Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  A burst of wild laughter left Tina’s lips. ‘You have no fucking idea how deep this goes.’

  Molly stared at a bruise the size of a golf ball protruding from Tina’s forehead. ‘Tina, did they do that to you? Who are they?’

  But Tina ignored the question. ‘Don’t mention me to anyone. Look him up under your own steam. If anyone hears I’ve been here . . .’ She quickly glanced around. ‘They’ll finish what they started. I mean it. Not a word.’

  Molly knew she should arrest Tina and bring her in. The fact she had sworn in public gave her grounds for a breach of the peace. It was a simple offence with no lasting consequence. But Molly’s gut told her that Tina was telling the truth. She knew what it was like to be the odd one out. She squared her shoulders, pinning Tina with a gaze. ‘I need something to go on. Matty’s name, for a start. Where does he come from?’ Molly had tried to identify him, but without a surname it was an impossible task.

  ‘Tower Hamlets,’ Tina said at last, her hand firmly in her pocket.

  ‘Has he got family? What about his mum?’

  ‘That junkie bitch ain’t coming for him.’ Tina snorted in disdain. ‘And he doesn’t have a dad, not a proper one. The only reason he likes you is ’cos you look like his big sis.’

  ‘I know,’ Molly began to reason. ‘Look, you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. But if you want me to find him, then you’ll have to come in. Please. Don’t be scared. Come in and tell me what you can.’

  ‘I ain’t scared of you.’ Tina’s face creased in a scowl. ‘He’s Matthew Clarke, born on Christmas Day. We found him at the train station. He’d done a bunk from the kid’s home and snuck on to a train.’ Tina swiped her nose with the back of her hand before backing away. ‘Just find him, all right? That’s all I know.’

  ‘Who’s behind this?’

  ‘If I tell you, they’ll get me too.’ Tina’s voice cracked as she spoke, and Molly got a glimpse of fear. ‘None of this came from me. You got that?’ Clearing her throat, Tina looked away.

  But Molly wasn’t ready to let her go. ‘Are you being pimped out for sex? What about these murders, do you know anything about them?’ She stretched out her hand.

  ‘Fuck off!’ Tina spat, swiping it away. ‘Touch me and you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘Tina, wait!’ Molly grabbed the sleeve of her jacket. She did not see the flash of the knife until it was too late. She gritted her teeth against the sharp slash of pain. Staggering, she clasped the knife wound as Tina bolted up the road without a backwards glance.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Amy scowled at her desk phone as it rang insistently. She’d just covered Donovan’s press release so he could organise another search team. She didn’t have time to take calls too. Usually, Molly was quick on the draw, answering phones and redirecting enquiries, but she hadn’t returned from town. The toxicology reports had come back, and poison had been detected in their victims’ bloodstreams. Now the ante was upped even higher on the back of Tasha’s phone call last night. Donovan had been like a man possessed, barking orders at everyone. It was a novelty to see her normally calm and placid DCI so impassioned.

  Amy gritted her back teeth as the phone continued to ring. As well as following her usual lines of enquiry, she was interrogating the victims’ social media accounts to deliver a background story on their lives. Sometimes the most random updates could hold clues of their own, and their families had been accommodating in allowing her access. ‘Priority Crime Team, DI Winter speaking.’ Amy spoke sharply as she picked the handset up.

  ‘I’ve got a call here for DC Baxter. It’s her mother.’ Usually, Amy would tell her to ring back, but it was unlike Molly not to have returned by now. ‘Thanks, Elaine. Put her through.’

  A tight, brittle voice followed. ‘I was hoping to speak to Molly. Is this her boss?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Molly’s not at her desk, can I help?’

  ‘Well.’ She sounded unsure now. Hesitant. ‘I was wondering if she’s all right. She hasn’t called since this morning. Can I have a quick word with her?’

  ‘She’s out.’ Amy checked her watch. If her mother had already spoken to her, why did she sound so worried? Molly had mentioned something about not living a normal life. ‘She has been gone a while,’ Amy continued. ‘Is there anything I need to know?’

  But no response was given.

  ‘Are you there?’ Amy waited.

  ‘No. I . . . I mean, yes. I’ll try her mobile phone again. Will you tell her to call me the second she gets back?’

  Amy told her she would before ending the call. The woman sounded spooked, and Molly hadn’t been her usual chirpy self. But Amy didn’t have much time to dwell upon it as Paddy signalled for her attention.

  ‘It’s Molly,’ he said, his brows knitted in a frown. ‘She’s checked herself into casualty. Something about needing a couple of stitches.’

  ‘Stitches? What happened to her?’

  ‘She said she cut her hand on a broken bottle when she put some rubbish in the bin.’ But the look he gave her relayed that he didn’t believe that any more than Amy did. ‘She’ll be back as soon as she can.’

  The hospital was just a few minutes’ walk away. ‘Cover for me, will you?’ Amy grabbed her blazer from the back of her chair. ‘I won’t be long.’

  She found Molly sitting in casualty, a wad of bandages wrapped around her hand. The room was uncomfortably warm, with people sitting in gloomy silence as they waited to be seen.

  ‘They’ve dressed it until I can get stitches,’ Molly explained as Amy questioned her.

  ‘What happened?’ Amy was grateful to find an empty seat beside her. A sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead, and she took off her jacket and folded it on her lap. ‘And I don’t mean that cock and bull story you gave to Paddy. Were you out meeting those kids again?’

  ‘Not really . . . well, not intentionally, anyway. Tina came to me. And this . . .’ She looked at her hand. ‘It was an accident. I’m not making an official complaint.’ She rested her hand on her lap, wincing as she laid it down. ‘Tina said Matty’s missing. She was hanging around outside, waiting for me to come out. I don’t know who blew my cover, but she was too scared to go inside.’

  ‘So, she stabbed you?’ Amy said, trying to make sense of Molly’s account.

  ‘No, no. Not at all,’ Molly said, nursing her hand. Spots of blood bloomed through her bandages, and there were blotches of red on her shirt. ‘She had a penknife. I tried to grab it off her so I could get a print. I cut my hand on the blade.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Amy said, unconvinced. ‘So, what’s this about Matty?’

  ‘He’s from Tower Hamlets. I have a name and date of birth. With that, and his photo, we should be able to track him down.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Amy said, ‘but you need to be careful – the DCI is up in arms as it is. God knows what he’s going to say when he hears about this.’ She sighed. At this rate, it would not be her officers under threat of being replaced, it would be her.

  ‘Matty’s next in line to be pimped out, isn’t he?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Amy said. ‘Although more likely to be one of the girls. I’ve got to get back. I’ll update social care. But, Molly, if you keep taking chances, you’ll end up with a verbal warning. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Sorry . . .’ Molly said, crestfallen. ‘Of course not.’

  Amy watched her face crumble. ‘What’s wrong? It’s not like you to get this emotionally involved.’ Two nurses walked past them, deep in chatter as they discussed a patient’s needs.

  Taking a tissue from her pocket, Molly dabbed at the corner of her eyes. ‘I don’t know . . .’ She took another breath. Swallowed back her tears. ‘It’s Matty. He’s got to me. I can’t help but feel for him.’

  It was only now that Amy noticed the resemblance in their names. Molly and Matty. The combination sounded like something out of a children’s book. But this was far from a fairy tale and a happy ending seemed unlikely. �
��Do you resonate with him? Is that what this is about? Is there something from your childhood which has struck a chord?’

  But Molly sat, gulping back her tears and not saying a word.

  ‘Your mother rang, by the way . . . Sounds like she’s keeping track of you.’ Molly’s lack of holidays, her sheltered upbringing. Amy would not have been surprised to learn that her childhood was far from idyllic. Molly’s father might have been a police officer, but still, she knew better than anyone that sometimes the worst of horrors were hidden behind very regular-looking doors.

  Molly blinked away her tears. ‘Did she?’ she sniffled. ‘Sorry. And as for Matty . . . it’s just one of those cases. Some get to you, and some don’t. I liked Matty . . . God, do you hear me, talking about him in the past tense?’ Molly heaved a weary sigh. ‘Someone’s got him and it’s all my fault.’

  ‘In what way?’ Amy said.

  But Molly was tightly grasping her tissue, her head bowed.

  ‘Molly?’ Amy said gently.

  Another sigh. She seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. ‘It’s my fault for speaking to him,’ she said at last. ‘He was taken because he spoke to the police.’

  ‘And you’re sure that’s all it is? I mean, we all care about our victims when we’re handling cases like these, but I’ve never seen you moved to tears.’

  ‘That’s all.’ Molly stared at her hands. ‘He’s had a rough life, and I thought I could help him, but now I’ve gone and made it worse.’

  Amy did her best to comfort her, but as Molly left to get stitches, she wondered if there was more to it than she was letting on.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  MO

  ‘Are you happy we’ve covered everything?’ Ms Harkness watched Mo intently as she unlaced her trainers and rubbed her feet. Mo knew her socks smelt, but her feet were sweaty from walking and she couldn’t wait to get them off. She watched her therapist’s nose wrinkle before she got up and forced the window open a crack. So, it could open. It just needed some extra effort, a bit like her.

  Mo’s lips broke into an unaccustomed smile. ‘I needed to figure it out, and I did.’ Initially, her therapy sessions had been less about understanding herself and more about committing the words to paper. She needed an official record of the betrayals she had suffered. Once, she would not have cared. But lately, she itched to be understood. Leaning over, she took a sip from the plastic cup of water Ms Harkness had left on the table.

  ‘Would you like to continue where we left off?’ Ms Harkness looked a little frayed around the edges.

  Mo nodded, regarding her therapist with curiosity. She had lost the sparkle she had possessed previously. Perhaps getting lost in other people’s problems helped you to forget your own.

  ‘Make notes. Write it down. All of it,’ Mo said, before briefly closing her eyes. She didn’t want to look at Ms Harkness any more. Neither did she need to be hypnotised. Her past was the dark root from where the worst of her behaviour originated. She remembered Wes’s face clearly now. He had always been dead behind the eyes. ‘Recruiting girls was a job to Wes. I learnt from a master, and soon I was doing the same. I worked for . . .’ Mo blinked as she searched her memories for a name. ‘Greg. He was called Greg. It wasn’t hard to find the type of girls he was looking for. Saddos who were alone and vulnerable. Girls like me.’ Mo scratched her arm. The past felt like tiny beetles crawling beneath her skin. ‘It was my job to introduce them to Greg and get them on the gear.’

  Mo was sorry when Jen died of an overdose. It came as a turning point. She didn’t want to end up like her. But she grew hard over the years, her defences developing granite layers until she could barely feel a thing.

  ‘Then I met my boyfriend, and everything changed.’ Mo sighed as another facet of the past was revealed. It was hardly love at first sight. She had known him for a while, always in the background at their parties, his gaze solely on her. He wasn’t a talker, but neither was he shy. His dark eyes twinkled as he stared at her, but Mo simply glared at him with mistrust. Up until then, sex was currency. She had never been with anyone because she wanted to. But there was something about this man that felt different. He liked her for who she was. She’d felt it from the moment they met. He wasn’t a bad-looking bloke, she’d surmised. His chipped front tooth added character to his demeanour. He walked with a confident swagger and despite his broodiness, she wasn’t afraid of him. Some of the girls said he’d been rough, but that didn’t bother her. Back then, she couldn’t begin to imagine the powerful couple that they would become. But she didn’t need to tell the therapist this. She already knew. Everyone knew what happened next.

  ‘Are you ready to use your real name?’ Ms Harkness paused, then answered her own question. ‘I think you are. You’re strong enough to reflect on the past from your present-day viewpoint.’

  Mo delivered a one-shouldered shrug. They had made progress. She had opened up to her therapist more than anyone in her life. Only now, she could see that she had gone full circle, the abused becoming the abuser. Before now, she’d had so many faces, she’d no longer known who she was. ‘I’ve lived many lives,’ she said. ‘Been many versions of myself. But there’s only one version of me the world will ever know.’

  ‘You were a victim. Some would say you lashed out.’ But the look on the therapist’s face relayed that even she didn’t believe that.

  Mo snorted before crossing her legs. ‘That’s pushing it a bit far.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of what I’ve done. I’ve turned out just like them.’

  ‘You were groomed. Surely you can see that. But a time came when you took a step back, got yourself off drugs. You wanted to change your life.’

  ‘Yeah, and see how that worked out.’

  ‘But there was a moment, wasn’t there? When your life could have gone the other way. You didn’t have to take that path. Which is why you’re here. Perhaps it’s time to get yourself back on that path. Make a different decision. Make the right choice.’

  ‘It’s too late.’ Mo sighed, resignation seeping into her words. ‘I thought about it but . . . I can’t. You know why?’

  ‘Tell me. Help me understand.’

  ‘Because I get pleasure out of hurting people.’ She tapped the side of her head. ‘I’m fucked up. Wired wrong. I used to think that I was right and everyone else was wrong, but it’s me . . . it’s been me all along.’

  ‘Do you want to hurt me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  A snigger crossed Mo’s lips. ‘Because you’re not my type.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I can’t control you. I’d get no pleasure out of putting you through the pain. There wouldn’t be any fun in it.’

  ‘And there’s fun in the others?’

  Mo raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, babe, you don’t want to go there.’

  ‘I think we have to.’

  Sighing, Mo stared at the wall. But she wasn’t seeing the picture hung there, or the clock ticking the seconds away. Her mind was somewhere else. She was listening to the cries of the people she had hurt. It was electrifying. ‘I used to imagine having a normal life. I’d watch people in the park. Regular families going about their everyday lives. But I could never be one of them.’

  ‘That’s because you have no positive role models. You’ve never had a strong sense of who you are.’

  Mo gave her a knowing look. ‘I know who I am.’

  ‘No.’ The therapist rested her notepad on her knee. ‘You know what others have said about you. That’s not who you are. Don’t you think it’s time to find out?’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘You came to therapy for a reason. Somewhere deep down, you need change.’

  ‘My family are only out for what they can get,’ Mo said dryly. ‘Nobody cares about me.’

  ‘Then you need to give them a reason to care.’

  Silence fell. The sentiment resonated. She was right. But did Mo w
ant them to care? A small part of her did. She was tired. ‘Do you think it’s possible to be forgiven?’

  ‘I think you should forgive yourself before you seek it from anyone else.’

  A tear rose to Mo’s eye. But it was for her, nobody else. The sorrow she felt for herself was more than her victims would ever receive. She swiped it away, feeling foolish. Tears were a weakness, and crying was for wimps. ‘I want you to know something. I’ve never opened up to anyone as much as I’ve spoken to you.’

  ‘I can’t take the credit for that,’ Ms Harkness said. ‘The time was right. How do you feel now?’

  Mo inhaled a long breath, giving the question some thought. ‘Like I’ve been to the dentist and had a set of rotten teeth pulled. My gums hurt like hell, but it’s an improvement on before.’

  ‘Well, that’s a start. Will you book in a new course of therapy?’

  ‘I need time to recover from this one first.’ Mo picked her bag up from the floor before rising from her chair. ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Can we say goodbye to Mo? That’s an important step forward for you.’

  ‘I think I have to. And Jacob too, at least until I can reconcile myself.’ She stood before her therapist, feeling grateful to the woman. It was a novel emotion and she felt strangely warm inside.

  ‘You’ve still got another half an hour.’ Her therapist tilted her head.

  Mo turned to look at her, her hand on the door. ‘I think that’s enough for one day. Thank you, Ms Harkness.’

  ‘Goodbye, Lillian,’ her therapist said, watching her leave.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ‘We have a case on the go that needs your expert attention.’ The voice on the other end of Amy’s phone was forthright in his request. Superintendent Jones needed them back in Notting Hill and he had been backed by the command team.

  ‘Yes, gov,’ Amy said, staring at the plethora of paperwork laid out on her desk. CCTV reports, witness accounts and the automatic number plate recognition reports she had requested had yet to be read. She was at the sharp end of the investigation, and the clock was ticking down. ‘We’re very close,’ Amy continued. ‘And it’s hard to walk away, given this latest death.’