Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1) Page 12

  ‘It’s me. Mother,’ Lillian said, relishing the word. ‘Aren’t you going to speak?’

  ‘I hope you’re calling with the burial site,’ Amy replied tightly. ‘Because I met Mandy as agreed.’ The clock on the wall ticked solemnly in the silence that fell between them. It seemed to stretch on forever. She knew Lillian would string this out for all it was worth.

  ‘She told me,’ Lillian said, after taking a measured breath. ‘I was delighted to hear how well you got on. The children will be pleased to have you in their lives. They’ve been a bit short of birthday presents, but it’s never too late to make up for your neglect.’

  ‘I don’t have much time,’ Amy lied, feeling the walls of her office close in. Rising from her desk, she opened the blinds, allowing the morning sun through; anything to lift the oppression in the room. All she wanted were the remaining burial addresses. She needed to free herself from this hateful woman before the past swallowed her whole.

  A beat passed between them before Lillian spoke again. ‘I’d best let you go, given you’re so busy. Perhaps I’ll give you the address another day. I’ve held onto it all these years after all.’ Theatrically, she sighed. ‘Still, you never know what’s around the corner. It would be a shame if it died with me. None of us knows how long we’ve got.’

  ‘Don’t go,’ Amy replied, hating herself for having to beg. ‘Do you want to show us? Will I arrange it with the prison?’

  ‘You’ve always been the impatient one, ever since you were a little girl.’ Lillian laughed mirthlessly. ‘And no, to be honest, I felt a little car-sick after the last time. It doesn’t appeal to me anymore, being driven around like a cow to slaughter.’

  The blood left Amy’s face as she caught the self-pity in Lillian’s voice. ‘You didn’t mind the drive when you were hunting for those young girls. Trust you, did they? I suppose the presence of a child helped to reel them in.’

  A pause. Lillian spoke. ‘I sense some animosity in your tone. Has someone upset you?’

  Upset me . . . that’s an understatement, Amy thought, her temper rising as she fought to gain control. ‘How could you? How could you snatch those girls off the street knowing what you were about to do? Who did you bring? Was it me? Did you . . .’ Amy pursed her lips, cutting her words short as she felt a stutter gather on her tongue.

  ‘Really, Amy, I’ve tried to explain, but you won’t listen,’ Lillian interrupted. ‘Jack insisted I bring you. It was a threat. If I didn’t do as I was told, one of us would get hurt.’

  ‘That’s not what Jack said, and the evidence . . .’ Amy said, having gained her composure.

  ‘Was planted. And you’ll find that out soon enough,’ Lillian interrupted once more. ‘Tell me something, do you hate me, or the idea of me? For years I’ve been painted as a monster. That’s why nobody will listen to the truth. I’d expect it from others, but not you.’

  ‘If you think a phone call from you will change my mind then you’re more deluded than I thought . . .’

  A sudden eruption of swearing in the background caught Amy’s attention. Lillian’s voice grew tense as their conversation was cut short. ‘Fuck off,’ Lillian said, to whoever was moaning in the background. ‘I’ve got five more minutes!’ She sighed, reverting back to the accent she used with Amy. The much improved one. ‘Try to remember what happened to Sally-Ann. I could never hurt her. It wasn’t me.’

  Amy did not inform Lillian that she already remembered that much. Her recollection of what had happened in the basement had been one of the first to return. Her mother finding Sally-Ann crumpled and bleeding on the ground. Her screams as her panicked voice asked Jack what he had done. Then later, plucking Amy from the wash basket and telling her to be quiet. Don’t wake your father, whatever you do.

  Amy sat in her office, watching dust motes dance in the shaft of morning light.

  ‘Sod off,’ Lillian grumbled to whoever was waiting to use the phone. ‘Amy, listen to me because I’m doing this for you. You’ll find Viv in the same cemetery as before. She’s a few graves down from the last one.’

  ‘But you said . . .’ The words hung on Amy’s lips.

  ‘If I told you at the time you wouldn’t have visited Mandy, now would you? Can’t you see? I just want my family back.’

  ‘Which grave?’ Amy said, ignoring her sentiment.

  ‘You’ll find her under Joe Fletcher. I remember it because Fletch was the name of the actor in that comedy, Porridge. Ironic, isn’t it, given how I’ve ended up on the inside.’

  A memory filtered into Amy’s brain: the tune of a prison comedy show playing on a loop. It was ironic – and a memory Amy could do without. Just when she thought she had a handle on her, Lillian threw another curveball into the mix. Was she playing her? Sprinkling her memory with echoes of the past to drag her back there for good? Wouldn’t Lillian love to hear her stutter, to swear as she did as a child.

  ‘Is the body buried beneath the coffin the same as before?’ Amy said, her voice feeling very far away.

  ‘Yes,’ Lillian hastily replied. ‘Jack only had a short stint as a gravedigger. Be grateful that you didn’t end up in there. I did everything I could to protect my family, and yet I’m the one on the inside.’

  ‘I didn’t put you inside,’ Amy snapped. ‘I was four years old.’

  ‘Are you sure about that? Has that part of your memory not come back yet? Think about that day when the social came to visit. Think about what you said.’

  ‘I wasn’t the one who murdered those girls,’ Amy replied righteously.

  ‘Neither was I. But we were both there when it happened, and I’m the one locked up. It’s time to stop running away . . .’

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Amy said, pressing her pen into a pad as she scribbled the name of the grave. ‘Where’s Wendy? In the same graveyard?’

  ‘No, and I’m telling you the truth this time.’

  ‘Then where?’ Amy said insistently. ‘Tell me.’

  But Lillian’s voice was cold. ‘We’ll speak again soon. Just remember what I said.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  After updating Pike on the second burial site, Amy needed a change of scene. Her DCI had taken the role of Senior Investigating Officer and being in the background suited Amy just fine. Given what she knew about Lillian, being the SIO would be a conflict of interest at the very least. Amy’s involvement in the case had been keeping her awake at night as it was. Her job was her life. She should have come clean from the beginning, but it was too late now.

  She turned her attention to the person before her, feeling a sense of surrealism. Tessa Parker was Flora’s favourite celebrity, and Dragon’s Den was always on in the background at home. Not that she looked much like her screen persona today. Dressed in a baggy knitted jumper and faded jeans, Tessa was a shadow of herself. Her face was gaunt, her limp blonde hair scraped back from her face. Her fear and concern for her daughter were evident, and Amy reassessed her theory that she may have been involved. ‘We have teams of officers working around the clock,’ Amy said, in response to her request for an update. ‘Floyd will update you as soon as we’re in a position to share more.’ Floyd, nicknamed ‘Floyd the FLO’, was the family liaison officer, a young West Indian man who was relatively new to the role.

  Tessa nodded unblinkingly, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep. ‘I feel so helpless. Floyd said you’ve been flooded with calls since the press release, most of them from trolls. And as for what’s posted online . . . some of it is vile.’

  It was true, and team members were working on getting the worst of the comments removed. DCI Pike had held a press conference in the hope of some fresh leads, but all it did was swamp the teams with false hope and burden them with work. A Crimewatch re-enactment was due to air in the hope of jogging memories. Most of all, Amy needed to satisfy her suspicions that this was a premeditated attack.

  ‘It’s senseless,’ Amy said. ‘Much like the people who post it; but we’re monitoring it as it comes in.’ She d
idn’t know what trolls were until she joined the high-priority team. There was something about the excitement of a big case that brought them crawling out of the woodwork, feeding off the excitement for kicks. Each day Hermione was missing decreased the chances of her being found alive. Having completed door-to-door enquiries, officers had come back with a lead that Amy was keen to explore. ‘I’ve got something to show you,’ she said, pulling back the flap of her briefcase and slipping out a clear exhibit bag. Marked with the time, date and place of where it was seized, it carried the exhibit number and identity of the officer involved. Amy’s details were also there, given she had booked it out of the property system. ‘We seized this from an address two doors down. Could it be Hermione’s?’ Amy held it up to the light: behind the transparent plastic, a broken chain with a silver ‘H’ could clearly be seen. At the top of the letter was a tiny diamond. It was an unusual piece, something Amy had never seen before.

  Tessa’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the jewellery. ‘It’s hers. Her father had it made when she was ten. She wouldn’t take it off. Not for anyone.’

  Amy nodded. Having seen the necklace in previous photos, it came as no surprise. ‘Officers were holding house-to-house enquiries when your neighbour two doors down brought it to their attention.’ Amy slipped the jewellery back into her bag. A statement would be taken to cover the identification, but for now, she had to forge ahead.

  ‘Which one?’ Tessa said, her face ashen.

  ‘Mrs Cotterill. We gather that she’s been away. She said she found the necklace on the floor when she came home. There’d been no sign of forced entry so we wondered if Hermione spent time in her place.’

  Tessa’s features creased in confusion. ‘What? No. She’s never been there. I went around a couple of times, once when her dog was put down, and another to collect her spare key when she was going away.’

  ‘Oh, poor thing,’ Amy said. ‘What kind of a dog did she have?’ It had nothing to do with the investigation, but she found herself asking just the same.

  ‘One of those awful yappy little Yorkshire terriers. It had been sick for ages and she couldn’t face it on her own . . . Sorry,’ she said, her frown gathering, ‘I’d rather focus on Hemmy. What was her necklace doing there?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Amy replied. ‘Unfortunately, Mrs Cotterill gets a little confused. Officers reported that she had a burglar alarm, but she can’t remember turning it on before she left. The alarm company haven’t been able to help either. Do you know of anyone else who has a key or knows the code?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Tessa shrugged. ‘She has early dementia. I’m surprised she remembered to hand the necklace in.’

  Amy made a mental note to enquire with local locksmiths to see if Mrs Cotterill had had any extra keys cut. She returned her attention to Tessa, who was picking at a fray in the knee of her jeans. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a few more questions? I’d like an insight into your daughter’s personality.’

  For Amy, the emotional impact on the victim was highly relevant, and Hermione’s inner strength had barely been touched upon in the statement provided to police. People reacted in different ways as victims of crime. The fight or flight syndrome was real. She had known victims to freeze in situations when they could have run away, others to fight when it would have been safer for them to comply. People never really knew how they would react in such a situation until they found themselves there. Often, people who took part in self-defence classes were more likely to fight for their lives. It saddened her to think that those seldom in contact with violence were more likely to freeze up with fear.

  ‘I’ll do anything to help.’ Tessa glanced up as a woman entered the room with a tray. ‘This is my sister, Ellen,’ she said by means of introduction. ‘She’s staying with me for a few days.’

  Ellen seemed the image of Tessa, apart from a few extra wrinkles, which revealed her age. She smiled in acknowledgement, her long blonde hair falling over her face as she laid the tray down. ‘Please, help yourself,’ she said, in a northern accent, before sitting across from them both. The smell of fresh coffee rose up from the mugs, and Tessa plopped three sugar cubes into her cup before meeting Amy’s gaze. ‘This is the only thing keeping me going right now.’ ‘World’s Best Mum’ was printed on the side of the mug, along with a photo of Tessa squeezing Hermione in a warm embrace. Similar pictures were framed and displayed on the Victorian fireplace and there were canvas prints on the walls.

  ‘Thank you.’ Amy smiled, pouring a little cream into her cup before giving her coffee a stir. ‘Can I ask you . . . how does your daughter cope during times of stress? Is she good in emergencies?’

  ‘Hermione takes after her father: she deals well with pressure.’ Tessa wrapped her fingers around the mug. ‘When she was six, Harry Potter swept the nation, and she was teased mercilessly in school. She didn’t mind. She liked the idea of having magical powers, being different to everyone else.’

  ‘Would you say she’s resourceful? Good at reading people’s moods?’

  ‘Very.’ Tessa nodded. ‘Which is why I know she’ll be OK. She’s a clever girl, and she’s strong like her dad. Whatever’s happening to her’ – Tessa’s chin wobbled – ‘she’ll get through this. Whatever happens, we can start again.’

  Ellen leaned forward and gave her sister’s shoulder a squeeze.

  ‘You’ve not had any ransom demand of any kind?’ Locking her gaze onto Tessa’s, Amy searched for the truth. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘I swear on Hemmy’s life. I’ve had nothing. I’d tell you if I had.’

  ‘Have you had any stalkers? Any strange phone calls, letters or requests?’

  Tessa shook her head vehemently. ‘Nothing. I keep my family life private. I’m not on Facebook and the only time I share a family photo is at Christmas. The BBC like to do this online piece about their presenters over the festive season. But that was months ago.’ Her mouth dropped open as she paused, reading the expression on Amy’s face. ‘You don’t think that’s how they found her, do you? If they’ve been planning it that long she’ll have no chance of getting away.’

  ‘Let’s not jump the gun,’ Amy said, keeping her tone even. ‘You said yourself she’s resourceful. Best to stay positive until we know more.’

  ‘She’s a good judge of character, too,’ Ellen interrupted. ‘Which is why we can’t understand why she left the house.’

  ‘You’re absolutely sure there was no sign of forced entry?’ Amy looked to Tessa for the answer.

  ‘Positive. It’s so unlike her. Our front door was wide open, and her shoes were in the hall where she kicked them off. What made her go outside? And why leave to go two doors down? It’s completely against her nature.’

  Amy frowned. If Hermione was as responsible as they both made out, then they were right, it didn’t make sense. She had seen the chain on the door, the spy hole embedded in the wood. What would make a sensible fifteen-year-old go running to her neighbour and cast caution to the wind? ‘And there were no phone calls? Have you checked your answer machine?’

  ‘The police have taken her mobile and I checked the answer machine. Hemmy had—’ She corrected herself. ‘Has this habit of deleting messages after she listens. If she did pick up a message, she wouldn’t have left it there.’

  ‘So she was routinely alone for an hour before you came home from work? No friends came back with her? No boyfriend or neighbours called in during that time?’

  Tessa shook her head. ‘She hasn’t got a boyfriend . . . At least, not yet. Most of our neighbours are at work during the day, and she walks home with her friend Paige, but she doesn’t come in.’

  Amy frowned. The fact that Tessa had spoken of her daughter in the past tense made a prickle of unease run through her. ‘Do you have pets?’ she asked, picking up a fine white hair from the arm of the sofa.

  ‘Oh, that’s Purdy’s,’ Tessa said flatly. ‘We got her six months ago.’

  ‘Purdy?’
Amy’s frown deepened. This was news to her.

  ‘Hemmy’s cat. I thought I told the officers, but maybe I didn’t. She’s the least of my worries right now.’ Bowing her head, Tessa pressed the tips of her fingers against her forehead. ‘My head is all over the place.’

  ‘It’s OK, take your time,’ Amy replied, with as much reassurance as she could convey.

  ‘She was a gift for Hemmy’s fifteenth birthday. They’re smitten with each other.’

  Amy glanced around the room. ‘Where is she now?’ Her colleagues would laugh at her. Ask if she were going to question a cat. But her intuition told her to press on. Sometimes the most insignificant detail could lead to a clue.

  ‘Gone,’ Tessa said. ‘She must have got out through the front door after Hemmy left. I’ve been waiting for her to come back, but there’s no sign. I hope she’s not been run over, Hemmy will be devastated.’

  The comment sparked an idea in Amy’s mind. ‘Do you have a cat flap or is Purdy confined during the day?’

  ‘There’s a small cat flap in the back door. She only leaves for a few minutes to do her business then comes straight back. She’s never gone out the front before. To be honest, I’ve been so worried about Hemmy, I’ve barely given Purdy a second thought.’

  Amy nodded. ‘You said that Hemmy never answers the door when she’s in the house on her own. What if Purdy wasn’t here when she got home? Would she have gone outside to look for her?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Tessa said. ‘But she’d open the back door, not the front. And she wouldn’t have gone out without shoes.’

  ‘She might in an emergency,’ Amy said. A flutter of excitement rose as she explored the theory. ‘Think about it. You said yourself, she’s a bright girl. What would bring her running outside in her bare feet? Is it possible someone could have taken her cat?’

  ‘Maybe. Actually . . .’ She paused for a few seconds. ‘You could be right. Our address is on Purdy’s collar. Someone could have stolen her, then knocked on the door and pretended they’d found her.’