The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 14

  Nursing her cup of coffee, Amy thanked them for coming in early. ‘I thought we could have a quick round robin pre-briefing,’ she said to Paddy. Briefing was not due for another hour, and it was rare for DCI Pike to make an appearance before then. ‘Ma’am Pike’s been a bit off with me lately. I want the team to present a professional front.’

  ‘Huh,’ Paddy snorted, leaning in so only Amy could hear. ‘You know what they say . . . you can’t make a good impression on wet sand.’

  Amy knew there was no love lost between him and Pike, but she was taken aback by the remark. ‘I thought it was just me getting it in the ear these days.’

  ‘Far from it.’ Paddy checked nobody was listening. ‘I mean, she’s never been great but, lately, she’s lost the plot. We’ve got the HMIC due in next week. They’ll be sniffing around like a dog at a buffet. I hope she gets her act together before then.’

  Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary independently assessed all police forces, and their reports carried a lot of weight.

  ‘Until then, there’s always coffee.’ Inhaling its aroma, Amy took a sip. Her skin throbbed as the warmth of the mug transferred to the nerve endings in her fingertips. She had taken off the cumbersome dressings, leaving skin-coloured plasters in their place. DCI Pike had torn a strip off her for being so ‘wreckless’ as to run into the site. But they both knew she would do it all over again if it meant saving Ellen’s life.

  The case involving the Curtis family had been named Operation Pegasus, taken from a long list of names generated for officers to choose from. Operation Roadrunner would have been more apt, given how their suspect was giving them the runaround this week.

  ‘How are we doing, welfare-wise?’ she asked, casting an eye over her officers. They were a small percentage of the number of people working on the case. ‘Managing your workloads? Getting enough sleep?’

  Heads nodded in unison. ‘Good. We’ve budgeted for overtime for the rest of the week, so fill your boots. Any problems, see me in my office rather than bringing them up during briefing.’ Again, knowing murmurs and nods of heads. Amy crossed her legs, happy she had got her point across. ‘I’ve spoken to the hospital. Nicole had an operation for the bleed on her brain and it went better than expected. She was lucky we found her in time. Methanol can be deadly when taken in the wrong way.’

  ‘Methanol . . .’ DC Gary Wilkes spoke up. ‘Isn’t that alcohol?’

  ‘Trust you to know that, Wilkie,’ Molly jibed. Her smile faded as she recalled the gravity of the case.

  Amy carried on. ‘It’s the simplest form of alcohol and it looks like Nicole drank it willingly. There was no evidence of a struggle and no bruising on her body. No fingerprints or DNA we can’t account for and no forced entry into her home.’ She could still see the scene, still hear Dr Curtis’s screams, still taste the dried blood crusted on Nicole’s mouth. The echo of such horrors would remain in her memory for a while to come. But Nicole was a fighter, pulling through for her child. It was imperative that they found Ellen alive.

  ‘We’ve had the results back from ANPR,’ DC Steve Moss interjected, referring to the automatic number-plate recognition system. ‘Dr Curtis’s alibi checked out. We clocked him driving to his house minutes before you.’

  Amy nodded, recalling that the hood of his car had still been warm. But in some cases, minutes were all it took, and the poison could have been administered earlier that day. Just the same, Nicole had been carrying the weathered card from ‘Luka’ on her person with the ‘Ladybird, Ladybird’ rhyme, and Luka’s words about Nicole playing her part had rung true. Test results on the other three phials found at the address proved they were nothing more than coloured water. Had she chosen differently, she would have been OK. Had anyone else received such a package? What about flowers? The yearly card? If they had, they weren’t admitting to it. The letter sent to the London Echo was now police evidence, but one thing bothered Amy as she read the statement covering its seizure. Adam had failed to mention that the same letter had been sent to the newspaper year after year. It seemed Luka had been trying to get their attention for some time.

  ‘Curtis’s next-door neighbour, Alison Drew, has come forward,’ Steve said, cutting into her thoughts. ‘She saw a motorbike pull up to his house on the morning Nicole was poisoned.’

  ‘I didn’t see that on the system.’ Amy wondered how she had missed it. There were numerous strands of the investigation, and she needed to keep on top of things as they came in.

  ‘The statements are still being uploaded.’ Paddy’s gaze was apologetic as he stood beside her, mug of coffee in hand. As team sergeant, he should have let her know of any big developments straight away. Amy’s idea for an early pow-wow had been justified, not least because Pike was waiting for her to slip up.

  Paddy placed his mug on the table. ‘Mrs Drew was away during the house-to-house inquiries. She called it in late last night.’

  ‘Do we have a description?’

  ‘Mrs Drew said she was hoovering her car on the drive when a motorbike pulled up next door. The driver was tall, stocky, wearing full leathers and a tinted helmet. He had a package in his hand which he gave to Nicole on the doorstep, but Alison couldn’t hear what was being said. Then Alison’s phone rang and she went inside. When she went back out a few minutes later the motorbike had gone.’

  ‘That’s it, then. The courier delivered the package to Nicole.’

  ‘We checked Nicole’s laptop,’ Steve said. ‘Her history had some shopping sites on it, but no home deliveries due in the last week.’

  ‘Keep working on it,’ Amy said, ticking boxes in her mind. ‘The motorcyclist might lead us to Ellen. There’s still a chance she’s alive.’

  This nugget of information about the courier could change everything. Luka had said he’d given Nicole a choice, one that had almost killed her. Just who had called at her house that day? Amy flicked through the paperwork, her eyes resting on the photograph of the nightdress they had pulled from the rubble. It was laid flat against brown paper, pictured next to a set of rulers to give it scale. Through his tears, Dr Curtis had identified the clothing as the nightdress Ellen had worn. It was of small comfort that there were no big tears in the fabric, no knife marks or obvious injury sites. Her kidnapper was playing the most twisted of games.

  To Amy’s frustration, he was still at large, and dangerous. She needed to get inside his mind. Their criminal profiler had drawn up a brief list of things – paranoia, possible former abuse, a socially awkward loner – but she needed more, and there was only one person she knew with that kind of insight.

  Amy had received a visiting order to see Lillian in prison. It had been on her mind to bin it. She exhaled a heavy sigh. She sacrificed a little piece of herself every time she was in the same room as her birth mother. But her visits to Lillian helped serve another purpose. They opened her mind to the darkness in others – and, without any viable leads, that was a much-needed attribute.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  A set of sharp knuckles tapped the taxi window, jolting Luka from his daydream. As he lowered the window, the scent of exhaust fumes seeped in. He had been parked with the engine running for five minutes, waiting for the child to come out. It seemed extravagant, a taxi driving him to and from school when the bus could take him straight there.

  ‘Are you here for Toby?’ A woman with a beaded necklace bent to speak to him, her considerable cleavage on show. In the distance, the shrill ring of a bell signalled the activation of an alarm within the school.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Luka replied, resting his gloved hands on the steering wheel of the car. His flat cap offered a slight disguise, the wig beneath it itching his scalp.

  ‘We usually have Jeff.’ The woman regarded him cautiously, the noise from the alarm dragging her attention away.

  ‘He’s in hospital. Fell off a stepladder while changing a light bulb. I’m filling in.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’ Turning, she beckoned Toby to the car
.

  Luka’s face fell as a boy in an electric wheelchair broke through the group of children on the lawn. Shit, he thought. He hadn’t known the kid was disabled. When had that happened? His back molars pressed down hard. It was too late to back out now.

  ‘Can you help me with the ramp?’ The woman stepped to the side as he opened the car door. ‘I need to see to the others. The fire alarm’s gone off. It’s probably a false alarm, but the fire brigade is on its way.’

  Within a few minutes Toby and his wheelchair were secure in the back of the specially adapted car.

  ‘Be careful as you set off, there are lots of children milling about,’ she said to Luka, giving them both a brief wave.

  ‘Sure.’ Smiling, Luka pictured the semi-conscious Jeff gagged and bound in the boot. Putting the car in gear, he checked his rear-view mirror before pulling away from the kerb. Wouldn’t do to have Jeff call out now, not with so many witnesses around.

  ‘Who are you?’ Toby piped up from the back.

  Luka glanced in the rear-view mirror. Toby was a pale little boy, small for his age. A lock of dark curly hair tumbled down over the bluest of eyes. Guilt bloomed from within. Could he really go through with this? The thought was submerged beneath a sudden pulse of pain behind his skull. It was coming. He could feel it in the distance, a dark and treacherous reminder of the torment burrowing in his brain.

  ‘I’m Luka, a friend of your dad’s.’ His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed to clear his throat. ‘I’m looking after you until he finishes work.’

  Toby chewed on his bottom lip. This was a child who clearly did not like change.

  Luka’s mouth widened in his most reassuring smile. ‘We’re going to my place for now. He’s coming over in an hour.’

  ‘Daddy said I mustn’t talk to strangers,’ Toby replied.

  But Luka was prepared for such a statement. ‘Didn’t he mention me keeping you safe? That’s why you’re in a taxi, right?’

  Toby’s piercing blue eyes flicked up towards the mirror. ‘I . . . I guess so.’

  ‘There you go then. You’ll like my house. I’ve got an Xbox and loads of games.’

  ‘Even zombie games?’ Toby’s reservations dissipated as his face lit up with glee. ‘Daddy doesn’t let me play those.’

  Given the amount of gore and violence in them, it was hardly surprising, but Toby could play them to his heart’s delight as far as Luka was concerned.

  ‘I’ve got all the games you could want, pizza, chocolate and ice cream too . . .’ He paused, manoeuvring a bend in the road. ‘Or would you rather that I drop you home and we can wait for your dad there?’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Dimples pressed into Toby’s cheeks as he delivered a toothy smile. ‘I want to play zombie games!’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Luka replied.

  He pressed down the car indicator as he signalled to turn left. A newly purchased tracksuit waited on the bed, just like the one Ellen wore. How would Stuart react when the game began? Would he risk his life to save his son? Another throb of pain pounded on the periphery of his vision. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Stuart should think himself lucky he was being given a chance.

  Luka rested his forehead against the bathroom mirror. It offered a few seconds of momentary distraction from the pounding in his head. He had felt it this morning and had groaned as he witnessed the flashes of light in his vision. It was a warning of what was to come. He stood back from the mirror, his hand trembling as he searched the cabinet for the slim white box among the shaving cream, shower gel and toothpaste. Each movement, each sound, seemed magnified a hundredfold, and his shoulders inched upwards from the pain. There was a church bell booming in his head, a sledgehammer-fisted monster pounding hard. Slowly, he popped the foil packet from the box, flinching at each sound. Like two tiny white angels, the Zolmitriptan tablets nestled in the palm of his hand. Ignoring the flash of pain, he threw his head back and swallowed them dry. Chasing them down with a sip of lukewarm tap water, he dragged himself to bed and waited for the pain to ease. In the safe room, Toby was playing 18-rated games and stuffing his face with forbidden food. It was with some relief Luka had discovered that the child was able to take a few steps unaided from his chair. A degenerative condition of some sort had left him recently wheelchair-bound. But there was no room for empathy in his captor’s tortured mind. Lying in a foetal position, Luka waited for the pressure behind his skull to ease.

  Sounds from outside filtered into his consciousness: the never-ending stream of traffic, a dog barking and . . . he covered his ears as a distant siren pierced his brain. At times like these, with his thoughts circling like predators, he did not have to look far for someone to blame. Minutes passed. His jaw unclenched as he surfaced from the worst of the crippling pain. He no longer trusted his emotions, but he had a job to do.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Amy’s stomach knotted, just as it always did when she visited her biological mother in prison. Each time she strode down the familiar corridors, she vowed it would be her last visit to the woman whose mission it was to make her life hell. Yet Lillian’s hold was impossible to escape. As she entered the double doors, a waft of synthetic forest glade rose up to greet her, courtesy of the plug-in air freshener on the wall. It did little to mask the stench of stale breath occupying the room.

  Her pulse quickening, Amy glanced around. What was it about Lillian that kept her tightly in her grip? True, during their last few meetings she had been given little choice. Had she refused Lillian, she would have been turning her back on the families whose children were buried in unmarked graves. It was only through emotional blackmail that Lillian had brought her there. Despite the mental cruelty her birth mother relished inflicting, Amy had cooperated with her demands in order to give the families of the victims the peace they deserved.

  She had been only four years of age when the police arrested her parents. In recent weeks, Amy’s memory of her early years had returned in sounds and smells from which she could not escape. She heard and smelled them in her sleep: the screams of the women in the basement, the sickly air fresheners that masked something horrific in their home. The building had been demolished after Jack and Lillian were sent down, but Amy’s repressed childhood memories were not so easily killed. Just a few poisonous words from Lillian could breathe life into them again.

  So why had she returned to see the psychopathic woman who delighted in messing with her mind? Amy had learned the hard way that if she did not give Lillian the attention she craved she would seek it by other means. Over the last few weeks, her refusal to let things lie had driven Amy to despair. The phone calls infiltrating her workspace, the constant visiting orders and unwanted letters to her home. They contained instructions to see Damien and Mandy, the biological siblings Amy was accused of having ‘turned her back on’. According to Lillian, she wanted the Grimes family to be ‘united and supportive’ during her appeal.

  Amy had tried following the advice she gave to victims of harassment and stalking, telling herself not to respond. The last straw had come when Flora had almost taken one of Lillian’s calls. Amy couldn’t bear for her old life to merge with her new one. Flora was not as strong as she was. A conversation with Lillian would cause her mother many sleepless nights and Amy could not bear for Flora to be upset. She needed to be protected from the horrors of Amy’s past. It was small consolation that spending time in Lillian’s world helped Amy better understand perpetrators of similar crimes.

  Shuffling behind the other prisoners, Lillian entered the room. Her eyes sought out Amy, narrowing as she found her. Amy knew she would be watching her features, feeding off the slightest sign of distress. When had Lillian grown into such a monster? Many books had been written about her and Jack, but it was all conjecture and no answers were to be found in them. Some experts believed it was Lillian’s early abuse that had triggered the need to hurt others in order to gain control. But many victims of abuse lived normal lives, some dedicating their
time to helping others. What had made the scales tip the other way?

  Regardless of her history, Lillian’s psychopathic tendencies were wired into her brain. Even if she had been raised in the best of households, she could have turned out the same way. Could the same be said for me? The thought hatched in Amy’s consciousness. She had read an article about people inheriting psychopathic traits. But surely she would know by now?

  Since discovering the truth of her parentage, Amy had spent many evenings dissecting her personality for signs. She was no stranger to manipulating suspects to provide her with answers, but it was always for the greater good. Often blunt, she was not one for physical affection as far as friends and family were concerned. But that did not make her a psychopath and there was no law against enjoying your own company from time to time. She dismissed the thought as Lillian settled into the seat before her.

  She looked well, free of the bruises she sometimes sported. Annoyingly, she was growing her hair to the same length as Amy’s and even had a little colour in her cheeks.

  ‘Let’s get to the point,’ Amy said, preferring to bypass Lillian’s barbed comments about not taking her calls. ‘What do you want from me and how did you get my home number and address?’

  ‘Adam.’ Lillian grinned. ‘I granted him an audience. He was more than happy to give me your details in exchange for exclusive coverage of my story.’ She paused, her eyes roaming Amy’s face. When no reaction was forthcoming, she crossed her legs and continued. ‘What a cutesy couple you could have made . . . Amy and Adam up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’ She chuckled. ‘It sounds like it was meant to be. Tell me, what’s he like in bed? I don’t get many male visitors. I thought about him a lot after he left.’ Slowly, she licked her lips, delivering a salacious smile.

  Amy repressed the urge to shudder. Being in her mother’s company made her feel dirty, part of something beyond her control. She knew that Lillian and Jack had used her to lure their victims in. But that was a memory she did not want to recall. Amy took a deep breath as she pushed down the tide of emotions. She didn’t want to believe that Lillian had roped Adam in. The woman was a downright liar, winding her up like a clockwork toy. But Amy’s last meeting with Adam had not been a happy one. She took a deep breath, vowing to stay strong.