for a Halloween mask, specifically a latex skeleton mask, possibly with a small piece torn from it. Downer and his daughter had a special connection over their Halloween costumes.”
“You think he made Harley wear a mask while committing the murders?”
“I have an idea he wanted to have some part of his daughter present while her molester was tormented and killed. But nothing that would be left behind to connect to him.”
“We’re right on it,” Idris said.
Georgie’s Honda roared into the underground parking lot and Bex bolted out of the car, taking the stairs two at a time to reach the third floor.
A scream echoed through the clinic lobby. Bex had no doubt it came from Downer’s rooms. Anxiety pricked at her like the sting of a dozen wasps and her right hand clenched reflexively, searching for her weapon. She barely noticed the flustered receptionist as she forced her way through the milling crowd of uneasy patients.
If she called for back up she wouldn’t be able to keep a lid on what was happening behind that closed door, and she couldn’t be certain that Quinn hadn’t taken the law into his own hands.
Seeking out the receptionist, she asked quietly, “Is there another entrance to Downer’s rooms?”
The woman bobbed her head. “Past the toilets and turn right. There’s a service corridor so the doctors can take toilet breaks without stepping into the lobby. Dr. Downer’s is the third door along.”
“Everybody keep back!” Bex barked as people converged around her. She grabbed the receptionist and put her in charge of herding the waiting patients towards the other end of the building. Then she hustled through the service corridor, ordering doctors to stick inside their rooms and keep their doors locked.
Reaching Downer’s door, she placed her ear against the wood paneling. Hearing nothing but murmurs she took a risk and gently turned the handle to ease the door open a crack. She placed her eye to the chink.
Both Quinn and Downer were side-on to her. Downer held a woman in front of him, the sharp edge of a letter opener digging her soft, fleshy neck.
Adrenaline flared through Bex and her pulse rate kicked up a notch.
“I’m not going to prison!” Downer panted, his eyes bulging.
“Take it easy, mate,” Quinn said, not moving, his eyes fixed on the psychiatrist. “You’re feeling desperate right now, mate, but don’t do something reckless that’ll ruin all your chances. Let’s just have a chat.”
Quinn was using the tactic every English officer learned in training: use your mouth and the gift of the gab to de-escalate a dangerous situation. Every instinct in Bex screamed at her to pull her gun on an armed offender, but she didn’t have a weapon. Or did she?
Carefully she inched the door closed and ran back to the exit sign. She hurtled down the stairs to the basement garage. Weaving quickly through the parked cars, she yanked open the passenger door of Georgie’s Honda. Ripping apart the cardboard box she pulled out one of the replica guns. Her fingers wrapped around the butt. It was a good imitation, weighty enough to feel real. As a weapon it was useless but Downer wouldn’t know that.
She raced back upstairs and burst through the door.
“Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head!” she barked, forcing Downer to turn from Quinn towards her.
Holding the gun steady in both hands, her arms extended in front of her, she pointed the nozzle directly at Downer’s head. She watched his startled eyes take in her braced stance as he looked down the barrel of the gun. Beyond Downer she saw the absolute shock in Quinn’s face.
The threat of violence hung heavy in the air. She sensed it in the frantic swiveling of Downer’s eyes and the goggle-eyed terror of the woman he clasped in front of him. The sulfurous stink of Downer’s sweat reached her nostrils. She held her voice firm and confident so he knew there was no escape.
“Put your weapon down, release the woman and I won’t shoot you.”
Downer’s eyes flitted wildly around the room because it was impossible for him to keep both Bex and Quinn in sight.
“But…but…how? Police don’t carry guns.” Disbelief was thick in his voice.
“British police don’t carry guns. Can’t you hear my accent? I’m an American detective on assignment with the London Met. I have a special license to carry weapons. I suggest you follow my orders. Drop the weapon and put your hands on your head. Now!” Bex lied with authority.
Downer’s breath rasped in his throat. His eyes continued to waver frantically as though he wanted to avoid focusing on the gun in her hands. She felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead. If she couldn’t scare him into dropping his weapon she was out of options because the gun she held was little better than a toy.
In a blur of motion, Quinn lunged at Downer from his blind side. His hand jackknifed out, striking Downer’s temple. Downer crumpled without a sound. A gurgled cry escaped from the woman as her rubbery legs gave way and the two of them toppled together to the floor.
“Cuff him,” Bex breathed out on a relieved sigh as she bent over the woman.
Still gibbering incoherently, Bex led the woman out to the lobby and left her in the care of the receptionist and one of the center’s medical personnel.
When she re-entered Downer’s office, Quinn straightened after cuffing the unconscious doctor.
“What are you doing with a gun?” he hissed, bestowing a skeptical look on her. “Didn’t you learn anything from that last episode?”
Bex met his glance with a steady eye. “Apparently not, because I was prepared to save your sorry ass again. How did you let Downer grab a hostage?”
Quinn looked sheepish. “I thought the slimy tosser was helping his patient out of the room. Instead he dragged her up and next thing he was threatening to stab a letter opener through her throat. For Chrissake, a letter opener!”
“Sharp enough to do the job.”
“Yeah, that’s what held me back. But if you hadn’t barged in I would’ve talked him into putting down the weapon.”
“And maybe not. It would’ve been a shame to lose an innocent bystander because your conversational skills failed the grade. That would’ve made for an interesting report to Dresden.”
Quinn shook his head. “You’re worried about my behavior? I’m not the one toting a gun.”
Bex held the weapon out for his inspection. “It’s a replica. I purchased it for the drop-in club. So there’s no need to make a report to Dresden.”
Quinn had been with the firearms unit and knew weapons. He
hefted the imitation pistol expertly in his hands.
“Damn good copy of a Browning Hi Power. Looked like the real thing when you were wielding it in Downer’s face.” Quinn gave her a hard stare but she thought she caught a flicker of mortification as he scrubbed a hand over his rough cheek. “Shall we call it a stalemate, Wynter?”
Bex gave him a shrewd look. “I know you don’t particularly like my methods, but for Dresden’s sake, let’s just call this effort good teamwork.”
“You think Dresden’s going to buy that?”
“No one says we have to love each other, Quinn, but it’s no secret we both put our hearts into this job. It may ruin your street cred, but I think I can convince her you’ve become a team player.”
“You’re reading an awful lot into the fact I haven’t handed in my request to transfer out of this second-rate unit. Boss.”
He tossed in the last word as though it was an afterthought, but Bex knew its significance.
“Damn straight I am.”
At their feet, Downer emitted a groan. His legs twitched.
“That was a pretty slick move you pulled,” she complimented Quinn.
“Brazilian Jiu Jitsu.”
“You’ll make a great volunteer instructor in the drop-in center.”
A strangled sound spewed from both Downer and Quinn. Bex cracked a grin at Quinn and nudged Downer with her boot.
“Dr. Downer, we’ve found the mask you wore when you broke into the Carrolls’ home to commit murder. It matches the remnant in Andrea Carroll’s hand,” Bex declared, playing on her hunch and hoping Idris would prove her correct. “Did you wear that Halloween costume to hide your identity from Keith Carroll, so that he died thinking his son had killed him? Or because Halloween was a special time for you and your daughter and you wanted a piece of her there while you exacted your revenge?” She gave him a moment to answer, but he remained mute. “Whatever the reason, we now have motivation and we have evidence. I’m placing you under arrest for the murders of Keith and Andrea Carroll. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?
“No, that’s not possible! You have Harley’s signed confession!” Downer managed to push himself into a sitting position, glaring at Bex.
Bex’s eyes dug into him. “A confession that he made due to your hypnotic manipulations. You were privy to Harley’s inner turmoil and you led him through a murder fantasy that you later enacted out exactly as Harley described. In your last few sessions with Harley, when you turned off the recordings, did you instill the suggestion to make him believe he’d actually murdered his father? I think you did. I think you manipulated his mind so he would confess to the crime when questioned, truly believing he had done it. The flaw in your plan was that Andrea returned home early. Did she manage to grab your mask? Is that why you killed her because she saw your face and recognized you as Harley’s therapist? You didn’t have time to implant further hypnotic suggestions to Harley and that’s the reason he has no memory of her murder. No doubt you maintained control over Harley right up until the time you left him at the scene of the crime to take the rap for you.”
Downer’s face contorted. He gave her a look reminiscent of a ferocious animal caught in a trap.
“You thought you’d got yourself the perfect alibi, especially when your sessions with Harley weren’t originally brought to light. But you let sentiment get in the way when you kept that Halloween mask. Was it the one you made with Skylar? We also have a partial size ten sole print at the scene of the crime, so I’m hazarding a guess that’s the size you wear, doctor.”
She glanced down at his feet, clad in brown leather dress shoes. They could even be the shoes he had worn for the murder.
“You sodding bugger, you framed an innocent kid for your crimes!” Quinn blurted, shocked by Bex’s revelations. He had still been operating under the assumption that Harley had committed the murders.
Downer’s eyes roamed around his office, before fixing themselves on Quinn as he begged, “You don’t understand. I thought the court would have sympathy for Harley and give him a light sentence. Especially if Harley told them how Keith had abused him. Except, you bloody police didn’t do your job, did you?” His voice turned vicious. “The courts painted Keith as a model citizen. What a farce! The man was a monster! He ruined Skylar’s life as if he were guilty of pushing her in front of that train! For years, I agonized over why she had done it, until Harley saw a photo of Skylar that fell out of my wallet and told me everything.”
Downer was panting, his words came so fast they crashed into each other.
“You do see, don’t you, that killing him was the only way to stop him ruining more kids’ lives?” His voice dwindled to a thin whine. “I know because I’ve treated pedophiles. They never change. Aversion therapy’s a joke. They never willingly stop. It’s part of their make up. Killing him was the only option I had.”
Quinn loomed over him. “Not your call to make is it, mate?” His voice was as unyielding as granite. “There’s no excuse for taking the law into your own hands, and even less for letting an innocent kid take the blame.”
Downer collapsed into a heap on the floor again, awkwardly because of his cuffed hands. Bex watched his soft underbelly tremble as his body shuddered through sobs.
“Right, let’s get you on your feet and down to the station,” Quinn announced.
Chapter 32
Friday 22 December
Tasteful recessed lighting provided a subdued and luxurious mood in the waiting reception of the Perry Grais Law Firm. A series of pale suede armchairs and an acre of creamy sofa surrounding a marble-topped coffee table added to the elegant ambience. The receptionist with her shiny lips, shiny hair and shiny nails and wearing a conservative black couture suit, greeted her with guarded eyes and an imitation smile.
“Rebecca Wynter. I have an appointment to see, um, Lillian Perry and Clementine Grais,” Bex said.
She found it difficult to get her head around British titles and didn’t know whether she should have used one for Lillian or not. Dresden had impressed upon her that Lillian was, after all, the daughter of Earl Perry. Bex caught a hint of amusement in the receptionist’s eyes.
“They’re expecting you, Detective. Please follow me.”
The sophisticated blonde slid out from behind the glossy teak desk shaped like a hollow cube, and minced ahead of Bex. Their footfalls were absorbed by lush carpet. She knocked on the frosted glass door in its wooden frame, then turned the handle and ushered Bex forward to face three women sitting on one side of an oval table made of similar frosted glass.
“Good to see you again, DCI Wynter. Take a seat.” Lillian, dressed in a conservative tweed jacket over a man’s button-down shirt completed by a navy cravat, addressed Bex with a welcoming smile. “Now that we have our house in order and don’t have to fight the wolves from the door, we’re very happy to come on board with your very worthwhile proposal, provided you can convince our newest partner. I believe you know Ms. Isla Standing, DCI Wynter?”
“Partner?” Bewildered, Bex sank into the leather office chair.
“Yes, it’s Perry Grais Standing LLP now, or at least it will be once the signage is complete.”
Isla held her gaze for a moment and Bex wondered testily if it was another challenge. Too often that was how their exchanges felt, like a series of gauntlets slapped across her face. She wondered if Isla had filled her new partners in on their history.
“Bex is my husband’s boss at the Youth Crimes Team,” Isla explained as she half-turned towards the older women.
“That’s the investigative team that have just wrapped up your latest pro bono case for ILF?”
“Yes, the police dropped the charges against Harley Carroll yesterday,” Isla confirmed. “I believe Downer’s pleading not guilty but the police think there’s sufficient evidence to convic
t him. Isn’t that right?” Isla directed this last question in Bex’s direction.
The torn mask that Idris had uncovered at Downer’s residence was the lynchpin of their case. Forensics had confirmed it was Downer’s DNA on the mask, not Harley’s, and had matched the torn piece to the scrap found in Andrea Carroll’s grasp. That was an oversight that was going to cost Downer his freedom, Bex hoped.
“Good work, detective. It’s always nice when we can put away the bad guy and save an innocent,” Clementine Grais chimed into the conversation.
“Well, we might save Harley from jail, but I’m not sure we’ll save him from his past,” said Isla.
Lillian raised an eyebrow at Isla’s tone, inviting further explanation.
“Downer did a good job scrambling fiction into fact in Harley’s brain. To get him the proper treatment to undo all the mind manipulation Downer put him through and all the physical and mental abuse from his father is going to cost more than the government agencies are willing or able to spend,” she said. “And at seventeen he’s unlikely to find a caring foster home, so he’ll remain in institutionalized care until he turns eighteen.”
Clementine’s mouth pinched and two spots of red burned brightly in her cheeks. “That kind of injustice is heart-breaking. Some people simply don’t deserve to be parents when they abuse that privilege!” Her delicate features crumpled into a ferocious frown after her heated words.
Isla’s news was hitting Clementine hard, Bex realized. She remembered Lillian telling her that Clementine had lost a son to drugs. No doubt she was thinking of the injustice of it: her son, whom she had loved and cared for, was gone, whereas Keith had cared only about exploiting his own child.
Bex also felt conflicted about Harley’s tragic situation. With the charges against him dropped, Harley didn’t even have recourse to a lawyer in his corner. He had been summarily abandoned to fend for himself against a bunch of bureaucratic red tape that would no doubt snarl up his life for the next twelve months. When he turned eighteen the government could officially turf him out of juvenile care to sink or swim.
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