The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 4

  ‘Read the letter,’ he said in a menacing tone. ‘You’ve got three minutes . . . starting now.’

  Nicole stared from the screen to the written demand. Drink one for me to notify police of Ellen’s location.

  Her tears made a warm trail down her cheeks as she found her voice. ‘Let me see my baby! I need to see her now!’

  The man stared, unblinking, before opening a door and turning the camera around. Had she seen those eyes before? But the thought quickly evaporated as her daughter’s face came into view.

  The sight of Ellen’s face made Nicole’s heart feel like it was physically breaking in two. Ellen rarely had anything to cry about, but today big fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she gulped for breath. Her hair was dishevelled, her face streaked with dirt. ‘I don’t like it here,’ she sobbed, looking beyond the camera to the person whose face was out of view. ‘I want to go home.’

  ‘Baby, I’m here! Mummy’s here!’ Nicole cried, swallowing back her tears. But Ellen was not wearing her glasses and Nicole’s words seemed to go unheard. Had he muted the call?

  The door closed and a digital stopwatch was held up to the screen, to signal that their conversation was coming to an end. Mercilessly, the seconds ticked away. She knew then, as they counted down to twenty and then ten, that this was part of Luka’s sick game. Hugh’s deeds were coming back to haunt him, but neither she nor Ellen were to blame. Luka wanted to frighten them, that’s all. To teach them an elaborate lesson they would never forget. The liquid was probably harmless. But which one should she choose? Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . the seconds ticked away. Her hand hovered over the phials. Soon the timer would come to an end. She might never see her little girl again. Five . . . four . . . three . . .

  ‘OK, OK!’ she screamed, snatching one of the phials. She chose the blue liquid because red signalled danger – didn’t it? Popping off the stopper, she threw back her head and swallowed the contents, ensuring her actions were in view. The liquid was tasteless and odourless but warmed her throat on the way down.

  ‘Done,’ she said, her voice shaking as she stared into the phone. ‘What happens now?’ She still felt the same. Perhaps everything was going to be all right.

  But the man behind the mask stared wordlessly before ending the call.

  ‘Wait . . . no, don’t go!’ Nicole said. ‘I’ve done what you asked. Where are you keeping her?’

  But the line was dead and, despite jabbing the buttons, she could not return the call. She threw down the phone, her head bowed as she paced the room. At least Ellen was alive – but for how much longer? Would her kidnapper let her go? Nicole began to feel nauseous and the dull throb of a headache made itself known. Should she call Hugh? Let him know what had happened? She picked up the phone and brought up his number, but after a few seconds it went to voicemail. What now? She thought about the detective inspector who had come to her home earlier. Luka’s note said he would call the police. Should she make her aware? Nicole frowned. There was no point in jeopardising everything now. She clasped her fingers together, her knuckles white as she squeezed them tight. Soon Ellen would be home. They’d move away from this place, just the two of them . . .

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, trickling sensation. She wobbled slightly on her feet. It felt like someone was pushing pins into her brain. Touching the bottom of her nostril, she stared at the tips of her fingers. ‘No!’ She gasped at the sight of it. Was this because of the drink? Warm and moist on her fingertips was a bead of blood.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘This is DI Winter.’ Standing in the briefing room, Amy spoke with force. She was in no mood to be messed around. ‘With whom am I speaking?’

  ‘My name is Luka Volkov. But surely you know that, don’t you?’ The sound of his Russian accent sent the hairs prickling on the back of Amy’s neck. Her team had been thorough in their investigations since her visit to Dr Curtis and his wife. Luka Ivanovich Volkov had been one of the children involved in experimental psychological trials during the eighties. He was also the subject of the team briefing she was about to give – and of particular interest because he was dead.

  Amy gave Paddy a knowing look. Her caller could have said he was Santa Claus and she would have gone along with it. He clearly knew too much to be a time-waster and she would appease him for now. ‘I’ve been told you have Ellen Curtis.’

  ‘Yes. And I will speak only to you.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Amy replied. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I read about you in the newspaper . . .’ he said, in no hurry to give up the information. ‘Amazing work, discovering the bodies of those girls decades after they were murdered. I thought you must be very clever to do that, and wouldn’t it be good if you could rise to the challenge again?’

  Amy knew he was referring to the case involving Lillian Grimes. But rather than deterring her, it set her pulse racing. Like a moth to the flame, she found herself being drawn in. Too much time had passed since Ellen’s kidnapping, and she would crawl over hot coals if it brought the little girl home. ‘And what challenge would that be?’

  ‘To find Ellen, of course. Fate has thrown us together.’

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked, glancing around the room. One of her colleagues was on the phone, quietly updating Control about the call. Molly was scribbling in her investigator’s book, and Paddy was standing near the door, leg jiggling, waiting to charge off at a moment’s notice.

  ‘I credited you with more intelligence. Do you really think I’d go through all this just to hand Ellen back?’ He paused as if mentally forming his words. There were no background noises, just the sound of his breathing as he prepared to make his next move. ‘We are all pawns in this game. Ellen’s mother played her part, affording you this call. But now it’s your turn.’

  Memories of Lillian Grimes came to the forefront of Amy’s mind. In order to find the bodies buried by her parents, she’d had to jump through hoops. And now, having read of her exploits in the newspaper, was another psychopath toying with her?

  ‘Why don’t you get to the point and tell me where she is?’ Amy knew she was being optimistic, hoping for such a quick resolution.

  ‘Because I can’t,’ the caller replied. ‘At least, not yet. I know I’m on loudspeaker. That’s fine, as long as you take the lead. You see, I want your team behind this. I want you to understand why I came back from the dead to put things right.’

  Amy pinched the bridge of her nose. Her caller may have thought he was Luka Volkov, but she was pretty sure no resurrection had taken place. ‘How do I know this isn’t a hoax?’

  ‘Nicole Curtis believed me. It’s thanks to her that I’m calling you now.’

  Nicole? Amy thought. What involvement has she had in this? She paused for breath. ‘What do you need? Tell me, we can sort this out.’

  ‘I hate children,’ the man muttered. ‘Their whiny voices and sticky fingers invading my space.’

  ‘Then for God’s sake let her go.’ Amy’s voice raised in volume as frustration crept in.

  ‘Not until the world knows just how sick and twisted Dr Curtis really is. I want headlines. Front page. Every year, I send letters to the papers but they’ve ignored me . . . until now. I’m sure a hotshot detective like you can make them listen when they get my next one. It’s already winging its way to them.’

  ‘Letters?’ Amy frowned. ‘What letters?’

  ‘You’ll know soon enough. Give me your mobile number.’

  Amy reeled off her number without hesitation. ‘How do we know Ellen’s still alive? I need proof.’ She looked around the room, reading the tension on her colleagues’ faces. The atmosphere felt on a knife edge.

  The caller sighed, before speaking in a matter-of-fact way. ‘Her nightdress is blue with a pink ribbon. She has curly blonde hair. We took her glasses when we left because she can’t see without them. I left her slippers behind because they’re lined with rabbit fur. She’s a chatterbox – although her ability to speak has been s
omewhat limited since I took her into my care. I’ll call tomorrow. Be ready.’

  An ominous silence filled the briefing room as the call came to an end. Amy turned to her team. ‘Find out if they’ve had any luck tracing that call.’ Swivelling her head, she spoke to Paddy. ‘Bring the car around. We’re paying another visit to Nicole Curtis. We need to verify what he said about Ellen.’ She turned to Steve. ‘His comment about fur-lined slippers was a bit odd. Find out if there’s been any recent contact between Dr Curtis and animal-rights activists.’

  Already on it,’ DC Steve Moss replied, tearing off the sheet of notepaper he had been scribbling on then rushing out of the door.

  ‘Molly, I want you with me on this tomorrow. Clear your workload for when he makes that return call.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ Molly nodded, her eyebrows raised. ‘What did he mean about Ellen’s ability to speak being limited?’

  Amy shook her head. She was trying hard not to think about that right now. ‘Hopefully, it just means she’s been gagged.’ She sighed. ‘Or it could mean her tongue is winging its way to her parents right now.’ An old case flashed in her memory in which body parts had been sent through the post. Ransom cases were unpredictable and could go either way. But Ellen’s kidnapper was communicative, and that in itself offered a small but much-needed crumb of hope.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘How are we going to play this?’ Paddy tapped the steering wheel as the traffic lights turned red. Wearing his crumpled blue shirt and colourful novelty tie, he was not what you would call a sharp dresser, but behind his sloppy exterior was a man who was wholly dedicated to his team. Amy valued his opinion. She had a lot to thank him for, given that he had taken her under his wing when she first joined the police. Sitting forward in the passenger seat, she contemplated their next move. They had been all set to discuss Luka in the briefing, but now her team were racing to find answers due to the unexpected call.

  ‘I’ll be having a stern word with Nicole,’ she replied, wishing she’d had the opportunity to speak to her alone before now. DCI Pike was so scared of upsetting the esteemed Dr Curtis and his high-profile circle of friends that she had pooh-poohed the idea of bringing his wife in for questioning. Such favouritism left a bitter taste on Amy’s tongue. Why should such people be treated differently to everyone else?

  An update from Control came through the police airwaves in the car, informing her there had been no recent calls to the police from the Curtis family home. ‘Received,’ Paddy replied, activating the buttons on the steering wheel to deliver his response.

  Amy turned down the radio as officers updated Control on their own locations and tasks. ‘What do you make of it all?’ she said, bringing her attention back to the phone call. ‘We’ve read the reports. Luka died in that fire. So why would anyone go out of their way to make us think he’s alive?’

  ‘Could be some nutcase.’ Paddy shrugged. ‘It’s all very odd.’ He pushed the car into gear as the traffic lights turned green. ‘It doesn’t help that everyone’s so tight-lipped about the past.’

  Amy agreed. Her team had obtained records of Luka and his mother, Sasha, coming to the UK in 1984 on a scholarship programme, but there were scant details about him participating in the psychological trials. ‘It’s tragic, isn’t it? How they both died.’ She was referring to Luka and his mother and the fire that had claimed their lives. ‘And all the records going up in smoke.’ She paused, speaking her thoughts aloud. ‘The fact that they were cremated seems very convenient too.’

  Paddy gave her a sideways glance that suggested she was out of her tree. ‘You don’t seriously believe that nutter, do you? He’s not Luka. He’s yanking your chain.’

  Just the same, Amy wondered what had gone on behind the scenes at the Curtis Institute. She needed details of the experiments and further information on the deaths of Luka and his mother.

  ‘I reckon Nicole has been in contact with him from the off.’ Paddy manoeuvred the car through traffic. To his left, a city bus rumbled past, almost drowning out his words.

  Amy knew he was talking about their suspect. Minutes passed before she spoke, having assembled her thoughts. ‘He mentioned Nicole for a reason. He wants us to give chase.’ She gazed out of the car window as Paddy took the road to the Curtis family’s residence. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s watching the house.’ A point-to-point call on the police radio informed her that officers had tried but failed to get an answer on the landline. A prickle of concern grew. She did not know enough about Ellen’s kidnapper to build a profile of him, but it was obvious he took pleasure in playing games. That’s why he’d been drawn to Amy after reading about her latest case in the press.

  On reaching the Curtis house, she opened her car door before Paddy had even put on the handbrake, unable to wait a second longer to find out what was going on.

  Gravel crunched underfoot as they approached the expansive drive, and Amy frowned at the appearance of a single skid mark in a perfectly formed arc. A motorbike, perhaps? Someone who had turned in a hurry to leave? Next to it was Dr Curtis’s Mercedes.

  Paddy pointed to the cherished licence plate: CUR711S. ‘I bet that cost a few quid.’

  Amy was unimpressed, although it did serve to tell her that Curtis was home after all. She touched the hood. Warm. As she approached the front door, a howl rose from within, making Paddy and Amy exchange a look. Raising her finger, Amy signalled for Paddy to go around the back, conscious that if there was an intruder present it would be their first means of escape.

  Patting his jacket pockets, Paddy’s face fell. ‘My radio . . . I left it at the nick.’

  It was not the first time he had forgotten it. Unclicking her radio from her shoulder harness, Amy threw it in his direction. If necessary, she could make use of the airwaves in the car.

  Inside, the howling came to an abrupt stop. There was no time to spare. ‘Open up!’ Amy commanded, keeping her finger pressed on the doorbell. No response. Crouching, she peered through the letterbox. Down the hall, she could see Dr Curtis standing, his head in his hands.

  ‘Police. Open up!’ Amy’s voice carried through the letterbox.

  Slowly, he glanced up at her, each movement a monumental effort. Rising to her feet, Amy acknowledged Paddy as he returned.

  ‘It’s all locked up,’ he said, just as Dr Curtis opened the door. The tears wetting his face conveyed that something was very wrong.

  ‘She’s dead,’ he blurted as they followed him inside.

  ‘What? Who? Are you talking about Ellen?’ Amy said, trying to fuse together the pieces of the puzzle. ‘Have you spoken to her kidnapper?’

  Dr Curtis’s mouth hung open as he looked from Amy to Paddy. His grey hair stood in tufts on his head, his skin was pallid. ‘Ki-kidnapper?’ he stuttered.

  ‘Where’s Nicole?’ Amy said, brushing past him to check the rest of the house.

  Raising a shaking hand, Dr Curtis pointed towards the living room.

  Relaying his call sign, Paddy updated Control.

  Amy’s heart skittered in her chest as she caught sight of a pair of feet sticking out from behind the sofa. A kitten-heeled shoe lay on its side and, in the oddest of moments, she noticed that Nicole’s toenails were painted metallic blue. It was strange how, in the most panic-stricken times, the smallest details came into view. As she rushed to the body, her police training took over, but later in the night when she could not sleep, those blue-painted toenails would resurface in her thoughts.

  Lifeless, Nicole lay on her back, jagged paths of dried blood crusting her nostrils and mouth. The cream carpet was covered in splatters from where she must have coughed before she crumpled to the floor. With two fingers, Amy touched the side of her neck. Her skin was graveyard-cold. It could not end like this. Amy’s jaw clenched as she tilted back Nicole’s head and prepared to resuscitate. She had carried out CPR many times in her career and was not about to give up now. Her chest compressions were quick and firm and she resisted Paddy’s offer of
help.

  ‘You stay with Curtis and show the paramedics in,’ she said. There would be no contamination of evidence on her watch. She had seen the discarded mobile phone on the ground, too battered and scuffed to be Nicole’s. To the side lay what looked like small glass phials, next to a box that had been torn open with force. Pinching Nicole’s nose, Amy put her thoughts on pause as she sealed her mouth over it and delivered two breaths. After another round of CPR she detected the faintest of pulses beneath the skin. ‘She’s still alive!’ Amy called to Paddy, who had detained Dr Curtis in the hall. It was how they worked. One officer worked while the other watched their back.

  Curtis was looking very sheepish right now. He had medical training. Why hadn’t he administered CPR? Gently and swiftly, Amy turned Nicole into the recovery position, closely monitoring every breath.

  When the paramedics arrived, Amy stood and gave a quick explanation of events. In the corridor, Dr Curtis sniffed.

  Amy and Paddy had walked in on something they did not understand. Why had Nicole been almost murdered when their caller had said she’d cooperated with him? Amy checked her watch, making a mental note of the time. She would have to provide a police statement. It was the best way of remembering crucial details that might be forgotten later on.

  Outside, car doors slammed as uniformed officers arrived at the scene. Updating Control, Amy instructed that nobody else enter until everything had been cordoned off.

  She nodded at Paddy as unspoken words passed between them. It was the second time Dr Curtis had failed to telephone the police. And why hadn’t he been trying to save his wife when they arrived? If it had been left to him, Nicole would have died.

  There was only one thing left to do.