Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘If you purposely went undercover then we have a problem.’

  That’s a bit hypocritical, Molly thought. Winter had gone solo more times than she could count. But DI Donovan had put his foot down since he came on board. The man was a stickler for rules, but it was balanced with a kind and supportive side.

  ‘It wasn’t planned,’ she lied, withering beneath Winter’s gaze. ‘They didn’t know I was a copper. I told them I was on holidays.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Amy said. ‘How did you manage that?’

  Molly allowed herself to smile. ‘I dressed down. Wore my hair in plaits. They wouldn’t have spoken to me otherwise—’ Molly came to an abrupt halt as she realised she’d been caught out. Had she simply gone for an amble, she would not have been prepared.

  ‘Look’ – Amy folded her arms across her chest – ‘I’ve sent you out to talk to people off the record before. But wandering around on your own where no one can hear you is another kettle of fish. You saw what happened to Carla. Use your common sense.’

  ‘Honestly,’ Molly said, ‘I wasn’t in danger. I don’t think one of them was over eighteen.’

  ‘Age is no measure of security,’ Amy said sagely. ‘Tell me everything.’

  ‘They’re runaways,’ Molly said, after recounting her time with them. ‘Tina, the girl in the baseball cap, is the ringleader. They look up to her. She was suspicious at first, but Matty, the youngest, took a shine to me.’ She glanced at Winter, encouraged by the fact she had not torn a strip off her yet. ‘One of them took off when I got there, it looked like she had somewhere to be. I sounded them out. Asked if any jobs were going. I figured maybe they were selling weed on the side.’

  ‘You’re swimming in dangerous waters,’ Amy said. ‘Be careful. Don’t compromise yourself.’

  Molly relaxed. ‘I won’t. I told Matty that if anything came up to give me a shout . . . Just as a way of keeping in contact with him,’ she added hastily. ‘I didn’t want to push too much the first time. They were guarded as it was. Just as well that I wasn’t on that documentary after all.’

  She stiffened as a job car responded to a call, the police siren blaring into life. She missed being in uniform. Her mum had encouraged her into the safety of an office as soon as she passed probation. It had been a rush, flying into the face of danger, never knowing if you were going home in one piece. Nowadays, she grabbed her adrenalin rushes where she could. She watched as the police car sped through the electric gates and beyond.

  She returned her attention to her DI, a woman she carried unfailing admiration for.

  ‘I’m all for you making local enquiries in a safe environment, but this can’t turn into any kind of covert work. Not without the proper authority.’ Molly was aware of Amy scrutinising her intently as she spoke. ‘If Donovan hears that’s what you’ve been up to, he’ll insist that you back off.’ She sighed.

  Molly knew that look. Her boss’s passion for the case was tempered by frustration due to the restrictions of her job. But Molly would make it a little bit easier for her. ‘To be fair, it’s just intelligence gathering. They seemed harmless enough.’

  ‘But you think they’ve been travelling from resort to resort?’

  Molly nodded. ‘And I hope to find out more.’

  ‘Keep it under your hat for now,’ Amy said. ‘At least, until I bring it up with the DCI. I don’t want him thinking I’ve put you up to this.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Molly said. But there was more to it than that. It was only a matter of time before their team were called back to London to deal with the next big case.

  As the SERCO lorry rumbled away from the station, Amy and Molly turned to go back inside. She had only taken a few steps when her mobile phone rang. Damn, she thought, hoping it wasn’t her mother. She’d rung her several times already, and Molly thought she’d put it on vibrate.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’ Winter said, as ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams played out.

  Molly’s smile tightened as she checked her phone. But this was not her mother. ‘It’s Matty,’ she whispered, as if he could hear her. ‘It has to be. Nobody else has this number.’

  ‘Put it on speaker.’ Amy guided her to the outside wall of the property office, away from the custody block.

  After exchanging a glance with her boss, Molly answered her phone. Don’t balls this up, she thought, conscious of her audience.

  ‘Who dis?’ she said, her voice sounding younger, more carefree. Her heart skipped a beat as she awaited a response. Had she put off her caller before their conversation had even begun?

  ‘Em . . . is that Mols?’ It was Matty on the end of the line.

  Molly didn’t want to sound desperate. It was the quickest way of scaring him off. ‘Who’s asking?’ she said, softening her voice.

  ‘I met you last night – it’s Matt . . . chatty Matty.’

  Molly smiled. ‘Oh, mate, how are you? You got a job for me?’ She turned towards the wall, shielding the phone from outside noise. She prayed another police siren would not drown her words. She couldn’t look at her boss, who was listening intently. She was in character now.

  ‘Tina dishes out the jobs,’ Matty said, ‘but, like, we’re meeting up soon if you wanna come.’

  Molly sucked in a breath, choosing her words carefully. ‘For sure. How about now? I’m going downtown in half an hour – fancy sharing a bag of chips? I need to get out. My auntie’s doing my head in.’

  A pause. ‘Mmm, nah . . . I can’t. But I’ll bell ya the next time we’re out.’

  Molly pulled at a strand of errant hair. ‘Cool, cool.’

  ‘And bring some cans next time, yeah?’

  ‘I’ll see what’s in the fridge.’ Molly chuckled before ending the call. She exhaled, finally meeting Winter’s gaze.

  ‘Well done,’ Amy replied. ‘But when you get a time and place, you’re not going alone. We’ll clear this with the DCI first.’

  Molly’s face fell. ‘Do we have to? He’ll say we should bring them in.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ DI Winter said, her eyes flicking to the sky as she thought. ‘In fact, I may have an idea. A way to make those kids trust you even more. You approach them, but then we’ll come along and scoop you up too.’

  But Molly was not convinced. ‘If we bring them in for questioning, they’ll clam up. We don’t even have any grounds.’

  ‘We’re well entitled to ask a few questions,’ Amy said. ‘And those kids should be in care.’

  Molly couldn’t argue there. If they were making money, it wasn’t being spent on them. As they approached the station, Molly set her phone to vibrate.

  ‘Leave it with me.’ Amy pressed her security tag against the panel next to the door. ‘I’ve got a meeting with a social worker. She might be able to shed some light on things.’

  But Molly was not so sure. She was beginning to regret confiding in her DI. If Donovan was brought into the equation, he would never allow Molly to go it alone. All she wanted was to find out what they had seen – before anyone else got to them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Amy squinted against the sunshine. It was a blessed relief to escape the office. She enjoyed working with her team, but lately, she felt like a rubber ball being bounced off many walls. Things had changed since the limelight had been thrust upon her. Expectations were through the roof, and she was in constant demand. She loved her job but wished she could blend back into obscurity. She had gone from being Superintendent Winter’s daughter to living in the shadow of the ‘Beasts of Brentwood’. Life changed, whether she liked it or not. She just had to suck it up.

  She scanned the coffee shop for someone who looked like a social worker. In the corner there was a cluster of mothers with pushchairs. An elderly man with a newspaper sat next to the window, and a gothy-looking young woman nearby sipped a latte. Beneath her black cut-off jeans she wore a pair of mismatched Harry Potter socks. Amy was about to walk past when she spoke up.

  ‘Detective Inspecto
r Winter?’

  She appeared to be in her twenties, with curly dark hair and pillar-box red lipstick that highlighted the whiteness of her teeth. Her thick black eyeliner looked expertly applied in true Cleopatra style. As Amy glanced at the young woman, she could see that Rachel was a tad unconventional. Her ears were adorned with several silver studs and she wore a small silver cross around her neck. By the look of recognition on her face, Amy guessed she had seen her on TV.

  ‘Please, call me Winter,’ Amy said. She had become so accustomed to being called by her surname at work, it felt more like a first name these days. But there was another reason she preferred it. Winter was her adoptive parents’ surname. It made her feel grounded. Reminded her that as dark as her bloodlines ran, she was still part of something good. ‘You’re Rachel, I take it?’

  ‘The one and only.’ Rachel’s tongue piercing flashed as she spoke. Amy liked it. The look suited her, and she was all for the unconventional these days.

  ‘So, you’re working out of Clacton?’ Amy said after her coffee was ordered and placed in front of her. She had already performed an identity check but wanted to hear Rachel’s response.

  ‘I’m freelance,’ Rachel replied, which confirmed the information Amy had been given. ‘There’s a shortage of qualified social workers, so I get to pick and choose where I go.’

  ‘And you chose Clacton?’ Amy said. ‘Any particular reason?’

  Rachel bowed her head to sip her coffee. ‘The money’s good. I know Clacton. I’ve worked here before. It’s satisfying when you make progress.’

  ‘And you’ve been following this case?’

  ‘Yep, and I think I know the kids you’re looking for. They’re vulnerable – and they need your help.’

  Amy gripped her mug a bit tighter. ‘Are you working with them?’

  Rachel snorted. ‘Stalking them, more like. I’ve been drafted in to follow them about and offer help.’

  But Amy was not convinced. ‘I know how big your workloads are. There must be more to it than a concern for welfare if they’ve brought you to Clacton to track them down.’

  ‘Social workers in Brighton and Blackpool have raised red flags . . .’ Rachel paused as a thought seemed to enter her mind. ‘I know about the suicides.’ She delivered a crooked smile. ‘I’m a bit of an armchair detective. Addicted to true-crime documentaries on TV.’

  ‘Ah.’ Amy stalled as their conversation took a sudden turn. ‘So, you’ve seen my team in action, I take it?’ She wondered if this was the real reason Rachel wanted to meet her in person. If it helped to progress the case, then she was obliged to go along with it.

  ‘Yeah, I did.’ Rachel flushed. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not fangirling you, I genuinely need your help.’

  ‘Then you’ve got it,’ Amy replied. But her time was valuable, and she needed Rachel to get to the point. ‘What can you tell me?’ she said, her words drowned by a sudden wail erupting in the corner, setting the rest of the babies off one by one. Much hushing and shushing followed by their mothers in a vain effort to quieten them. Amy watched as the elderly man in the corner shook his head in disapproval before getting up to leave. Good, Amy thought, glad of the privacy. She returned her gaze to Rachel, who was watching her closely.

  ‘They’re currently of no fixed abode,’ Rachel said, picking up the thread of their conversation as the babies quietened down. ‘One boy and five girls. Word is that they stay in squats and do some shoplifting and pickpocketing during the day. But it’s what happens to them at night that concerns us. Plus . . .’ Her voice lowered as she made a circular motion with her finger. ‘I think they’re involved in all of this.’

  ‘All of this?’ Amy repeated. ‘You mean the drownings?’ She was not in a position to share details of the case.

  Rachel looked from left to right before leaning in. ‘They’re being shuffled around every few weeks from one resort to another. You should have them on CCTV.’

  Amy sighed. CCTV was being checked by each police force, but given how busy each resort was, it was an onerous task for officers involved. ‘And you’ve spoken to them?’

  ‘Briefly, but they’re moved on each time. They’re like a pack of street foxes. They only go out when they must. They’re wary. They won’t volunteer to be taken into care.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought they’d have much choice in the matter,’ Amy said. ‘If they’re underage and neglected you need to be taking them in.’

  ‘If only it were that easy.’ Rachel’s expression darkened. ‘Do you know how many teenagers are reported missing every day?’

  ‘Hundreds,’ Amy replied. ‘But many of them return home.’

  ‘And many don’t. There are a lot more teenagers kicked out of their homes, vulnerable and sleeping rough. These kids fall into that group. Some of them aren’t reported missing because their parents don’t give a damn.’ Rachel’s dark eyes flashed with passion for her subject. ‘There are so many unwanted kids in this country, and a good few of them are well shot of the families who turned their back on them. Some turn to crime because they have no choice.’

  ‘There’s always a choice,’ Amy responded, not wishing to get into a debate. ‘What makes you think they’re involved in the drownings?’

  ‘Because they’re at each resort when it happens. They even leave their tag.’

  ‘You mean graffiti tag? How do you know about that?’

  Rachel responded with a shrug. ‘It’s common knowledge. But whoever’s controlling these kids is good at covering their tracks.’

  ‘But the kids have been seen out on their own. Why don’t they accept help?’ Amy tried to wrap her head around it. ‘Surely a children’s home could offer security? Food on the table, a clean bed to sleep in.’

  Rachel gave her a knowing look. ‘So could prison, but you wouldn’t want to stay in one, would you?’

  Amy paused for thought. She had been fortunate that Robert and Flora Winter had adopted her so quickly after her birth parents were arrested for murder. She knew her siblings, Mandy and Damien, had suffered in the care system, but things must surely be better now. She needed to help these kids because they were putting themselves in danger each night they went out on the streets alone. She caught her thoughts. Since when had she become so maternal? She downed some of her coffee and licked her lips.

  As she felt Rachel’s eyes on her, she realised she was waiting for a response.

  ‘Do you have any proof of sex trafficking?’ A pang of disappointment hit home. She had hoped Rachel would have something substantial to back up her theories.

  ‘Not yet, but they’re frightened out of their wits. The last person they asked for help ended up in the sea.’ Leaning back in her chair, Rachel folded her arms tightly across her chest.

  ‘You’re talking about Carla?’ Amy replied. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘Only that she was trying to help them too. She contacted us several times. Don’t you have a record?’

  ‘No. No, we don’t.’ Amy’s frown deepened. ‘I’ll need everything you’ve got. Times, dates, what was said.’ Why had Carla kept her enquiries a secret? What else didn’t they know about?

  ‘She spoke to Tina – she’s the matriarch of the group,’ Rachel said. ‘She spoke to the boy too.’

  ‘That’ll be Matt. Chatty Matty, they call him apparently,’ Amy added. ‘Although there’s nothing to say these names aren’t made up.’

  ‘Then there’s April,’ Rachel added. ‘She’s one of the few with a home to go to. We’ve been trying to hunt her down.’

  ‘You know about April?’ Amy said, although keenly aware of her promise to Donovan to let him sort it out. ‘What’s her surname?’

  ‘Lamb. As in lamb to the slaughter,’ Rachel said dryly. ‘She was a good kid, doing well in school, but it all went downhill when she stayed with her dad. We didn’t link her to the group until Carla emailed us and told us she’d seen her there.’

  Amy sighed. The more she heard of Carla’s inves
tigations the less she understood. No such calls or emails were recorded on the system. It was bad policing, and it made her wonder how Donovan could be so accepting of it. There had been times in the past when Amy went off-grid, but it clearly drove Donovan mad.

  She fixed her gaze on Rachel as a question popped up in her mind. ‘If Carla knew so much about these kids, why didn’t she pin them down?’

  ‘They’re clever. Quick-witted. Fast. They starburst when anyone in authority approaches them.’

  ‘Do you have anything else?’

  Rachel gave the question some thought. ‘They’re vulnerable. Some of them are clearly using. They had needle marks on their arms. But whoever’s supplying is keeping a low profile.’

  She was talking about drugs: you didn’t need to physically tie people down when they were hooked. Amy glanced up as a queue began to form. It was nearing lunchtime and she needed to get back to the office. ‘I’m inclined to agree.’ She pushed her empty coffee cup away. ‘We’ve seen no CCTV of them coming to Clacton by train or bus. Someone’s transporting them from place to place. You mentioned a connection to the suicides?’

  She looked into Rachel’s eyes and was surprised to see a spark of defiance there. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not to me,’ Amy replied, trying to draw her out.

  ‘Well, then, it should be,’ Rachel said coldly. ‘The so-called victims were paedophiles. And either they couldn’t live with the guilt, or someone thought the world would be a better place without them.’

  Amy absorbed her words. The theory had already occurred to her, but it was the look on Rachel’s face that gave her pause. ‘I need everything you can give me, and every record of your contact with Carla, because we have nothing our end.’ It made her sick to the stomach to think of the teenagers being transported like cattle. Criminals who traded in human flesh were the vilest of all. She exhaled a low breath. ‘We need to bring these kids in.’

  ‘They’re victims, not criminals.’ Rachel’s expression was taut. ‘It’s your job to catch the killer. It’s mine to look out for the kids.’ And yet she had asked for Amy’s help when they first met.