Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1)

by Caroline Mitchell

  From above, Purdy meowed, and Hemmy bit back her tears. She had to do something. Her cat would not survive much longer without proper care. Adrenaline racing, she plumped up her pillow, covering it with the blankets on her bed. If her kidnapper thought she was sleeping, it might buy her some time. He was going to kill her – that’s if he didn’t rape her first. Down here, amongst the damp and rotting wood, she’d had time to think. The blackouts, followed by the headaches: he’d been drugging her. That’s what the gas mask was for. He was building up to something. How else would he have known she had a headache, and produced painkillers before she even asked? She looked at the bucket, still half full of urine. A plan formed. She was not going to wait for a second longer. Even if she was at sea, her captor might have a phone. Holding her breath, she gripped the lip of the bucket and tiptoed behind the door. It would provide a useful distraction as he entered, giving her time to get away. She thought of the scalpel nestling in his pocket, but the only other option was to give in. She set her jaw and prepared for the fight of her life. Slowly, the door creaked open. In her hand, the rusted screw peeped through the first and second fingers of her clenched fist.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Reversing his wheelchair, Dougie opened his front door and welcomed Amy inside. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you all right?’

  A sliver of night air crept into the hallway. Amy’s silence spoke volumes as she closed the door behind her and slid the security chain across.

  ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ Dougie said. ‘Say something, girl.’

  ‘I’m OK.’ Amy sighed. ‘Are you sure it’s not too late for a chat?’

  She had been pleased when Dougie replied to her text telling her to pop in after work. Given his insomnia, he rarely went to bed before three.

  ‘I’m glad of the company,’ Dougie replied, wheeling his chair into the living room. As always, it was warm and inviting, the open fire crackling and the lights dimmed low. A book lay open on the coffee table, a half-eaten digestive biscuit next to a cup of tea.

  ‘Take off your coat,’ he said. ‘Come, sit beside the fire and I’ll pour us both a drink.’ Amy offered him a watery smile as she held up a paper bag containing a bottle of rum. ‘It’s my treat this time. I can’t keep draining yours.’

  Within a couple of minutes, her legs were warmed by the fire as she cradled a crystal tumbler of rum in her hands. She liked the way the ice clinked in the glass, it reminded her of her father enjoying an occasional tipple at home.

  ‘Tough day at work?’ Dougie said, concern etched on his face.

  Amy was horrified to find her voice trembling as the enormity of recent events took hold. ‘I di . . . didn’t know who else to talk to,’ she said, feeling the edge of a stutter in her words. It was becoming more frequent lately, a physical manifestation of the stress she was trying to push down. She paused to sip her rum, the warmth of the spirit lubricating her words. ‘I hate bringing this to your door, but I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t get it off my chest.’

  ‘I take it you’re talking about the delightful Lillian Grimes. It’s been on all the news channels, and the papers are having a field day.’

  Amy nodded, recalling the journalists gathered outside the police station. Apparently, renewed efforts had been made to speak to Lillian on the inside. The thought drove another pang of worry into Amy’s chest as she brought Dougie up to speed.

  He shook his head in dismay. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You shouldn’t have to shoulder all this on your own.’

  Amy shrugged. ‘It’s been awful. Just today I’ve met Damien Grimes over cream tea, taken Lillian out of prison, found the body of Wendy Thompson and visited her dying mother to break the news. All of that, and I’m supervising a kidnap case involving a fifteen-year-old girl.’ She’d also had to wriggle out of some awkward questions from DI Donovan as to why Lillian had called her Poppy earlier on.

  ‘It’s too much for anyone under normal circumstances, but given your background . . .’ Dougie’s words trailed away.

  Amy nodded in understanding. ‘The families, they were so grateful, but—’ Her words came to a sudden halt, and she took a breath to accommodate the cold and harsh truth. ‘I can’t bear the thought of that blood running through my veins. My parents are serial killers.’ She stared into the flames, recalling earlier events. ‘I lost my temper today, almost punched Lillian in the face. What if I carry the same gene?’

  ‘Don’t be daft—’ Dougie began to say.

  ‘I’m starting to remember, but every time I do, I lose a piece of who I am.’ Amy interrupted. ‘Worst of all . . .’ She paused to sip her rum. ‘I don’t know if I’m a good enough person to do the job that I do.’ Exhaling slowly, she was scared to look at Dougie for fear of what she might see. But she need not have worried, for his face carried nothing but kindness and sympathy for her plight.

  ‘What would your father say if he was here now?’ Dougie said. ‘And I mean your real father, the man who taught you right from wrong.’

  ‘I don’t know. We never spoke about it.’ Amy shook her head. ‘Sure, he adopted me in good faith, but what if he realised that I would revert to my old ways?’

  ‘And what old ways would they be?’ Dougie chided her. ‘You were four when you left that place, nothing but a baby.’

  ‘I remember . . .’ Amy said, a brief smile touching her lips. ‘And I remember you, too. How kind you were, how you told me you’d stay with Sally-Ann.’

  ‘You remember that?’ Dougie’s eyebrows raised, and he emitted a low chuckle at the thought. ‘I don’t suppose there were many coppers with afros in your house that day.’

  ‘Not long ago you said it was a wonder I turned out well, given my upbringing.’

  ‘That was a silly off-the-cuff remark.’ Dougie rolled his eyes at his own insensitivity. ‘You’ve been a credit to Robert and Flora. You exceeded their expectations and they’re so proud of you. They had a bumpy few months when they took you in. But you’re not that child anymore.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Amy said, unconvinced.

  ‘Do you think I’m the same person as when I was running around my mother’s skirts at the age of four? I’ve been shaped by my life experiences and the people around me. You’re a strong leader, Amy, and perhaps you have been affected by the past. But it’s not because of any fascination with serial killers, it’s the sense of injustice in it all.’

  Amy nodded at Dougie’s words. ‘I’ve always known I was different. Maybe some good can come from this if I use my insight to make things right.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Dougie replied. ‘You could have torn up Lillian’s letter and walked away, but you didn’t. You sacrificed your own well-being to help the families involved.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Amy said. ‘I needed to hear that. The toughest thing about all of this is not having anyone to talk to.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Flora?’ Dougie said.

  ‘I don’t want to upset her,’ Amy replied. ‘She’s been through enough.’

  ‘But so have you. It’s best not to keep it bottled up. There’s only so much you can keep down until that lid comes popping off.’ Dougie raised the bottle to top Amy up, but she placed her hand over her glass.

  ‘Not for me, thanks. It’s time I headed off.’ Draining her glass, she placed it on the coffee table before catching sight of today’s newspaper headlines. ‘See that?’ she said, shaking her head in disgust. ‘The papers are reporting that the “Beast of Brentwood” has had a change of heart. The truth is, she doesn’t feel remorse. She pretends she wants to keep her family together, but it’s all lies.’

  ‘It’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep it out of the papers. Your DCI still doesn’t know?’

  ‘You think I’d be working the case if she did?’ Amy said, with a half-smile. ‘It’s when I break contact with Lillian that I’m most at risk.’ Amy knew from experience that victims of domestic abuse were at their most vulnerable when they tried
to leave. ‘She’s not going to let me walk away.’

  ‘You’ve got to shut the door on it. For the sake of your sanity if nothing else.’ Leaning forward, Dougie threw a log onto the fire and it crackled and spat in response.

  ‘It frightens me to know that . . .’ Amy stared into the flames, her face pale, ‘that I’ll never be able to go back to who I was.’

  ‘Then you move forward. You’re stronger than you think. Take control.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Amy said, rising to leave. ‘I’ve got a prison visit tomorrow. I’m telling Lillian I won’t be seeing her again.’

  ‘Every time I speak to you, I know we’ve done the right thing,’ Dougie mumbled under his breath.

  ‘What was that?’ Amy said.

  Dougie raised an eyebrow, seeming surprised she had caught his words.

  ‘Nothing, just thinking out loud,’ he replied. ‘Oh, and don’t forget to put my new home number on your phone. I don’t always have my mobile switched on.’

  ‘New number?’ Amy replied.

  ‘Yes, I got a private one to stop the cold calls. If it wasn’t PPI claims, it was asking if I’d been in an accident. Bit late for all that,’ he said.

  ‘Do you want to write it down for me?’ Amy replied. ‘My mobile’s dead.’

  ‘No need,’ Dougie said. ‘Your mum has it.’

  Amy turned to pick up her coat, which was resting on the back of the sofa. She didn’t know that Flora kept in touch with Dougie. She turned to face him, her brow creased. ‘If there were anything wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Of course I would.’ Dougie smiled. ‘I’m fine.’

  But as Amy said goodbye she was not so convinced. For the first time that night, Dougie was unable to meet her eyes.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  In the darkness, Lillian paced her cell, nibbling on her thumbnail as she thought things through. Everyone was assembled like pieces on a chessboard, ready for her next move. True, she had not expected Amy to lash out like that, but detective inspector or not, even she had her limits it seemed. Not that Lillian would have done things any differently. It had been a joy to spend time in the outside world. But it wasn’t the wildlife she was interested in, or the kiss of the autumn breeze on her skin. Revisiting the girls’ final resting places had helped her relive those moments all over again. She smiled, inhaling deeply as her eyelids fluttered shut. Oh, the sweetness and innocence of those young girls. Taking their lives had been a pleasure like no other. How she missed those heady days of self-gratification, exploring the darkness and giving it full control. And Jack, her insatiable husband, who, in the early days, had thought that threesomes were as far as he could go. How she had opened his eyes over the years and introduced him to the pleasures of the flesh.

  Even killing his own daughter was something she had encouraged, whispering in his ear that she was all set to report them to the police. Sally-Ann had been developing, catching the eyes of their regular guests. Where Mandy was dull and plain, Sally-Ann was voluptuous and sickly sweet. She could not allow another woman in the household to shine brighter than her. But she had underestimated little Poppy, the Judas of the family.

  Lillian was not afforded a conventional upbringing. Introduced to sex long before her body was equipped for it, she had learned to cope the only way she could – by exercising control and bending others to her will. True, there were plenty of fools to manipulate in prison, and a well-timed beating could evoke sympathy when visitors cast their eyes over the bruises on her face. It was worth the discomfort. Nothing was as tantalising as the prospect of freedom and being able to relive her youth. According to Damien, the internet had opened up vast possibilities she could have only dreamed of before. Apps that located ‘fuckbuddies’ who wanted to meet up for sex. Online groups of likeminded people who would have hung on her every word. After years of protesting her so-called innocence, she had almost given up on her dream of being freed, but when she read of Robert Winter’s demise, a plan hatched in her brain.

  She lay on her bed, staring but not seeing, thoughts of her children at the forefront of her mind. Dim-witted Damien and Maggoty Mandy. She chuckled at the nicknames she appointed for them both. They were easily manipulated, but sadly had inherited their father’s brains. It wasn’t until Amy came on the scene that hope flared. She had worked on them, each one in turn. Damien infiltrated The Keepers of Truth, garnering support for his poor innocent mother. It was wise to use the group as a scapegoat. As much as she liked to toy with him, Damien was no good to her in jail. As for Mandy, she was happy to carry out her bidding as long as it led to a few quid at the end. And now Amy, who had granted her momentary satisfaction by driving the last nail into Gladys Thompson’s coffin. Surely news that she had dumped her daughter’s body in a freezer would kill the bitch off?

  She had revelled in details of Hermione Parker’s kidnapping and would make Amy jump through a few more hoops yet. Then, when Amy was wrung out and Hermione turned up dead, she would finish her off for good. Her daughter had chosen sides when she had shopped them to social services, and she would have to live with the consequences of her acts. Her friends, family and finally her career – Lillian would not rest until she tore it all down. But she had to be free to see it. Lillian’s eyelids grew heavy as sleep drew close and she breathed a contented sigh. She could almost smell freedom. It would happen, as long as everything came together. She had one more ace up her sleeve.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Every inch of Hemmy’s body trembled. She held the bucket tightly as she prepared to take action, her feet planted firmly on the floor. The stench of urine did not bother her anymore. She was too busy concentrating on the person behind the door. Could she buy enough time to get away? As the door creaked open, she drew back the bucket and launched it at her captor’s head. Having gained the element of surprise, she pushed him to the floor before stumbling through the door and towards the stairs. The metal bedstead rattled as his head bounced against the frame on the way down.

  Forcing one foot before the other, Hemmy heaved for breath as she clambered up the steps. But her escape was hampered by the closed trapdoor at the top. ‘No,’ she gasped. Weak from lack of food and water, she strained to push back the wooden hatch.

  ‘You . . . bitch!’ The muffled voice roared from below, timbers creaking as he clambered to his feet.

  Hemmy thought of the blade and how it had cut through her hair like butter. She had to get out. She would rather take her chances in the water than face punishment for trying to run away. The screw was coarse against her fingers, but she could not let it go. Pushing hard, she felt the trapdoor give. Just one more push . . .

  ‘Come back here!’ the voice rasped behind her, a gloved hand biting into her ankles. Hemmy kicked it away. ‘Help me!’ she screamed, praying to be heard. ‘Someone, please help!’ She glared down at her masked captor. Blood smeared inside the lens, blinding his left eye. Snarling like a wounded animal, he swiped at her ankles to pull her back down.

  Her muscles shaking from the exertion, Hemmy shoved back the trap door and poked her head through. The rush of fresh air hit her, making her hair fly over her face. Almost there, she thought, gripping the ledge as she struggled to climb the steps. A whimper escaped her lips as she saw Purdy in her cage near the mouth of the trap door, but a gloved hand tugged on her ankle and began pulling her down. Screaming for help, she gripped the hatch for balance as she swivelled her head from left to right. But all she could see were the walls of the boat. Where was she? She needed to haul herself up. ‘Help!’ she shouted, heaving air into her lungs. Without shoes, her kicks were not enough to keep her kidnapper at bay for long. A piercing meow responded to her distress. Hermione’s heart ached for her cat, weak and emaciated in her cage. She grappled for the lock. If she couldn’t escape, she would see to it that her Purdy did. The sound of traffic in the distance told her they must be moored near dry land. Hope flared inside her. Fiddling with the cage, she struggled to pull the
latch across, her feet still on the steps below. But her captor was upon her.

  ‘Help me! Please, someone, help!’ Hemmy screamed, fear sharpening her words. As she lost her fight to clamber onto the deck, the door of Purdy’s cage flew open. ‘Shoo!’ Hemmy screamed at her pet. ‘Go! Get out!’ Then with a sudden yank, she was pulled back down, cracking her chin against the lip of the trap door.

  Blood streamed from her tongue as she caught it between her teeth, but Hemmy was not going down without a fight.

  His breath rattling loudly, her kidnapper dragged her back to her bed.

  Spitting blood, Hemmy wriggled under his grip, screaming at the top of her breath. Her fingers tightened over the screw, still pressed into the palm of her hand. If she could gouge his neck, make a run for it . . . If she didn’t, she knew what would come next.

  A cold blade pressed against her cheek brought her movements to a halt.

  ‘Shut your mouth, or I’ll cut you from ear to ear.’ Panting, he tried to catch his breath.

  Hemmy lowered her hands, slipping the rusted screw into her skirt pocket. ‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ she whispered, swallowing back the blood trickling into her mouth.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Evening briefing had drained Paddy of energy, and he barely felt equipped to deal with what lay ahead. Thoughts of Geraldine had haunted his working day. He had tried to get his act together to make up for his recent lateness and now it was time to sort things out at home.

  Anxiety had always clouded Geraldine’s life, but they had managed, right up until that horrific day. His suggestion they try for another child was met with outright hostility. He remembered it clearly, and still had the scar on his thigh from where she’d swiped at him with a knife. She hadn’t meant it, of course; it was just bad timing. She had been peeling the potatoes, and lashed out in response. In her eyes, his suggestion was akin to asking if they could sleep together again. In the heat of their argument she told him how repulsive she found him and banished him to the spare room.