Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1) Page 17

  ‘Besides,’ Lillian added for good measure. ‘If I killed Wendy Thompson I wouldn’t be telling you where she is, now would I?’

  Her statement made little sense to Amy. ‘But you didn’t tell us where she is. All these years you’ve kept it to yourself.’

  ‘Until I met you. I could have asked for a nicer cell, money, a more comfortable bed. But I haven’t. I’ve done all this for you. To bring the family together.’

  Pressing her fingers to her lips, Amy mimed a shush as she glared from Lillian to the back of the driver’s head. The last thing she wanted was details of their relationship getting out.

  ‘You asked.’ Sullenly, Lillian shrugged.

  She had asked. And there was a lot more she needed to know. She leaned into Lillian, speaking in a harsh whisper. ‘What did Damien mean when he said, “It’s hard to accept the truth when lies are all you want to hear?”’

  ‘What do you think he meant?’ Lillian said cryptically, seeming unsurprised by the words.

  Amy frowned. She should have known better than to expect an explanation. ‘Is he connected to Hermione Parker’s case? She’s a missing person . . .’

  ‘I know who she is,’ Lillian interrupted. ‘But wouldn’t you be better off asking Damien about that?’

  ‘So you’re saying he’s involved? What do you know?’ Amy’s thoughts raced as she tried to connect the dots.

  ‘I’m saying I can only focus on one thing at a time.’ She smiled at Amy before directing the driver down a dirt track. Behind them, a police escort followed. Uniformed backup was on the way, with DCI Donovan in tow.

  Straightening her posture, Amy tried to get her bearings as she stared through the dirt-speckled window. ‘What is this place?’ she said, as the car bumped along the uneven path.

  ‘A farm where Jack used to work. He had all sorts of odd jobs. The graveyard shifts didn’t last very long.’

  ‘We’re going to someone’s home? You should have warned us beforehand. We’ll need to speak to the landowner.’

  ‘It’s been vacant for years.’ Lillian bumped in her seat as the back tyre hit a pothole. ‘The owners are living in Spain. I know where they are.’

  ‘How?’ Amy said, peering at the farmhouse in the distance.

  ‘We used to be friends. We had similar . . . interests.’

  Amy’s eyebrows rose, and she was unable to resist the quip that followed. ‘Were they child killers too?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Lillian said, taking it in her stride. ‘They were swingers. We had a lot of fun together. But when they moved, Jack still had access to the farm. I remember him telling me where he’d buried Wendy’s body. I felt terrible. But there was nothing I could do.’

  Amy’s disgust grew as she listened to Lillian speak. ‘Felt terrible’ was an expression you might use if you mixed someone’s whites with colours in the wash. ‘Did he rape her?’ Amy said, the words feeling like dirt on her tongue.

  Lillian sniffed. ‘Your father liked to push the boundaries in every way he could.’

  As they bumped along the farm road, Amy’s thoughts grew dark. Why was this woman still alive after all the awful things she’d done? She resisted the urge to open the car door and push Lillian out. She did not believe her protests of innocence. Lillian was just as much a part of this as Jack was.

  The long dirt driveway led them to a property that consisted of a rundown stone building and a series of outhouses dotted around the overgrown land. Fencing the property were rows of mature trees. High gusts of wind tested autumn leaves as their branches shook in protest. Passing through the farmyard gate, Amy caught sight of the weathered ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot’ sign bent to one side. Exiting the car, she updated control, requesting her officers conduct intelligence checks on the owners of the farm. If Wendy had been brought here, there was every chance they were involved.

  ‘We meet again,’ DI Donovan said, approaching Amy’s car. She had told Lillian to remain inside while officers scoped the property. This was to be Lillian’s last departure from prison, and given Damien’s recent behaviour, the last thing she wanted was any surprises ahead.

  ‘Thanks again for moving quickly with Barbara and Viv,’ Amy replied, taking a soothing breath of country air. She checked her watch, consoled by the fact they were ahead of schedule.

  ‘Hopefully, today’s visit will bear fruit,’ Donovan said. ‘We make a good team.’ He drove his hands into his trouser pockets as he smiled. His suit looked new, and Amy appreciated the spiced aroma of his aftershave, which carried on the breeze. She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing.

  ‘Yes, well, we only have a few hours of daylight left. Let’s get her out and see what she has to say.’

  Opening the car door, she clasped the handcuffs that would tether them together. How different this journey had been to their first when they had barely spoken. It was a blessed relief it was coming to an end.

  ‘This way,’ Lillian said, with the knowledge of somebody who had been there before. Walking with confidence, she led them to a galvanised roofed outbuilding that had seen better days. It whistled and groaned loudly against the force of the wind. It was an eerie sound, enhanced by the desolate landscape, the sound of a soul ill at rest. Amy drew back her windswept hair. Had little Wendy walked this land? Or was she already dead when she was brought here?

  It seemed that Jack Grimes was not the only one who liked to push boundaries. There were several outhouses here, yet as Lillian picked her way along the muddied path, she seemed to know precisely where the burial site was. A uniformed officer walked ahead to keep watch as Lillian directed them around the back. Sombrely, they walked, startled rabbits bounding ahead of them as Amy’s heels dug into the soil. Her thoughts were with Wendy’s mother; she prayed they would come to a hill with lush grass and autumn flowers. But as she turned the corner, she was horrified at what she found.

  The dump site consisted of a deep, gaping pit gouged into the mud. Rusted farm machinery littered the grounds, giving it a post-apocalyptic feel. This was not the gentle countryside filled with birdsong that Amy had described. It was a rubbish tip. A wave of nausea overcame her as she contemplated what lay ahead.

  ‘She’s down there,’ Lillian said, yanking Amy’s left hand in the air as she pulled on the handcuffs. ‘In an old freezer.’ She peered through the dead trees and moss-covered rocks taking up space in the pit. ‘There. You can see it sticking out. It’s still there, after all these years.’

  ‘Christ,’ DI Donovan whispered under his breath.

  Amy felt her legs weaken from the horror, bile rising in her throat. Why hadn’t the original investigators uncovered this lair? Another wave of nausea rolled over her, stronger this time. She had dealt with many murder cases and the most heinous crimes, but none had been committed by her own flesh and blood. As she stood tethered to Lillian, the onset of emotions flooding her system was too much to bear.

  A firm hand took her elbow as she felt her legs give way.

  ‘The ground’s a bit torn up here, isn’t it?’ Donovan said, helping her regain her balance. ‘Did you bring any wellington boots?’

  Amy gave him a grateful smile as he helped her save face. They both knew it was more than her unsuitable footwear making her falter. Had he known of her relationship to the woman beside her, he may have just let her go.

  ‘They called it the sinkhole,’ Lillian said, her voice void of emotion. ‘They used to throw everything in here: rocks, furniture, anything they couldn’t burn.’

  ‘And Wendy?’ Amy replied. ‘Please tell me you’re not serious. Wendy’s not down there.’

  ‘You asked me to take you to where she was. I didn’t promise it would be pretty.’ A hint of a smile touched her lips. ‘At least now you can go back and tell old Gladys where she is.’

  Amy’s jaw clenched. So that was why she was happy to help. Lillian wanted Gladys to die knowing her twelve-year-old daughter had been abused and thrown into a rubbish tip. Something snapped inside her. ‘You e
vil bitch,’ she growled, pushing Lillian on the chest. ‘You vile waste of skin.’ She shrugged off Donovan’s hand as he placed it on her shoulder. He spoke her name, but his voice seemed very far away.

  ‘Steady on,’ Lillian said, looking nervous as she took a step back. But she had not seen the tree root jutting out from the dirt.

  Yanked forward by the handcuff, Amy landed on top of her as she fell, both of them hitting the ground with a thud. Scrambling to straddle her, Amy grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the ground. With Lillian’s head edging near the precipice, the soil began to crumble beneath their weight. ‘You want her to know, don’t you? To stick the knife in, even now. You’re a monster. An evil . . .’

  Lillian’s eyes flashed wide. ‘Now, Poppy, You’re in no position to . . .’

  But her words were cut short as Amy drew back her fist.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Amy wrung her hands as she waited to enter Gladys’s room. The house was warm, too warm for her liking. Her mind had been torturing her with questions since her visit to the farm. Had the landowners been involved in a paedophile ring? It seemed possible, given the way they had abandoned their home.

  Shame reigned as she recalled her behaviour. To say the red mist had come down was an understatement. It was too much, and Lillian’s gloating face had been the final straw. It was lucky that DI Donovan had pulled her off before she landed a punch. Crime scene investigators had promptly attended. Under strong lamps and a precariously assembled tent, they had found their answers. Sealed in an airless tomb, Wendy’s body had been preserved better than many found underground.

  Amy had returned Lillian to the prison in silence, without uttering a word, despite her attempts to engage her in conversation. Instead, her thoughts wandered to the memories that continued to flood her consciousness. Had she really first encountered Dougie all those years ago? The sweet, kind man who had calmed her down and told her he would stay with Sally-Ann throughout? She thought of her promised weekly visits and wondered what day it was. Had she broken her vow? Bit by bit, her routine was falling down around her. Lillian was invading every aspect of her life. But it would all be over soon. Wouldn’t it? A creeping sense of foreboding drove a chill down her spine, despite the warmth of the room.

  Amy’s footsteps stalled as she approached Gladys’s door. How could she send her to her death with the knowledge that her daughter had been left in such a way? Once again, she felt like a fraud. She had no right to be there, let alone to be the one to break the news. She pressed her hand against the door, taken aback by what greeted her. The family had told her to call with the news, no matter what time of the day or night. But as she entered to find them gathered around the bed, she prayed she had not been too late.

  Drawing apart, they made a path for her to reach Gladys’s side. Amy was shocked to see just how much she had deteriorated since that morning. Even breathing seemed a monumental effort now. Tears fell on the faces of her sons and daughters as they waited for news. Gladys’s eyes flickered open, her skin like parchment, her lips dry. She parted them to speak, but her voice was so frail that Amy had to lean down to take her words in.

  ‘Have you found her?’ she whispered, reaching out for Amy’s hand.

  ‘Yes.’ Amy squeezed her fingers. On the surface, it appeared Lillian had done everything she could to assist the police, but Amy knew that such things came with very dark intent. Amy thought of the small folded-up remains they had found in the freezer buried under so much junk. Scooped up from the street, Wendy would never have got into the car if Jack had been on his own. Amy could not imagine what they had done to her before they ended her life. Had she been there too? The thought made her stomach churn. To imagine Wendy’s body like that, entombed in a disused freezer, was too much for anyone to bear.

  ‘Tell . . . me . . . everything,’ Gladys said. And for the first time in her career, Amy prepared to lie.

  As she left the room, she took a soothing breath, not realising that she had been followed by Gladys’s son, John. Hooking his thumbs into the loops of his chinos, he called for Amy to wait.

  ‘You didn’t find Wendy in forest, did you?’ he said sadly, regarding her with red-rimmed eyes.

  Amy cleared her throat, her words feeling as heavy as stones. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Details of the burial site will come out later, but I didn’t see the benefit in upsetting her at this time.’

  ‘Well . . . I just wanted to say thanks. At least now she can have some peace.’ He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘I know you’ve got procedures, but she wants Wendy’s remains buried with her when the time comes.’

  ‘I understand.’ Amy nodded. Judging by Gladys’s condition, that time was not far away.

  ‘I don’t know how you did it, getting that monster to talk. For years we’ve tried. You should see some of the horrible responses to our letters over the years. Prison’s too good for the likes of her. She deserves a taste of her own medicine.’ A thunderous shadow crossed his face as he spoke.

  ‘Hopefully, you’ll be able to turn a corner now,’ Amy said, inwardly cursing her platitudes. There were no words strong enough to heal the pain inflicted upon them.

  ‘I’d best get back inside,’ John said. ‘She hasn’t got long left.’

  Walking to her car, Amy paused to stare up at the blood-red sky. Was it an omen? Would both Wendy’s and Gladys’s souls be at peace tonight? She checked her phone, flicking through the missed calls. Calling up DI Donovan’s number, she smiled as she spoke. She could not help but warm to him and took comfort in his strength.

  ‘I’ve passed on the news,’ she said as he answered. ‘Are you free to talk?’

  ‘I’m always free for you,’ he replied, his words ending in a yawn. ‘Sorry, I’m still at the scene. I’ve just been updating DCI Pike.’

  ‘Did you mention what happened earlier? With Lillian, I mean.’ She paced the concrete path, wishing she did not sound as stupid as she felt. ‘I was out of order. I don’t know what came over me.’

  ‘You’re human. You only did what the rest of us wanted to do. I saw the smile on her face. She was goading you from the off.’

  ‘I only hope Pike feels the same way.’

  ‘I didn’t think it was relevant,’ Donovan replied. ‘As far as we’re concerned, Lillian tripped over a tree root and pulled you down with her. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ Amy’s voice wobbled as she struggled to keep her emotions at bay.

  ‘We should meet up for debriefing . . .’ Donovan chuckled. ‘I didn’t mean it in that way.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Amy smiled, glad of the opportunity to escape her problems just for a moment or two.

  ‘A drink would be nice.’

  ‘I could certainly do with it, after the day I’ve had. But it’s going to be past closing by the time I catch up with my work tonight.’

  ‘Another time,’ Donovan said. ‘Before you go, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you . . .’

  ‘Two propositions in one night.’ Amy smiled. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘I was wondering. Why did Lillian call you Poppy?’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Every bone in Hemmy’s body ached. Sleeping on a damp bed made her explode in coughing fits, so she slept sitting up, her back slouched against the metal frame. Her hair, now greasy and stringy, fell into her face. In the darkness, her thoughts had been wild and wandering, her eyes puffy from crying when all hope seemed lost. It was in the night, with the water softly lapping, that her father had spoken. It was a dream, it had to be, but his words rang clear in her mind.

  ‘You’ve got a lion inside you, Hemmy. Now c’mon, let me hear you roar.’

  He had first spoken the words when she was twelve and strapped to a zip line. At five hundred feet high and a mile long, it had been described as the nearest thing to flying. Her dad always encouraged her to push past her fears, and the memory of that experience gave he
r strength.

  She had to keep going because the police weren’t going to find her anytime soon. The sirens she had heard earlier continued with strange regularity. She must be moored within earshot of busy city streets. Under the light of the moon, she had searched every inch of her confinement for a makeshift weapon of some kind. Her palm ached from where she had pulled out the splinter, and her skin was red and angry from the hole it had left behind. She had used precious drops of water to rinse it, but the skin was already crusting over with a yellow pus beneath. Not that she could think about it now. Time was precious, and she could hear her father’s voice telling her to carry on.

  Hunched beside the bedpost, the tips of her fingers throbbed as she spent hours working on loosening the long, rusted metal screw. It may not be much on its own, but if she could break the porthole glass . . . a gasp of relief escaped her lips as it loosened between her fingers.

  She stiffened at the creak of footsteps hitting the floorboards above. Her captor’s actions followed a pattern. Leaving her alone at night, he returned morning and evening to provide her with food. But Hemmy could not take anything for granted. Today might be the day he came to finish her off. ‘Come on,’ she grunted, twisting the screw free. The creaking footsteps grew closer, and fear hastened her movements as her captor approached the door.

  She clenched the screw tightly in her palm just as the bolt shoot across the door. Fizzing with pins and needles, her legs buckled beneath her as she struggled to get to her feet. Choppy waters made the boat bob, tipping her towards the bucket planted in the middle of the floor. Hemmy howled in frustration as urine spilt from the overflowing vessel. Seeping into the floorboards, the stench of ammonia rose up around her, making her gag.

  Tensing as he drew nearer, she scooted back onto the mattress. Her heart faltered as his footsteps creaked down the steps. She was panting now, trying to regulate her panicked breath.