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

by Caroline Mitchell

  As Amy rose to leave, her brother grabbed her by the wrist. Snatching back her hand, she cut him in two with a glare. ‘Touch me again and you’ll be sorry.’

  Damien raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘All right, firecracker. Just listen to what she has to say.’

  Amy grimaced, her patience lost. ‘She’s winding you up, can’t you see? I’ve checked about her English classes and so called enquiries with the refuge. It’s all lies.’

  Dismissing her words with a snort, Damien and Lillian shared a conspiratorial glance.

  Amy straightened, feeling a sense of satisfaction that she could turn and walk away. ‘You’ve run out of things to trade. You’ve no control over me anymore.’

  ‘That’s where you’re wrong . . . tick tock,’ Lillian said, tapping the side of her nose with childish glee. ‘I know something you don’t know.’ Singing the words, she attracted curious glances from the children in the room.

  Briefly, Amy closed her eyes, taking a breath as she sat back down. Lillian’s constant toying was a rope around her neck that was beginning to fray. Had she seen the posts on social media?

  ‘Remember that nice little blonde bit that went missing?’ Damien said. ‘I bet you’d love to know where she is.’

  ‘You’re lying.’ Amy’s voice hardened. Despite her best efforts, her name had been publicly linked to the case.

  A smile formed on Lillian’s lips. ‘Willing to take that risk, are you? Because time is running out, and unlike Wendy Thompson, this little temptress is very much alive.’ Her features darkened as she kept her voice low. ‘You’ve got three days to find answers. If you don’t, Hermione Parker will die.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Amy spat, wishing she could swallow back the swearword that rolled off her tongue. To hear her refer to a child as a ‘temptress’ made her stomach churn.

  ‘Listen,’ Damien said. ‘She’s telling the truth.’

  Amy stared in disbelief. ‘Are you involved in this? Because if you are . . .’

  ‘You can’t pin this on me,’ he replied. But the expression on his face told her otherwise.

  ‘If you’ve anything to do with her abduction I’ll be arresting you both,’ Amy said, cursing the fact she had left her voice recorder at work.

  ‘I’ve got an alibi,’ Damien raised his chin in defiance. ‘And who the fuck do you think you are, threatening to arrest me?’

  Lillian cackled as she set the two of them against each other. ‘Aw, look at you, my Poppy back to her old self. Even at the age of four, you were happy to have your family locked away. Here you are now, ready to do it all over again.’ She tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowing. ‘What’s wrong? Not content with killing your dad and locking up your mum, you want your brother banged up too?’

  Amy’s jaw tightened. ‘You’ve just admitted to arranging Hermione Parker’s kidnapping. I’m a police officer. What do you expect me to do?’

  Tutting, Lillian wagged a finger in a tick-tock fashion. ‘There she goes again, skewing the truth. How could I kidnap some snotty schoolgirl when I’m in prison?’ She exhaled theatrically. ‘I’ve been nothing but helpful, despite everything you’ve done. But if you don’t want to know where she is . . .’ Pushing back her chair, Lillian pressed her palms against the table as she rose to leave.

  ‘Sit down,’ Amy commanded. ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Good. Then we have an understanding,’ Lillian said smugly. ‘You’ve got three days to prove that I’ve been framed for murder. They’re hungry for justice, as the tweets say. Arrest Damien and that’s sure to piss them off.’

  ‘You threatened to kill her,’ Amy replied. ‘You’re the one who should be under arrest.’

  Damien silently watched as Lillian replied with a shrug. ‘I’ve got quite the following in the real world. A lot of people aren’t happy with how I’ve been treated. I can’t help it if there’s a revolt.’

  ‘The Keepers of Truth,’ Amy said, the words rolling off her tongue. ‘They’re using Hermione as a bargaining chip to set you free. And what about you?’ She turned to Damien. ‘Are you part of this group?’

  ‘It’s not against the law to go on Facebook,’ Damien replied non-committally. ‘If they’re trying to help Mum, then it sounds like a good idea to me.’

  ‘Then where is she?’ Amy leaned across the table. ‘Tell me, and I’ll look into your case.’

  ‘Call me a bad mother, but I’ve got some trust issues with you,’ Lillian replied. ‘As I said, you’ve got three days.’

  ‘And if I don’t find what you want?’

  ‘Then her blood is on your hands.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Sipping her takeaway coffee, Amy’s footsteps were heavy as she walked across the police car park. She’d had more than her fair share of revelations and was still reeling from her prison visit. But at least she had her answer. Now she knew the real reason why Lillian had got back in touch. Providing the burial sites was just a warm-up for what was to come. She had drawn entertainment from watching Amy squirm, but at the heart of it all, the woman wanted her freedom – at any cost. Amy sighed. In what parallel universe would the ‘Beast of Brentwood’ be released from prison? And where did that leave Hermione?

  Damien had been quick to bring up his alibi, furiously backtracking on any involvement as visiting time came to a close. It had felt strange leaving the building together, out of Lillian’s sight. Looking back on their conversation, he had simply told her to listen to what Lillian had to say. At a stretch, they could arrest her, but would the ends justify the means? Given she was in prison, there would be no premises search, no seizure of telephone records, no CSI to attend the scene or computers to infiltrate. Was it worth inflaming the situation? The Keepers of Truth did not mess around. Lillian had played ball so far. She had no reason to doubt she would again.

  From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of two uniformed officers stepping out, a pack of cigarettes in their hands. Thanks to new regulations they weren’t allowed to smoke in the car park anymore. As she approached the building, she smiled in response to their respectful nod. Was she deserving of her rank?

  She knew what she had to do – come clean with DCI Pike. God, she would have her guts for garters for this. Withholding information was serious. It could even get her kicked off the team. Her stomach churned as she imagined the consequences. Why hadn’t she been honest all along? She knew the answer to that. Her friendship with Pike was by proxy, built on her history with Robert, but now her father was gone. As soon as Pike found out Amy wasn’t blood related, she could cast her in a different light. This was what Lillian wanted: for Amy to feel the fear of rejection and uncertainty, just as she had done.

  She had little time to dwell; her mobile rang the second she entered her office. It was Malcolm, her lead CSI. Her team had nicknamed him the Nigel Havers of the forensic world. ‘Amy, darling, how are you?’

  Amy warmed at the sound of his voice. Classical music rose in the background, and it sounded like he was in his car. Born and bred in Westminster, he had several degrees to his name. Why he left his job as a high court judge to get down and dirty in crime scenes was a mystery to Amy.

  ‘I’ve had better days,’ she replied dryly, ‘but I’m hoping you’re calling with good news?’

  ‘Depends on how you’d like to look at it. I’ve had a fascinating chat with Purdy this morning. Very interesting indeed.’

  ‘Did she talk back?’ Amy replied, visions of his meeting with the cat making her grin.

  ‘She certainly did. She told me she’d been caged all this time. The poor lamb’s fur was matted with urine and excrement. She’s a very clean lady, you know. She would never have lain on it if she weren’t confined.’

  ‘So it’s unlikely she’s been wandering the streets all this time?’

  ‘Highly unlikely. According to the vet, she would only have survived a few more days at the most. It’s doubtful her abductor was present when she fled. She was too weak to run at any
great speed.’

  ‘Any idea of location?’

  ‘The urine and faeces matting her fur were relatively fresh, so I’m estimating she’d escaped no more than a couple of hours before she was found.’

  ‘Which narrows down her location . . .’ Amy thought aloud.

  ‘At the speed she was travelling, it was not very far away. That is, unless she was dumped.’ He paused. ‘There’s something else you may find of interest.’

  ‘Do tell,’ Amy replied, feeling a small frisson of hope. If they got to Hemmy now, there was a chance they would find her alive.

  ‘I went slightly beyond the call of duty when I met Purdy, but thankfully we’re both refined creatures and hit it off. I persuaded her to climb up on my lap, and I buried my nose in her fur.’

  Amy arched an eyebrow. ‘And the purpose of that was?’

  ‘To give it a jolly good sniff of course, why else? As expected, I came back with the pungent aroma of excrement and urine, but there was another rather heady bouquet . . .’

  ‘Cigarettes?’ Amy hazarded a guess.

  ‘On the contrary, and before I disclose it, I must tell you that I have very refined olfactory senses. They’ve not let me down yet.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Amy replied. A showman, Malcolm liked to draw things out.

  ‘Fish. I smelt fish. There was no mistaking it. If I were you, I’d instruct the team to start searching the docklands. I’d also consider fish shops, markets, fishing vessels. Not so much restaurants as they tend to get in fresh stock. This was very pungent. It’s worth a shot.’

  ‘You little beauty,’ Amy replied. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ve seized some cat hairs. If the search team find a location, tell them to watch out for them. I don’t want them carrying evidence away on their clothes. I was reading about a veterinary genetics laboratory in California. They’ve helped Scotland Yard with homicide cases in the past. Mind you, at two thousand dollars a pop, it’s not cheap. One of their first cases involved the hairs of a white cat.’

  Amy nodded, one eye on the clock. Malcolm could talk all day, but she needed to put the information to good use. ‘Sounds fascinating,’ she said. ‘Will you forward me on your report?’

  ‘It’s winging its way as we speak.’ His tone grew serious. ‘If Purdy’s anything to go by, I doubt Hermione’s in a good way.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  1986

  The man standing over her seemed like an angel, the summer sun forming a halo behind his head. Behind them, a tall grey building loomed. It smelt of stale air and was filled with serious-looking people who talked over Poppy’s head. Bored, she had begged to come outside after the paperwork was complete. The lady from the social seemed happy today, as she told Poppy she was going to a new home. She had almost sung the news, and Poppy had wondered how that could be a good thing. And now she found herself with her hand over her forehead as she assessed her new guardian’s form. Tall and wiry with silver blonde hair, he was so unlike Daddy, who was twice his width. Speaking all posh and proper, he said he was bringing her home. His voice was soft and comforting, and with a sense of resignation Poppy accepted her fate.

  He told her his name was Robert and she made an effort to commit it to memory. So many people had come into her life since she spoke to the social. Like Dougie, he knelt down on one knee to speak to her, but where Dougie’s eyes were like hazelnuts, Robert’s were grey, like hers. Poppy stood tongue-tied, until the woman next to him began touching her short brown hair. Overcome by her heady perfume, Poppy coughed as it hit the back of her throat.

  ‘My name’s Flora,’ she said, patting Poppy’s head like a dog. ‘We’re both named after flowers.’ But then Robert mumbled something about changing her name and Poppy’s chest tightened all over again.

  Flora did not notice, her words tripping over each other as she explained excitedly all the things they were going to do. Visits to the hairdressers, shopping, pony club, ballet lessons. It was enough to make Poppy’s head spin. She frowned, nestling closer to Robert. It felt like the safest place. She watched as he reached for Flora’s arm, telling her to slow down.

  ‘We’re going to have so much fun,’ she said, grinning with pink lipstick stained teeth. ‘You’re going to be our little girl.’

  Recoiling, Poppy took a step back, nestling into the crook of Robert’s arm. She had been told by the social about her new foster family, that they might even adopt her one day too. Until now, she had not believed it was true. She thought about what Mummy would do. Her lips pinched as she sucked them inwards, her fists bunched beneath the sleeves of her dress. She leaned forward to speak.

  Flora threw Robert a smug smile before bending down at the waist. ‘What is it, sweetie? What do you want to say?’

  ‘Suck my cock, bitch,’ Poppy said. She did not know what the words meant, but she had heard such things said at home. Flora froze, her mouth dropping open.

  Poppy frowned. Hadn’t she heard her? She decided to put the actions in place to drive her anger home. Holding her hand to her mouth, she pushed her tongue against the inside of her cheek in a gesture of eating a banana. At least that’s what she thought it meant. But she knew it was a bad thing. A rude thing. Something to drive this woman away for good. Her palms damp with sweat, Poppy’s heart beat like a moth trapped in her chest. After failing to get enough of a reaction, she called her the worst word of all. The ‘c’ word. The word that Sally-Ann had told her she must never say. It was so short and snappy; Poppy couldn’t understand why it was so bad, or even what it meant. But Flora did. The blood draining from her face, she gasped in horror as she backed away.

  ‘She . . . how can she say these things?’ she said to Robert, jerking him by the arm. In the absence of an answer, she turned to Poppy, waggling her finger in her face. ‘That’s a bad word. Rude. Little girls don’t talk like that.’

  ‘Eff off,’ Poppy shrilled, thrilled by the effect of her words. ‘Slag! Cow! Bitch!’ As the expletives rolled off her tongue, she found herself unable to stop. From the corner of her eye, she could see the woman from the social approach. She was in trouble now. Big trouble – but it was too late to stop. Raising his hand, Robert asked her to wait as he kneeled to face Poppy once more.

  But instead of being angry, his features softened into a smile – Poppy’s expletives seemingly having no effect at all. ‘I know you’re scared, I would be too,’ he said softly. ‘But I promise we will keep you safe. I also know people have let you down . . .’

  Poppy stopped swearing as she took in his words.

  ‘But I’m going to make a vow . . . do you know what a vow is?’

  Poppy shook her head, toeing the gravel beneath her feet.

  ‘It’s the biggest, most serious promise anyone can make. It means that once they say it, they have to do it. Forever. Do you understand now?’

  Poppy nodded.

  ‘OK. Well, firstly I have to raise my hand like this.’ His face sombre, he held up his palm. ‘I vow to keep you safe. Always. And nobody is going to make you do anything you don’t want to.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘If saying bad words makes you feel a little better inside, then that’s fine, too. Hopefully, soon you won’t need them anymore.’ He lowered his palm. ‘You miss your family, don’t you?’

  Poppy sighed.

  ‘We’re not trying to take their place. But we would like to look after you. I know how scary it is because when I was your age, I got a new mummy and daddy, too.’

  Poppy’s lips parted, but the words would not come. Did the same thing happen to him?

  His smile widened, showing a row of white teeth, and it felt like warm sunshine beaming down on her face. ‘Flora’s just excited. We’ve got a lovely room all set up for you, and she can’t wait to show it off. You can sit there in peace and quiet if you like, or just watch TV.’ He held out his hand. ‘So how about it? Would you like to come and see your new home?’

  Nodding softly, Poppy wiped her palms on her dress before t
aking his hand.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  ‘I see you haven’t found her yet,’ Lillian said, during yet another phone call. ‘Your DCI looked very cool during the press appeal. She was friendly over the phone, mind, but I reckon she’s a hard-faced cow beneath it all.’

  ‘You’re not to ring me at work again. Not me, not my DCI,’ Amy replied in exasperation. Another memory had returned, leaving Amy more grateful than ever she had been adopted by such a kind and caring couple. Inwardly cringing, she recalled the swearwords she used as a child. Yet Robert had handled it with good grace. And now the source of all Amy’s misery was badgering her over the phone. She’d had enough of her for one day. ‘How are you even making all these calls?’ Amy said, returning her attention to Lillian. ‘Have you smuggled a phone into your cell?’

  ‘Makes me wonder,’ Lillian chuckled, ignoring her outburst. ‘Wouldn’t it be hilarious if po-faced Pike found out who you were? And what would the papers make of it all?’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Amy said. The barely veiled threat was a warning to pay heed, and she had no choice but to comply. Outside her office, the team were busy following leads on Hermione Parker’s case. With press attention hotting up, extra officers had been drafted in to carry out premises searches in locations recommended by CSI.

  ‘Can’t you spare your mother ten minutes, or do I have to get your attention by other means?’

  ‘If there’s one thing you have, it’s my attention,’ Amy admitted, sagging back into her office chair. She was tired of telling Lillian that she did not regard her as her mother. She threw the remainder of her salad sandwich in the bin. Her appetite had disappeared as soon as she took the call.

  ‘Good!’ Lillian said, her delight evident in her tone. ‘Have you spoken to your brother since?’

  ‘If you mean Damien, then no.’ Amy’s brother was Craig, the boy she grew up with under Robert and Flora’s roof. Damien’s dark eyes and aggressive manner reminded her too much of Jack Grimes. Being in his presence both saddened and unsettled her. Ever the manipulator, Lillian picked up her hesitancy.