‘Have you done one of those police checks on him yet? You might be surprised at what you’d find.’
Amy frowned. What game was she playing now? ‘Why would you want that? You worked so hard get us all together. What are you up to?’
Lillian sniffed. ‘I’ve been feeling off all week. I think I’ve come down with a cold. Some families send their loved ones things through the post. Even a get-well card can mean a lot when you’re on the inside. It’s nice to know somebody cares.’
Amy’s frown deepened as she tried to decipher the conversation. ‘I’m not with you.’
‘That much I know,’ Lillian sneered. ‘In fact, you’ve not been on the ball for some time. Are you really suited to policing? How will your workmates react when they find out who you are?’
‘I don’t plan on telling anyone.’
A sudden titter speared the phone line, making Amy question Lillian’s mental health. ‘You were always creative with the truth, but then that’s how psychopaths work.’
‘Are you calling me a psychopath?’ Amy said, itching to hang up.
‘Like mother, like daughter.’ Lillian paused for effect. ‘Do you think it’s unfair? I certainly did when I was labelled the “Beast of Brentwood”.’
‘Have you taken your medication today? Because you don’t seem very lucid?’
‘Tell me,’ Lillian said, ignoring her barbed comment. ‘When you find out what Damien is, are you going to hang him out to dry, too?’
‘What do you mean, what he is?’ Amy rubbed the back of her neck. Lillian’s presence was so strong she could almost feel her breath tickling her skin.
‘He’s a chip off the old block, just like his dad. I told him, it’s in his blood. He can’t escape it so he’s better off making peace with it. Accept what he is and move on.’
‘OK, I’m going now,’ Amy said. ‘So unless you’ve something of value to say . . .’
‘You’re not cut out to be a copper . . . They can sense it, can’t they? That you’re different. They put up with you because they think you’re a Winter. But as soon as they find out who you are, it’ll all be blown to hell.’
‘I am a Winter,’ Amy replied. ‘It’s my legal name and I’m proud to use it. Don’t call me here again.’
‘I want that appeal.’ Lillian’s voice rose a notch. ‘If you don’t prove my innocence, I’m taking you with me, and Hermione Parker will die.’ A dead ring tone followed and Amy swore under her breath. Her DCI had told her . . . no, ordered her to keep Lillian Grimes talking when she rang. She was correct when she guessed the woman had more to give. She seemed convinced that Robert had framed her. But her father would never plant evidence to secure a conviction. She glanced at the silver-framed picture on her desk and saw an honest and kind man. But sometimes people with pure intentions were driven to do terrible things . . .
A knock on her office door pulled her from her thoughts. It was Paddy, and the printout in his hand told her his visit was timely. ‘Come in,’ Amy said. ‘What have you got?’
‘That intel on Damien Grimes you asked for. He’s got previous. Lots of it. A bit of a deviant by all accounts.’
Amy gestured at Paddy to take a seat, pushing an open packet of Werther’s Originals towards him. She may have tasked Molly with obtaining the intelligence, but as her sergeant, Paddy needed to be kept in the loop.
He slipped a toffee from its wrapping before popping it in his mouth. ‘We first came across him during a bust at a sex party where drugs were in use,’ he said, parking the toffee in his cheek. ‘He didn’t get done for anything, but his details were uploaded to Intel. He was only sixteen when it happened and not the youngest one there.’
‘He would have still been in care, wouldn’t he?’
Paddy nodded. ‘He was taken back to his foster home, but kept running away. There’s intel on him making a nuisance of himself with schoolgirls in particular, and he’s had previous for drugs and petty crime.’
Amy thumbed through the report. ‘He was found in possession of Rohypnol?’
‘Yup.’ Paddy nodded. ‘Hardly surprising, given his background.’
Amy had to stop herself physically wincing from his remark. It was a fair comment, and Paddy would never have said it if he had known the truth.
‘Really?’ she asked, unable to hold back the question on her lips. ‘Do you think if you’re born to serial killer parents you’re destined to turn out the same way?’
‘Maybe not destined, but those kids were bound to be messed up in the head. The stuff that went on in that house . . . it wasn’t just the murders, was it? There were sex parties, too. A lot of people came and went. Maybe Damien’s finding it hard to shake it off. It’s no excuse for what he’s done, but it’s there just the same.’
It is there, Amy thought, like a stain on his soul. And it made him a dangerous man. She thought of the times he defended Lillian, justifying her actions and acting like Amy was in the wrong. She turned the page, her heart sinking as she read the markers for his mental health.
‘I’ve been talking to Lillian Grimes. She’s hinted that Damien is in The Keepers of Truth.’
Paddy blew out his cheeks. ‘Bloody hell, dobbing in her own son? That’s a new low.’
Amy flushed. ‘She’s trying to make herself look good to probation. She doesn’t care who she hurts.’ The irony was not lost on her. She sipped her coffee, which had now turned cold. Any excuse to avert her gaze. In prison, Lillian had defended Damien, but as soon as his back was turned, she was ringing Amy, suggesting he was guilty as hell. More proof that she was toying with them. Amy almost felt sorry for him.
‘Makes sense, I suppose.’ Paddy rolled the sweet on his tongue. ‘I didn’t believe that rubbish in the papers about her seeing the light. People like that never do. But it seems a bit far-fetched to point the finger at her son.’
‘But does it?’ Amy asked, her eyes scanning the lines of text. ‘Look at his previous. Possession of a date-rape drug, a history of sexual offences and mental health issues to boot.’ Amy filled him in on details of her conversation with Lillian Grimes.
‘Best we go and lift him then,’ Paddy replied. It was not that simple, and they both knew it. A full arrest package would need to be put in place.
‘Don’t do a thing until I speak to the DCI. This needs to be handled with care.’
‘But you said yourself, we’ve got suspicion . . .’
Amy frowned. It was unlike her to be so indecisive, but the Grimes’s involvement in Hemmy’s case had tied her up in knots. ‘If we have him on a loose lead, we can keep track of his movements. He might bring us straight to her. Then we’ve got all the evidence we need.’
‘Good luck with getting a surveillance team together. Our budget is stretched as it is.’
Amy knew that more than anyone. ‘Which is why I need to speak to Pike.’
‘Maybe you can tap his phone line while you’re at it,’ Paddy replied. ‘But I’m not holding my breath.’
Amy’s jaw tightened. Thoughts of officers listening to his calls made her blood run cold. Lillian was not averse to ringing her. What if Damien did too? Time was running out. But it wasn’t just herself she was worried about. It was the allegations against her father too.
‘Lillian could be just getting off on the attention. As for Damien: you can’t help the family you’re born into. We can’t automatically suspect him just because of that.’
‘Whatever you say, guv’nor,’ Paddy said, tipping an imaginary hat.
‘Best we keep this locked down until we come up with a strategy. The last thing we need is to set people galloping off in the wrong direction.’ Amy glanced up at the corners of her ceiling, instinctively checking for spiders. Would she ever be free of the past?
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Hemmy felt her captor’s eyes burning through her back long before she turned around. She groaned, blinking her one good eye. Her left was almost sealed shut. Her kidnapper’s fist had felt like an iron bar as
it made contact with her face. Through searing pain, a hundred sparks exploded in her vision as he pinned her back on the bed. ‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’ he had rasped. Panting, he bound her wrists, before pressing a clear plastic mask over her face. Fear immobilised her limbs and scattered her thoughts. What would become of her now? Through muffled sobs she had inhaled, grateful for the darkness that overtook her, as the boat creaked and swayed beneath her weight.
Consciousness brought a renewed sense of danger. Had Purdy got away? It was a minor victory but a welcome one. She remembered the tiny bell on her collar tinkling as she ambled through the cage door. Hemmy had insisted on it, to warn the birds inhabiting their back garden. Also on her collar was a tiny silver tube containing her home address. A tiny spark of hope ignited within her. If nothing else, at least her pet was free to start again. She shuffled on the bed, the scent of her own sweat competing with the stench of urine still lingering in the air.
Sitting on the upturned bucket, her silent companion watched, the scalpel protruding from his gloved hands. Today he was dressed differently, baggy clothes further disguising his form. The black latex gas mask served the double purpose of keeping his identity secret and frightening Hemmy to the core.
She blinked, praying for an ounce of sympathy, anything that would keep her alive.
‘Sorry,’ she croaked, before clearing her throat. ‘I just want to go home. Can you untie me? Please?’
Shaking his head, her kidnapper almost unbalanced himself as a sudden wave made the boat bob.
Hemmy narrowed her good eye. There was something clumsy about his movements. Something that told her he had not done this before. During her escape, he had been taken aback and, just before punching her, she noticed that he had stalled his fist mid-air. These were not the actions of a seasoned criminal. He was nervous. Yet she sensed impending danger just the same.
‘I need the toilet,’ she said, her voice growing stronger. ‘Untie me. Please.’
Another raking breath as he looked from her to the blade. ‘Hemmy disobeyed the rules. Purdy has gone. Now Hemmy’s got to go.’
‘What do you mean, I’ve got to go?’ Hemmy said, her heartbeat picking up.
‘Hemmy wouldn’t listen,’ he replied simply, in a dark tone.
‘Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone.’ Tears pricked Hermione’s eyelids, stinging her bruised socket. ‘I won’t say a word.’
Rising from the bucket, her captor gripped the scalpel.
‘Please don’t hurt me,’ Hemmy cried, hope evaporating as she yanked at her bindings. ‘I won’t say anything. Please.’
With a hint of longing, the kidnapper sighed through his mask, giving her one last glance before walking out the door. The sound of the bolt being pulled across brought a terrifying sense of finality. Boat timbers groaned, as if in warning. They were going to leave her here to rot. Overhead, footsteps creaked. With her good eye, she peered at the end of the bed. There was no sandwich, no drink. The bucket was left upside down. Even the wipes had not been replenished. Her time here had come to an end.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
‘Cheers.’ Amy raised her gin and tonic and chinked it against Paddy’s pint. She hoped that a drink at The Ladbroke Arms would encourage him to open up. Just a stone’s throw from the police station, on a quiet residential road, the cosy local was furnished with pretty swinging baskets and a traditional wooden bar. She used to meet her father here and, even now, she half expected him to walk in through the door. With some effort, she returned her focus to Paddy. She knew she was being hypocritical, expecting him to confide in her when her own personal life was off limits, but it felt good to spend time out of the station and it was a respite from what was going on at home.
‘It’s good to get out,’ Amy said, voicing her thoughts. ‘After the week I’ve had, I’m running on fumes.’
Paddy stared into his pint. His features creased, his inner struggle evident on his face.
Seconds passed as she waited for a response. ‘Are things that tough at home?’
The depth of Paddy’s sigh provided her with the answer. ‘This needs to be a conversation as friends, not colleagues,’ he said.
‘Why, have you murdered someone?’ Amy joked, toying with a beer mat.
‘No, but . . . it’s personal.’
‘Is this you telling me where your bruises have come from? That burn on the back of your neck?’
Paddy nodded before knocking back a mouthful of beer.
Amy squeezed his arm, an uncharacteristic show of physical contact. ‘Whatever’s going on, we can sort this.’
His shoulders heavy, Paddy sipped his pint. ‘I’ve dealt with victims of domestic abuse before. All these years, I’ve never put myself in the same category.’
‘Lots of men are victims,’ Amy said sadly. ‘Far too many, in fact.’
Glasses clinked in the background as a group of revellers at the bar raised a toast. The atmosphere felt strangely cheery, at odds with their conversation. ‘Up until now, I’ve always believed it was my fault,’ Paddy said. ‘You know I lost a daughter, don’t you?’
Amy nodded.
‘Geraldine . . . she blames me. The thing is, she has good reason to.’ Paddy raised a hand as Amy opened her mouth to speak. ‘If I hadn’t bought her that bike . . .’ He hung his head. ‘Christ.’ He exhaled. ‘Of all the people, I never thought I’d tell you.’
‘That’s because you know I’ll give it to you straight. I’ll tell you what to do and insist that you do it.’
‘I think that’s what I need right now.’ A faraway look crossed his face as he smoothed his penguin tie. ‘You know, I wear these in her memory. She loved them, the sillier the better. She was such a sweet girl . . .’ His eyes moistened, and he took a steadying sip of his drink. ‘It’s daft, but I still can’t talk about her without welling up.’
‘It’s not daft when you’ve lost the centre of your world,’ Amy said. ‘As coppers, we’re expected to get over things, push trauma aside. But we’re not robots. Grief is a pain like no other, especially when you lose someone at such an early age.’ Amy spoke with an authority that made Paddy narrow his eyes. She caught his glance and responded with a cramped smile. That would have to be a conversation for later.
‘It happened on a summer evening,’ Paddy said, staring into his pint. ‘It was nine o’clock but still bright. I’d taken the stabilisers off Suzy’s bike and she begged me to bring her down the road before bed. She’d been waiting all day. The missus . . . she hated the outdoors, even then. She said it was too late and we should wait until tomorrow . . . If only I’d listened.’ Pausing, he cleared his throat. ‘I promised Geraldine I’d make Suzy ride on the path and wear her protective gear.’
Behind them, a burst of laughter erupted from the group at the bar. Paddy didn’t notice. His thoughts were in the past.
‘I remember her giggling as she cycled ahead of me, the roads slippery from the rain. She kept peddling faster and I shouted at her to slow down. But then she came to a bend and I couldn’t see her anymore.’ His eyes filled with tears, he inhaled a shuddering breath. ‘I called her . . . God I wish I hadn’t called her . . .’
‘Keep going,’ Amy said firmly. As painful as it was, she knew he needed to finish it. To allow the pain an outlet.
‘She looked around, came off the pavement in front of an oncoming car. The driver had been drinking, a family dinner apparently . . . didn’t realise how much they’d had.’ Paddy closed his eyes as the memory came into view. ‘It flipped her up in the air like a rag doll. And when she hit the ground she was dead.’
‘You’re nearly there. Keep going,’ Amy said softly, her glass growing warm as she cupped it in her hand.
Paddy nodded, his chin trembling from the effort of swallowing back his tears. ‘Geraldine blamed me for everything. She was right, of course, it was all my fault. The driver served time. She had kids of her own. So many lives ruined because of my stupidity. It ended our marriage.’
&
nbsp; ‘But you stayed together?’
A crooked smile was offered. ‘I couldn’t leave. Geraldine’s agoraphobia worsened, leaving her permanently trapped inside. All we did was argue. When I stopped listening she turned to violence to get my attention.’ Paddy lifted the pint glass to his lips and drained the last of his drink. ‘She said she’d kill herself if I tried to leave. So, we came to an agreement. I’d flat share with a colleague near work and go home a couple of days a week. But each time I went back, things got worse.’
Amy raised her eyebrows as she waited for an explanation. Paddy was putting her in a difficult situation. By providing her with details of physical assaults, she was duty bound to look into it.
‘I won’t go into detail,’ Paddy said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Criminalising her won’t help.’
‘How many bruises do we justify because we love the person doling them out?’ Amy said, her voice low. It was something she’d heard a victim once say. Someone who had learned to be strong.
‘I became very good at hiding it.’ Paddy took a deep breath. ‘The thing is . . . I’ve met someone else. She’s kind, caring . . .’
‘Not another copper?’ Amy frowned, trying to work out who it could be.
‘No . . . not at all. Her name’s Elaine. She’s a nurse in a private hospital not far from here.’
‘Been offering you a bit of TLC, has she?’ It was good to lighten the mood, if only for a second or two.
‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Winter.’ Paddy’s smile lingered on his lips before fading away. ‘It’s time to divorce Geraldine. But what right do I have to start again?’
‘Come on now, Paddy, this isn’t your fault.’ Amy paused to sip her gin. ‘Is this what Suzy would want? For you to be battered, beaten and burnt?’
Paddy shook his head.
‘You know how this is going to end if you stay. Escalating violence has only one way to go.’ Pushing her empty glass aside, Amy picked up her bag from the floor. Flipping it open, she pulled out a notepad and pen.
Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1) Page 21