The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 5

  ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder.’ Paddy’s words flowed confidently as he took a firm grip of Dr Curtis’s arm. Reciting the caution, he led him outside, towards a marked car. Curtis followed meekly, as if in a state of shock.

  Shoulders hunched, features taut, Dr Curtis’s body language mirrored that of many before him as he sat on the plastic chair in the interview room. The decision to arrest him had not been taken lightly. If the press got hold of this, it could ruin Dr Curtis’s career.

  A Styrofoam cup of tepid tea sat on the table, untouched. It was hardly what Dr Curtis was used to. Amy watched from another room as Molly and Steve conducted the interview, leading him through the usual introductions before they began. This was termed a ‘first account’ interview. Further in-depth questioning would follow as they examined every detail of the events leading up to his arrest.

  Harvey Forshaw of law firm Forshaw & Smith began to take notes. He was a broad, well-tailored man, and Amy’s team had encountered him more than once. The esteemed firm of lawyers was known for defending celebrity clients and were regularly in the press. Amy disliked Forshaw because of his stalling techniques. With painful deliberation he had thumbed through the custody report before taking over an hour in the consultation room with his client. Each action was designed to wind down their custody clock, leaving officers with less time for the interview.

  Amy’s team had twenty-four hours to detain Curtis, and that included his designated eight hours’ sleep. An extension was unlikely to be granted. It was better to interview then bail, rather than keep him in overnight and wind down the custody clock. It was unusual for bail to be granted for such a serious offence, but Dr Curtis’s record was pristine and he was unlikely to abscond.

  Amy snapped out of her thoughts. They had barely begun interviewing and she had already forecasted the gloomy conclusion. Curtis had not been arrested on suspicion of kidnapping his daughter, so their questioning of him on that matter was curtailed. But if she could pick up anything – the slightest clue as to Ellen’s whereabouts – it would make the fallout of his arrest worthwhile. But judging by his body language, Curtis was not ready to open up.

  Introductions out of the way, Steve delivered his opening question, asking Curtis to explain his movements that day.

  ‘I’ve told the officers already,’ Curtis sighed wearily. ‘I was looking for Ellen, visiting parks where I’ve taken her in the past. When I got home I called out to Nicole but there was no answer. I’d just found her when the police started banging on my door.’

  ‘Was anyone else in the house? Any signs of forced entry?’

  ‘No . . . We have housekeepers but Nicole sent them home. Speak to them if you don’t believe me. It’s why I left. She said she needed some space.’

  ‘She was upset?’ Steve sought confirmation.

  ‘Of course she was upset – what sort of question is that?’

  Steve ignored the doctor’s outburst. ‘Had you argued?’

  Curtis shifted in his chair. ‘Her nerves were frayed. Voices were raised.’

  ‘What about the phone and the phials of liquid we found at your address? What do you know about them?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Dr Curtis replied. ‘They’re not ours. I don’t know where they came from.’

  ‘So we won’t find your fingerprints on them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But there’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?’ Steve regarded him with a cynical eye. ‘Why did you shut your wife down when she told officers Luka was responsible for Ellen’s kidnapping?’

  ‘Luka is dead. I didn’t want her wasting police time.’ He folded and unfolded his arms, unable to sit still.

  ‘He’s causing an awful lot of trouble for someone who’s dead,’ Steve replied. Sliding a clear plastic exhibit bag across the table, he looked Curtis squarely in the eye. ‘I refer to exhibit CC05, a card found in your wife’s pocket. What can you tell us about this?’

  Dr Curtis leaned forward and stared at it, the colour draining from his face. It was the card quoting the ‘Ladybird, Ladybird’ poem with Luka’s signature underneath.

  ‘Do you need further consultation?’ his solicitor interceded, clearly unaware of this latest turn of events. ‘We can pause the interview . . .’

  From the privacy of the monitoring room, Amy rolled her eyes. How much longer was he going to drag this out?

  Curtis cleared his throat. ‘No. I want to get this over with so they can concentrate on looking for Ellen and whoever did this to my wife.’ He prodded the air with his finger. ‘Have you had any more updates? I should be by her side.’

  ‘Can you answer the question?’ Steve interjected.

  Curtis glared at DC Moss, finally delivering his response. ‘No comment.’

  A vein throbbed in Amy’s forehead as the stress of the investigation hit home. Right now, Nicole was in an induced coma with suspected poisoning. It was not known at this stage if she would pull through.

  Steve raised an eyebrow, unaware of Amy’s concerns. ‘You do understand that by responding “no comment” to this question, the court can draw an inference – in other words, they may wonder why you’re unable to—’

  ‘I’m an educated man, Detective,’ Dr Curtis interrupted, folding his arms once more across his chest. ‘I know what an inference is. Now, I’d appreciate it if you’d move things along.’

  But Steve refused to budge. ‘I want to talk about your work at the Curtis Institute in 1984 and 1985. Tell me about your time with Luka.’

  ‘No comment.’

  Amy leaned back in her chair as Curtis continued to answer ‘no comment’ to the remainder of Steve and Molly’s questions. She watched as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. The very sight of the note had sent the doctor into a cold sweat. Peering more closely at the monitor, Amy tuned into her intuitions, staring at the man under scrutiny from her team. His arms were wrapped around his torso as he leaned forward. Hunched in his chair, his breathing was rapid, his nostrils flared. Amy had encountered enough victims to read the signs. Dr Curtis was scared.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Novokuznetsk, Soviet Union, 1984

  It had been two hours and ten minutes since the letter was delivered. In all that time, Mama had not stopped pacing the floor. Her eyes were bright, her voice animated. ‘Just think,’ she said. ‘The Tower of London, the Changing of the Guards . . . You’re going to love it!’

  ‘But Papa said . . .’ Luka replied, barely daring to believe that such a trip was possible. And without his father too. There was no way Papa would allow the family unit to be split up – would he?

  It seemed his question would soon be answered, as Ivan walked through the door. Up until today, going to London had seemed as unlikely as the fairy stories his mother read to him at bedtime. It had all begun when his teacher asked the class to complete some psychometric tests. He was the only boy in his class who could not just spell the word but fully understood what it meant. It was on the back of his good results that Mama had plucked up the courage to apply to the Curtis Institute for them both to attend.

  The letter his mother clutched in her fingers was from a man called Dr Curtis. Luka had been invited to join his study group in London for six whole months. According to Mama, a scholarship meant they would stay in the dorms and he would receive the best schooling under their care.

  At six years of age, Luka knew far more than his friends. Fluent in both English and Russian, he could also solve the algebra problems his teachers set. Yet there were things he did not understand. Papa had said more than once that he lacked common sense. Despite Luka inheriting his broad stature and cheery demeanour, Ivan insisted that life in the mines was not for him. Mama agreed, which was why she had gone to so much trouble with tonight’s chicken dish. It had warranted another trip to the market, and Luka’s fingers were red and sore from plucking the feathers embedded in the bird’s skin. As usual, nothing would be wasted. She wou
ld keep the bones, claws and head to form the base of a stew tomorrow night. Luka imagined that they would not have to go to such lengths when it came to food in England.

  ‘Please, Ivan,’ Mama pleaded with his father when they sat down at the table to eat. All of their arguments took place over dinner. Not that it was ever much of an argument. She had only the time it took to eat the meal to get her point across. By the time Papa had finished eating, his mind would be made up and there would be no changing it.

  ‘What sort of study group is this?’ Papa replied. ‘You hear about human trafficking. You could be sold off as slaves, for all I know.’

  ‘Look!’ Mama said, waving the letter in front of his face. ‘It’s from a real institute, backed by the government – legal and above board. Only the brightest children are being offered a place.’

  ‘And what if it doesn’t work out?’ Papa paused to chew his chicken. ‘What then?’

  ‘We come home. Only this time we’ll have money lining our pockets.’ Mama smiled, pushing a stray hair from her face.

  ‘Very well.’ Ivan sighed. ‘But I worry about you. Yes, Luka is clever. Far cleverer than me. But you both lack common sense.’ Still grumbling, he picked up his bowl and slurped the remains. Luka was glad his papa didn’t drink alcohol, like some of his friends’ fathers. Some distilled it from rotten potatoes and beets. Others drank cologne, which was a tenth of the cost of the vodka sold in the shops. Last week, one of the people in their block of flats had died from drinking anti-freeze. Such examples were often given by Luka’s mother as reasons why they should move to the UK. But his father was still rambling on, explaining why they should stay.

  Luka frowned at his father’s use of the Russian word naivnyy as he continued to voice his concerns. It took him a few seconds to translate it into its English counterpart. Naive. Innocent. Simple. A spark of annoyance rose from within. Who was he calling simple? Then he saw the expression on his father’s face. Full of concern, his skin weathered from years of hard work. Up until now, Papa’s life had been hard but safe. He didn’t want to fly in an aeroplane or see the world. He was the simple one.

  ‘I want to go,’ Luka piped up. ‘Please. My friends are jealous. They wish they were me.’

  ‘Ack!’ Papa frowned, returning his glance to his wife. ‘Don’t you see? When people give you nice things for free, it means they want something in return. Say little. Make your silence a source of strength. In time, they will let down their guard. Only then will you know their motivations.’

  Mama narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re so suspicious.’

  ‘And you’re too trusting.’ His voice softened. Rising from his chair, he took her by the hand. ‘Promise me, please. Be swift to hear and slow to speak. Make me a vow.’

  ‘So be it.’ She sighed, her earlier excitement having fizzled away. She turned to Luka. ‘Go to your room and sort through your clothes. We don’t need much. Pick out what still fits you and put it on your bed so I can wash and darn it in time.’

  ‘When are we going, Mama?’ Luka said, his conflicting emotions twisting his stomach in knots.

  ‘In two weeks,’ she replied, smoothing open the letter. ‘Enough time to say goodbye to your friends.’

  Luka responded with a weak smile. Now the opportunity had presented itself, he was unsure if he wanted to go. Leaving home without Papa made him feel ill at ease. If he voiced his concerns, then Papa would put a stop to it for sure. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he watched his mama gather up their bowls, a serene smile on her face. He loved her too much to shatter her dreams.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A seasoned journalist, Adam was unaccustomed to feeling so nervous. He waited in the prison visiting room, his right knee shaking as the heel of his boot danced against the floor. It was the link to Amy that had brought him here. He still loved her, no matter how hard he tried not to. What had Lillian Grimes meant when she’d hinted at a connection? Despite his misgivings, he was about to meet the woman who had shocked the nation with her acts. He had reported Lillian Grimes to be a monster, capable of the most despicable crimes. Would she be angry with him?

  He thought of the letter he had received in the post. He had memorised every word. Each time he closed his eyes, it floated before his face.

  Dear Adam,

  I imagine my correspondence will come as a surprise. I have been following your newspaper reports with interest. I feel that we’re going to get along.

  Did you know we were almost related, you and me? It’s a shame your engagement to Amy failed. It would have been nice to have a journalist in the family. Then again, perhaps when you know who she really is you’ll count your parting as a blessing.

  I have arranged for you to visit me tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll find it useful, and I’m prepared to tell all. There are just a couple of things I need you to do for me first.

  Yours, always,

  Lillian Grimes

  He had not visited the next day, as instructed. In fact, the letter had been sent months ago. His reluctance to take the bait had surprised even him. An exclusive with Lillian Grimes was something he could have only dreamt about before now. But this affected Amy and needed careful consideration. What had Lillian meant about having a journalist in the family? Were she and Amy related? Curiosity had got the better of him and, when she next requested a visit, he’d seized the opportunity to get answers once and for all.

  He fidgeted with his hands. Had he done the right thing? Should he have told Amy about the letter? Since their split, they’d not been on the best of terms.

  He sprang from his seat as his vision was filled with the sight of Lillian Grimes. She did not hold out her hand to shake his, obviously used to people keeping their distance. Her hair was shoulder-length, cut in a bob, and a half-smile played on her lips. She had an attractive face, which could easily lure people in, but if there was any resemblance to Amy it was nothing more than a shadow of one. Where Amy had depth, Lillian held a deadness behind her eyes.

  Adam waited for her to take a seat across from him before sitting back down. She assessed him for a few seconds before speaking, her right leg gently bobbing in time with his. Adam realised that she was watching him very intently, and he stilled his movements as he waited for her to speak.

  ‘So you’re the famous Adam Rossi.’ Her head tilted to one side, her gaze crawling over his form.

  ‘Famous in what way?’ Adam replied, his throat tight as he swallowed. It was an unorthodox introduction, but they both knew who the other one was.

  ‘I have you to thank for all this attention in the press, don’t I? “The Beast of Brentwood” – what a frightening headline that was.’ She raised her hand as he opened his mouth in protest. ‘Yes, I know, you weren’t the first to use it. That started a very long time ago. But you were quite happy to resurrect it when the time came.’

  ‘Why did you write to me?’ he said, hoping she would get to the point.

  ‘Amy is my daughter. I thought you had a right to know.’ She paused, her dark eyes boring into him. ‘I can see why she took a fancy to you; you’re not a bad-looking young man. Shame you couldn’t keep your dick in your trousers.’

  Adam raised his eyebrows, for once lost for words.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not judging you. In fact, I’m all for sexual freedom. It’s a shame my daughter didn’t inherit my tastes.’ Smiling, she fluttered her eyelashes in a coquettish fashion. ‘When I was her age I would have eaten you whole. And not just me . . . if my husband were alive, he’d have loved watching us.’

  Adam felt like he was twelve years old as Lillian’s voice became dark and thick in her throat. Her eyes glittering like two black diamonds, she stared at him like a viper about to strike. She and her husband, Jack Grimes, had conducted a campaign of terror, killing innocent young women and children as they satisfied their perverse sexual needs. It was a small mercy that Jack had died of an undetected heart condition while awaiting trial.

  Adam cleared his throat. He had
never met a woman like this in his life. She was creepy yet intoxicating, and the journalist in him wanted to know more about her past. ‘Why go public now, about you being Amy’s mother? Is it really true?’

  ‘I’m appealing my case,’ she replied, ‘and I need all the help I can get. Amy got in touch a while ago asking for the burial places of three of Jack’s victims. But as soon as I gave her what she wanted she cut me out of her life.’

  Adam nodded. It was on the tip of his tongue to say he knew how Lillian felt on that one. But the jury was out on Lillian Grimes. He could not bring himself to sympathise with such a vile human being just yet.

  Lillian’s mouth curled upwards in a smile as she caught the faint nod. ‘If Amy had her way, I’d rot in prison. But I’m no murderer. Ask her. She knows all about it. I was set up by the police officers investigating my case.’

  ‘Really?’ Adam tried to hide his growing excitement. So that’s what she’d meant when she wrote about needing a couple of things from him. A story like this could send newspaper sales through the roof. ‘So you want me to print your story?’

  ‘Yes, and I expect payment – the money can go towards my appeal. You can have whatever you want from me as long as you print the truth. Ask my solicitor. They’ve been forced to reopen the case.’

  Adam’s thoughts raced. Could he do this to Amy? It wasn’t just about revealing her true identity. If she had been involved in some kind of cover-up, it could destroy her career. He would have to complete his checks, speak to his boss and fast-track contracts and payments to obtain an exclusive deal. He had no doubt his paper would go for it, but could he be the one to light the fuse on the bomb? He reluctantly met Lillian’s eyes as she proceeded to tear Amy’s good name apart.

  ‘She treated me so badly. Despite all the evidence, she was happy to lay the blame at my door. She has a brother and a sister, you know – Mandy and Damien. I begged her to visit them. She thinks she’s too good for the likes of us.’

  ‘So Amy knows that you’re her mother?’