Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  PRAISE FOR CAROLINE MITCHELL

  ‘For me, this book had everything – an excellent police procedural with tension, pace and a compelling storyline. With the added psychological element, there was nothing more I could have asked for.’

  —Angela Marsons

  ‘Fast-paced, twisty, and chilled me to the bone . . . I loved every minute of it!’

  —Robert Bryndza

  ‘The writer’s conflicted heroine and twisted villain are superb characters.’

  —The Sunday Express magazine

  ‘Heart-thumping moments that left me desperate to read more.’

  —The Book Review Café

  ‘The very definition of a page-turner.’

  —John Marrs

  ‘The tension built up and up . . . I devoured every page.’

  —Mel Sherratt

  ‘With her police officer experience, Caroline Mitchell is a thriller writer who knows how to deliver on plot, character, and most importantly, emotion in any book she writes. I can’t wait to read more.’

  —My Weekly magazine

  ALSO BY CAROLINE MITCHELL

  The DI Amy Winter Series

  Truth and Lies

  The Secret Child

  Left for Dead

  Individual Works

  Paranormal Intruder

  Witness

  Silent Victim

  The Perfect Mother

  The DC Jennifer Knight Series

  Don’t Turn Around

  Time to Die

  The Silent Twin

  The Ruby Preston Series

  Death Note

  Sleep Tight

  Murder Game

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2021 by Caroline Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542023412

  ISBN-10: 1542023416

  Cover design by Tom Sanderson

  I dedicate this book to the true heroes and lifesavers of the world – our amazing NHS.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  CARLA

  Thursday 22 July

  Curled up on the sofa, Carla stared longingly at the television as the fly-on-the-wall police documentary played. Seeing Donovan’s face on-screen breathed life into all the old emotions she had buried when he left her team. She cast a side-eye in her husband’s direction. He had barely moved off the sofa all evening and the crumbs of his chocolate digestives were still resting on his tatty sweatshirt. She quietly sighed to herself. Comparing him to Donovan was completely unfair. Shaun deserved some downtime, and it wasn’t as if she’d stand up next to the brooding Amy Winter, should the tables be turned. Her eyes tracked Donovan’s movements as the camera crew followed them into the briefing room. For a moment she slipped into imagining herself in Amy Winter’s place. But she was jolted from her fantasy as her husband rested his feet on her lap.

  ‘Bit of a busman’s holiday for you, isn’t it?’ Shaun nodded towards the television. ‘I can turn it over if you like.’

  ‘No, leave it on,’ Carla said as he picked up the TV remote control. Perhaps watching her old colleague would help because at the moment, she had exhausted every avenue and didn’t know where to turn. It had been lovely, spending the evening with her daughters, but it was because of her girls that she had become so wrapped up in work. Now they were safely tucked up in bed, their teenage years looming like a dark cloud on the horizon. One day they would resent her monitoring their every move. She envied her husband’s ignorance. Used car salesmen were unlikely to come into contact with rapists and murderers in their line of work.

  ‘You all right?’ he said, watching her intently as the programme progressed.

  Nodding, Carla pushed down the fear that had formed as a tight band around her chest. Sometimes it was hard to breathe, knowing what she knew.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ she said, gently placing her husband’s feet to one side. It was late, gone half ten, but she couldn’t go to bed just yet. She was hoping to receive a very important call.

  Carla clicked on the kettle and dropped a teabag in a mug. The lilt of canned laughter filtered through from the living room. Shaun had switched the channel before she had walked through the door. He wasn’t interested in policing. He didn’t get her obsession with her job. Some people had affairs in order to feel alive; Carla immersed herself in work. It had been hard, passing up the chance of promotion to raise her family. But now it was her turn to prove her worth.

  Her thoughts returned to Donovan and his sidekick, DI Winter. Or was it the other way around? Rank did not seem to come into it, as they treated each other with mutual respect. To think that it could have been her. It made her burn with jealousy to watch their on-screen chemistry. It was hardly any wonder viewers couldn’t get enough of them. Donovan had improved with age. His gangliness had been replaced by lean muscle, his cockiness by maturity. All these years she had held a torch for him, and he had never known. What she would give to work on his team. She wasn’t fooling herself; she knew he’d never look at someone like her. Nor
did she want him to. She loved her husband, as you did a steady life companion who would be there to weather any storm.

  Just to be near Donovan, though . . . to work with a real sense of purpose. But Donovan never saw her, not like he saw DI Winter. It was obvious in the way he acted in her presence. The woman was an enigma, solving case after case. He was in awe of her, and who could blame him? But Carla would prove she was as good as any member of his team. Which was why she was about to blow the lid off something that would spread shockwaves through the community for a long time to come. She had worked in her own time, surveying countless hours of CCTV footage as well as speaking to key witnesses in the case. As expected, they were reluctant to come forward for fear of incriminating themselves. They knew enough about the system to understand they would receive more than a slap on the wrist. Carla had appealed to their better nature. Told them things had to change. She only hoped she hadn’t made everything worse.

  The spoon tinkled against the cup as she deposited two sugars for Shaun, and she quickly made the tea before checking her phone. Her stomach felt tied up in knots; there was no way she’d be drinking tea tonight. She stiffened as the text came in. Not the call she had hoped for, but a text was progress. Her contact was finally agreeing to meet. It had taken Carla weeks to gain her trust, and the case was nothing without her compliance. But her secret contact had asked to see her alone. Carla needed to persuade her to provide a video interview. Such a harrowing account would take time to record.

  Her thoughts raced at the prospect of what she was about to do. She had kept her investigations low-key, but the closer she got to the truth, the more worried she became. Did she have the guts to follow this up?

  A sharp pinch of pain brought her to earth as she bit down on her lip. Picking up the mug, she carried it in to Shaun, who was watching old comedy reruns on the TV.

  ‘Aren’t you having one?’ he said, taking the tea from her outstretched hand.

  ‘I can’t,’ she replied, placing one hand on her hip. ‘I’ve got to go to work.’

  ‘But you were out last night. Tonight’s your evening off,’ he groaned, pressing the mute button on the TV remote. ‘I thought we could . . . you know . . .’

  Carla gave him a withering look. ‘There’s this bunch of teenagers I’ve been trying to get close to. The ringleader just texted me. She’s ready to meet.’

  ‘Not at this hour of the night,’ Shaun said. ‘Not on your own.’ He was sulking now, which was his default reaction when he didn’t get his own way.

  Carla didn’t have time to placate him. He hadn’t a clue how important this was.

  ‘I have backup,’ she lied. ‘I won’t be long.’

  ‘I’ll keep the bed warm.’ Shaun grinned before dipping his head to gulp a mouthful of tea.

  Carla could not leave without checking in on her girls. She peeped through the crack in their shared bedroom, exhaling a shallow breath. A string of fairy lights attached to the wall bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. Her eldest daughter’s hair masked her face as she slept, arms and legs akimbo across her single bed. Carla’s gaze fell on her youngest daughter on the other side of the room. She was snoring softly, her teddy tucked under one arm. Despite being twelve, she was not yet ready to give up her battered old Paddington bear.

  Quietly, she closed the blinds. The window she had opened earlier was now firmly shut. She knew the girls were scared that spiders would creep inside. But there were worse things than spiders lurking in the darkness of the seaside resort they called their home. Carla’s heart felt heavy as she backed out of her daughters’ bedroom and slowly closed the door. She checked her watch as she tiptoed downstairs, picking up her car keys from the hook on the wall before slipping through the front door.

  Despite the strength of her convictions, a voice in the back of her head whispered caution. This is dangerous territory you’re getting into. These types of criminals have little regard for life. She stared through the breath-fogged windscreen of her car, the engine a low rumble in neutral gear. The clock on the dashboard glowed 11 p.m. She had fifteen minutes to reach their meeting place. But something about this felt wrong. Why meet at this hour, in such an isolated spot? The thought of approaching the pier at night made her shudder. All that deep, dark water underfoot. Spikes of rain tapped a warning on her windshield. She had come out without her coat. But that was the least of her worries now.

  Silencing the car engine, she picked up her phone. There was one person whose advice she could trust. She brought up Donovan’s number on her mobile, feeling deflated with each unanswered ring. It was a stupid idea; he probably didn’t even use this number any more—

  ‘Hi, this is Donovan . . .’ Colour bloomed on Carla’s cheeks at the sound of his deep, velvety tones. ‘Sorry I’m not about,’ the recorded message continued. ‘Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’

  Carla was too tongue-tied to speak. It had thrown her, thinking he had picked up the phone. ‘Hi,’ she said, trying to gather her thoughts. ‘It’s me . . . Carla, from Clacton?’ She inhaled through her nostrils, forcing herself to calm down. ‘I don’t like to bother you, but . . .’ She paused. ‘I could do with your advice.’ The time flashed before her. She had to go. ‘Anyway’ – she emitted an awkward laugh – ‘I’m on my way out right now so I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, maybe? I saw you on the telly tonight, you were great.’ She pursed her lips before she could say any more and ended the call. ‘Idiot,’ she admonished herself as she exhaled a frustrated breath. She would have to sound more professional if she wanted to run the case by him.

  Nerves bubbled up inside her. Should she stay or go? Her gaze rose to her daughters’ bedroom window. She switched on the engine, giving one last glance towards home.

  The shower of rain died as Carla approached the pier, and she sought out her contact beneath the orange haze of the street light. But her informant was nowhere to be seen. The text had said she would be waiting at the pier, which was now closed to visitors. As she approached, the sight of the jemmied entrance made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Her head swivelled from left to right. She should call it in, report the damage. She paused to catch her breath as her heart thundered in her chest. A few minutes wouldn’t make any difference. She had worked hard to gain her informant’s trust. She couldn’t let her down.

  The pier had been recently renovated, with two sets of doors to get through before you could reach the outdoor section. Sliding through each one, Carla walked quietly down the wooden platform, the wind playing with her hair. On the mainland, a burst of faint laughter carried on the breeze as revellers drank beyond their limits. The pier stretched out into the sea, the pubs and clubs nothing more than twinkling lights on the shore. Carla’s surroundings became eerily quiet, the only sound the rush of the waves beneath the creaking rain-slick boards. A chill crept over her as she continued walking. The rides and stands were still, the arcade machines and aquarium locked. Dark shadows loomed, and the creaking of rusty metal caused by the strengthening breeze added to the apocalyptic feel. Every muscle in her body tensed as her sense of unease grew. She should at least tell someone where she was. But the text hadn’t been random. She had recognised the number and was pleased to have finally gained her trust.

  But now, standing here in the darkness, it felt all wrong. ‘Hello?’ she called out, walking towards the circular building that housed a restaurant at the end of the pier. During the day, it sold ice cream, chips and chicken nuggets, but tonight its drawn shutters rattled what felt like a warning as she approached. Moonlight cascaded across the wooden boards, the sharp wind making Carla’s eyes water. She raised her voice against the rush of the sea as she caught movement at the side of the building.

  ‘Hello?’ Carla stepped forward, blinking in the darkness. ‘There’s no need to be scared,’ she said. ‘I’m on my own.’

  But the eyes of the person before her were hard and steely as they stepped out of the shadows. A silent watcher
who had been waiting. Only then did Carla realise that she had walked into a trap.

  ‘No!’ she screamed, as strong hands encased her in a bear hug. With her arms tightly pinned against her body, Carla wriggled and kicked as they dragged her towards the barrier at the edge of the pier. Her attacker was wearing a balaclava, which struck immediate fear into her chest. Had her contact set her up? Or had she been killed? Because the person before her was not here to reason. They hadn’t spoken a word.

  ‘No!’ she screamed as she fought beneath their grip, barely able to catch her breath. ‘Please! No!’ Her feet slipped against the wet decking as she struggled to stay upright. Her heart was pounding, adrenalin coursing through her body as she fought for her life. But her screams were carried away on the wind as she fought against her attacker, who was pressed tightly against her. Immovable. Unaffected. Steady and relentless in their mission. There was momentary release as a hand slipped into her pocket and retrieved her mobile phone. Carla tried to drop to her knees to dislodge herself but the response was instant as she was lifted fully from the ground. Tears blurred her vision as the sight of the sea loomed ahead. No, she thought. Not this.

  All she could hear was the crash of waves beneath her as her attacker’s face pressed against hers. Whoever it was held her so tightly that she could barely breathe. ‘Sorry,’ they spat with gritted teeth, as Carla was lifted over the edge. ‘But you know a secret worth killing for.’ The voice brought a sudden jolt of recognition. No . . . not you, Carla thought, struggling to catch her breath.

  And then she was falling backwards, arms flailing, feeling as if she were in slow motion as the faces of her children flashed in her mind. The cold, violent shock of salt water invaded her lungs with force. Her clothing was soaked, her boots heavy as they dragged her down. Her muscles ached as she clawed the water, trying desperately to stay afloat. The lone figure of her attacker watched from above as she was consumed by darkness, pulled into the depths of the sea. Slowly, Carla’s limbs came to rest. Her last breath floated towards the surface as air bubbles escaped her nose and mouth. She was dying, and nobody was coming to save her. In that moment, Carla knew she would never see her children again.