Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1) Read online

  ‘Please tell me you’re not making a to-do list,’ Paddy replied.

  ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,’ Amy said, knowing Paddy’s impulsive nature shied from order. She flipped the notebook to a new page. ‘Right, number one. We need to fill out a report of domestic abuse. Don’t worry,’ she added in response to Paddy’s dismayed expression. ‘We’ll keep it sensitive so it won’t show up on the system. That way, if Geraldine makes a counter allegation, then you’ve got there first. I want you to speak to an IDVA. Take advantage of any counselling offered. It won’t come back to us, but at least a record has been made.’ The Independent Domestic Violence Advocators worked separately from the police and supported high-risk victims of such abuse.

  ‘I’ve told you before. No arrests.’

  ‘There won’t be, not unless you list specific assaults with the police. But then you already know that.’ She raised her eyes from the notepad. ‘Agree?’

  Grimacing, Paddy nodded. His pint glass stood empty, but Amy did not want to break momentum by ordering another round. ‘Good.’ She ticked the box she had created beside number one. ‘One down, two to go. I want you to pack a bag or have someone pack it for you and leave without fanfare. Tell her you’re going to a conference if you want, but don’t allow things to escalate.’

  Paddy released an exasperated sigh. ‘I’ll tell her face-to-face. There’s no way I can end my marriage by text or over the phone.’

  ‘Sounds to me like your marriage ended a long time ago,’ Amy murmured. She hated domestic violence. There was no justification for hurting the person you claimed to love. Her short stint on the unit a few years previously left her permanently frustrated in her role. She poised her pen over the page, waiting to tick the next box. ‘I’ll assign a uniformed officer to come with you and prevent a breach of the peace. We’ll use a male officer. We don’t want her getting any ideas that there’s something going on. If you’ve been seeing someone else, it may well have crossed her mind.’

  ‘I know,’ Paddy said. ‘But I don’t want this going all around the station.’

  ‘It won’t,’ Amy replied, her words firm. ‘Especially not if it comes from me. It’ll be a brave officer who goes against my wishes.’

  Paddy grinned. ‘That much we agree on.’

  ‘Good. Then that’s another box ticked.’ Amy smiled in satisfaction. ‘Right,’ she said, circling number three. ‘Aftercare. We’ll sort you out with an IDVA . . .’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Paddy replied.

  ‘Non-negotiable.’ Amy gave him a hard stare. ‘We’ve ticked the box, there’s no backing out now.’ She returned her attention to the pad and scribbled. ‘Number three is for Geraldine. We can’t leave her in such a state. You’ll have to arrange for support.’

  ‘Believe me I’ve tried. She refused victim support after Suzy died. She’s thrown away all the leaflets I brought home. She won’t see her doctor either.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to get her family involved.’

  ‘They’re estranged. I think it’s half the reason she suffers from anxiety. They wouldn’t even come to Suzy’s funeral. I can’t see them getting involved now.’

  Amy tapped her pen against her bottom lip. ‘I take it she’s not working? Doesn’t have any friends or work colleagues.’

  ‘She doesn’t leave the house . . . at least, she didn’t,’ Paddy said. ‘And she’s got no friends apart from her online ones.’

  ‘Then family it is,’ Amy said, writing the words on her list. ‘There must be one family member she can talk to. A sibling? Cousin? Parent?’

  ‘I have her sister’s number but they’ve not spoken in years.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to bite the bullet. Don’t look at me like that, you’ve been sniffing around someone else, remember? You can’t just wash your hands of her. Agreed? I’ve got to hear you say it, a nod doesn’t count.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Paddy replied.

  Amy ticked the box she had created beside the third point. ‘See? Don’t you feel a sense of accomplishment now we’ve written it all down?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Paddy said begrudgingly, staring at the notebook. He did feel lighter.

  ‘Good.’ Amy scribbled the word ‘deadline’ next to a date on the page. ‘I’m giving you one week to sort this out. And if you don’t, I’ll be visiting her myself. Officially this time.’

  ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘Does a duck have a watertight bum?’

  ‘There’s more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?’ Paddy chuckled, a bemused smile on his face. ‘Just when I think I’ve got you all figured out, I see another side.’

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ Amy said in total honesty.

  She’d meant to put a smile on Paddy’s face, but his response had made her pause. If she could help Paddy, then she could sort her own life out. It was why she found herself making another list after he left. Her number one task was to negate Lillian’s claims that Robert had set her up. Unable to find anything in the case files, she knew where she had to go. Into the dusty recesses of her parents’ loft.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Perching on the edge of the open loft hatch, Amy wished for the hundredth time that her father was still alive. She masked a yawn with the back of her hand. It was almost two in the morning, and she should be tucked up in bed.

  She peered down the length of the gloomy space. The cobwebs hanging from the low beams had kept her away until now. Tonight, a couple of gin and tonics had provided some Dutch courage. Things would be so much easier if Robert were here. She closed her eyes briefly, recalling his face. But his expression was uneasy, pained. Was her subconscious trying to prepare her for what was to come?

  Shoulders hunched, she edged into the loft space, squeaking as the top of her hair brushed against the beams. Pausing, she swept away imaginary spiders, telling herself to calm down. Her heart was hammering now, her armpits sticky as the stifling heat beaded her forehead with sweat. She was looking for old diaries or paperwork, anything that could harbour a clue. Like her, Robert was not allowed to bring home case files from work, but he had kept a journal. Could he have made notes?

  Her iPhone torch held mid-air, she sorted through boxes of old blankets, unwanted curtains . . . stumbling upon a stack of old newspapers that made her heart stall. Brushing off the dust, she unfolded the first yellowed paper. Peering at the faded print, she found the date she had been looking for: 29th October 1987. The Beasts of Brentwood headlines screamed from the front cover of the newspaper and she shuddered at what felt like icy fingertips caressing the nape of her neck; it was a breeze filtering through the roof, it had to be. Just the same, she needed to get out. Bowing her head, she dragged the box to the loft hatch, searching the ceiling for spiders as she went. After another quick look around the loft, she found a second box with ‘Poppy’ written in black marker on the outside flap. Balancing the first one against her chest she carefully slid down the set of steps before going back up and retrieving the second.

  As she descended, a figure stood watching in the doorway, making her start.

  ‘Mum, you frightened the life out of me.’ Amy exhaled. Flora’s long white nightdress and dressing gown had done little to ease Amy’s frayed nerves.

  ‘Dotty woke me,’ she said, her eyes on the box in Amy’s arms. ‘What are you doing up there?’

  ‘Snitch,’ Amy said, as her beloved pet sauntered over to her, tongue lolling to one side. ‘I’m just going through some stuff.’

  ‘Bring it into the living room, dear,’ Flora said. ‘I’ve made you a hot chocolate.’

  Amy had wanted to do this on her own, but she did not have the heart to send her mother away. Gratefully, she took the mug, declining the offer of shortbread, which was placed on the coffee table next to the box on the floor. Silently, she opened the box labelled ‘Poppy’, picking through the clothing it contained. She held a white-collared red dress to the light. Musty air emanated from the fabric that had been
placed there decades ago.

  ‘You loved that dress,’ Flora said quietly. ‘The social worker said you refused to leave without it, even though it was too big for you. But you never wore it. We couldn’t understand why you kept it so close but wouldn’t put it on.’

  ‘It was Sally-Ann’s,’ Amy said, a deep-rooted sadness touching her words. ‘I thought if I kept it safe, she might come back for it one day. Silly really.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Flora said, her face ashen. Flora had been protected from the ugly side of life. Encountering the Grimes family and their misdemeanours had been a shock to her system, to say the least.

  ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I know how hard it must have been when I came to live here.’ Amy lowered the dress to her lap. ‘I’m starting to remember. I didn’t make it easy for you.’

  Flora smiled. ‘Don’t let the past change who you are today.’

  Amy turned back to the box, lifting each item out and placing it on the coffee table. A Cabbage Patch doll stared at her with blank, soulless eyes. Tentatively, she plucked it from the box, touching the yellow woollen hair.

  ‘You slept with that doll for six months before you decided you didn’t need it anymore,’ Flora said, observing her movements. ‘One day I found it hidden in the bottom of the dirty linen basket. We knew that was a turning point because you didn’t want to be reminded of it. I put it away, and you never asked for it again.’

  Amy nodded, another memory sloping across her consciousness. ‘I felt like she was judging me, all nicely tucked up in bed while Sally-Ann lay buried in the ground.’ She swallowed, unable to believe she had uttered the words aloud. Despite all the councillors she had spoken to as a child, she had never disclosed her guilt. ‘But it wasn’t this doll, it was a Raggedy-Ann.’

  ‘Raggedy-Ann?’ Flora echoed her words. ‘I’m afraid not, love. This is the only doll you had. It was so sad, you used to call her . . .’

  ‘. . . Sally-Ann,’ Amy whispered. How could this be? The memory that was once lucid, felt like it was breaking away. ‘It can’t be.’ Pulling up the doll’s dress, Amy searched for the embroidered love heart that was only found on a Raggedy-Ann. But instead, drawn in pen was a hastily scribbled heart. She frowned, closing her eyes as she tried to recall the memory: Sally-Ann drawing the heart and getting red ink on her fingers. Smiling as she turned to show Poppy, because now she was a ‘living doll’.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ Flora’s words dragged her from the recesses of her memory.

  ‘Fine. I’m . . . fine. I remembered differently. I suppose it’s to be . . . expected.’ Her words faltered as she straddled past and present. If she was wrong about the doll, what else had she misremembered? False memory was commonplace when dealing with victims of crime. Three witnesses could see the same person and describe them in completely different ways. But not her, she had been staunch in her convictions. But what if she was wrong?

  She turned back to the box, making an effort to hide her shock. All that was left was notebooks, schoolbooks, reading manuals and diaries. Amy refilled the container, gently placing her doll on top. Reaching for the second box, she paused as she absorbed Flora’s expression.

  She looked as if she had seen a ghost. ‘Darling . . . haven’t you had enough for one night? It’s almost three in the morning.’ Flora touched her hand. ‘Why don’t you leave this for now, eh? We can go through it tomorrow when you get back from work.’

  Amy frowned. ‘What is it, mum? What are you hiding?’ Only now was she confident enough to challenge her. She had not imagined the phone call she had overheard. The same fear had been in Flora’s voice then, when she had spoken about being scared that ‘she’ would find out. But it was Flora’s turn to be quiet now, and she dropped her gaze to the floor.

  Silently, Amy transferred the newspapers and clippings from the second box to the coffee table. These would not help with what she needed to know. She drew her attention to a thick red file, inhaling the scent of musty paperwork as she pulled back the lid. Lying on top were photocopies of crime reports – the same paperwork that Essex Police had furnished her with. She flicked through copies of autopsy reports, maps of the house she had once lived in, burial sites and more. Why had he kept it? He had been taking a risk, bringing it back here. From the corner of her eye, she watched Flora pick up her cup, a slight tremble in her hands.

  ‘What’s this?’ Amy said, lifting out the last item. The label on the side of the box suggested it housed a pair of size eleven boots, but judging by her mother’s reaction, there was something far more interesting inside. Flora shifted in her chair, still silent.

  It’s time to bite the bullet. Amy pulled back the lid, her mouth dropping open at what she found inside.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  ‘I was wondering, would you mind if I got a cat?’ Elaine breathed a sigh of contentment, snuggling in the crook of Paddy’s arm. ‘It would be nice to have some company when you’re not here.’

  As they lay in bed, Paddy enjoyed the sensation of Elaine’s head resting on his bare chest. His conversation with Amy had drained him emotionally, and sex with Elaine had put the world to rights again. For now, everything was back as it should be.

  ‘What’s put that into your head?’ he said, not averse to the idea. After confiding in Amy, he was so grateful just to have Elaine in his life. She had worked hard to make their home perfect. He gazed at the ceiling as he counted his blessings, the room glowing from the fairy lights hung over their bed.

  Elaine’s fingers crept to his chest, tracing circles on his skin. ‘I heard they found Hermione’s cat. It must be of some comfort to her mother, now she’s back.’

  ‘What?’ He nudged back his head to look her in the eye. ‘How do you know that? It’s meant to be confidential.’

  ‘Don’t be cross.’ Elaine smiled, knowing he was anything but. ‘One of the girls in the hospital told me. Her mum runs the shelter where the cat was handed in. She said they had this really odd chap from the police turn up. He was wearing a dicky bow . . .’

  ‘Malcolm.’ Paddy sighed.

  ‘Yes, well he caused quite a stir. Asked to be left alone with the cat in one of the kennels. First, he started crawling around beside her, then he started sniffing her fur. They could see him on CCTV.’

  The thought of Malcolm on all fours incited a chuckle from Paddy’s lips. ‘He’s a crime scene officer, and believe me, that’s not the most unusual thing he’s done.’

  ‘The mind boggles,’ Elaine replied. ‘Have you had any news on the case?’

  Paddy gave her the look which conveyed she should know better than to ask. But Hermione Parker haunted his thoughts, too. Such a beautiful young girl, with long, blonde hair just like Suzy’s had been. She would have been the same age as Hermione, had she been alive today. He blinked, focusing on their conversation. It would not do to have details of the case leaked. ‘Do me a favour, love, ask your friend to keep things quiet. Out of respect for the family if nothing else. You know what social media’s like.’

  ‘I’ll try, but she does love a gossip. Anyway, about that cat. I was thinking, we could try the shelter ourselves. She said they’ve got plenty looking for new homes.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ Paddy said, kissing the top of her head. ‘As long as I don’t have to clean up its poop.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘Its farts will probably smell of roses, like yours.’

  ‘Good.’ Paddy smiled. ‘Our new pet will fit right in. Besides . . .’ He took a breath, composing his words. ‘You’ll be seeing a lot more of me soon.’

  ‘Really? Are you knocking all those courses on the head?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ Paddy lied. Another pang of guilt. There was a fourth tick box that needed to be added to Amy’s list. Tell Elaine. The thought brought a frisson of worry. He had lied to her for so long. ‘I love you,’ he blurted, needing to hear her reciprocate.

  ‘Mmm? Sorry, love, I was almost asleep there.�
�� She yawned, cupping her hand as she moved away to plump her pillow. ‘Look at the time, it’s gone midnight.’

  ‘Do you?’ Paddy asked, hating the insecurity in his voice.

  ‘Do I what?’ Elaine replied, her gaze dreamy as she lay on her pillow.

  ‘Love me, too.’

  ‘Of course I do, you daft thing. What’s brought this on?’

  ‘Nothing. I just needed to hear you say it. Elaine . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We’ll always be together, won’t we? No matter what.’

  ‘Of course we will. I told you, I love you. And when you love someone you never let them go.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  ‘I don’t believe it.’ On the coffee table, faded graph paper featured hand-drawn outlines of where Lillian and Jack Grimes’s victims’ bodies had been found. But it was not the wild meanderings and scribbled notes that stole Amy’s breath, it was the items housed in the shoebox. The contents of this box had nothing to do with her – but they had everything to do with Lillian Grimes.

  ‘What is it?’ Flora asked, peering over her shoulder. Despite her shock, Amy had the presence of mind to use a pen and not her fingers to poke the contents around. She recognised the hairbrush instantly. It had provoked much amusement between Jack and Lillian; at the time she had not been able to work out why. Seeing its phallic handle now, she understood. A bright-red toothbrush was housed in a clear plastic bag, a handful of woollen fibres in another. They were also red, the same colour as the cardigan Lillian had been wearing when the bodies were found. Her passion for the colour was reflected in her lipstick, nail varnish, shoes and clothes. Even the walls of her bedroom had been candy-apple red. Amy frowned as she recalled details of the investigation that she had read about. Fibres from Lillian’s clothes had been found on the bodies later recovered. Back in 1987, DNA testing was a new tool in police forces across the UK. It had been these fibres, along with hairs and an earring, which had proven instrumental in charging Lillian with the crimes. ‘It’s from the crime scene,’ Amy said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat as she turned to Flora. ‘Did you know about this?’