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

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘All the way from his workplace to Hermione’s house and then over to India Docks?’ She folded her arms. She could tell by Pike’s expression that she was barely tolerating her presence as it was. ‘And why Hermione? Her mother’s very protective of her home life. How would Damien know about her, much less where she lives?’

  ‘We’ve got a possible connection to that Facebook group for starters . . .’ She raised her hand as Amy attempted to interrupt. Amy knew the hashtag had changed. It now read #FindHermione #OneDayLeft #TickTock.

  ‘But if that’s not enough for you, we have a further statement from Tessa, too. She’s admitted to using a dating app on her phone last year. Well, when I say dating . . .’ Pike snorted, her eyebrows raised. ‘It’s basically for hook-ups. No-strings sex.’

  Amy’s mouth fell open at the revelation. She had not expected this. ‘She brought strangers back to the house? While Hermione was there?’

  Pike shook her head. ‘Only when she was on sleepovers with friends. She did it two, three times. Had sex and then kicked them out. She was so drunk at the time she doesn’t remember their descriptions, much less their names.’

  ‘That’s so dangerous . . .’ Amy replied. No wonder she had been slow in coming forward. Their Family Liaison Officer must have pried the words from her mouth. ‘Still, you said it was a year ago . . .’

  ‘Enough time for one of them to plan and execute a kidnap attempt.’

  ‘Malcolm was telling me about this case.’ Amy changed tack, unwilling to give up on her theory just yet. ‘The ghost rapes of Bolivia. Women used to wake up with blood and semen stains on their sheets, with no memory of the night before. Then police discovered that some of the townsmen had leaked gas into their rooms to make them sleep.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, Tessa Parker was a more than willing participant.’ Pike’s expression hardened as she bit into her fruit. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’

  ‘I’m sure she was, but I’m talking about Hermione and the gas we found on the boat. The person who manufactured the sedative in Bolivia was a vet. Damien’s unlikely to know about things like that.’ Amy voiced her thoughts as they came to mind. ‘Damien’s evaded arrest plenty of times. Would he really put his name on the lease of the boat? I’ve been investigating links with medical professionals . . .’

  ‘Damien Grimes is a deviant, just like the rest of his family, and they can be very inventive when they need to be.’ Pike took another bite of her apple.

  Amy regarded her coolly, refusing to rise to the bait, but deep within her was an angry little girl who wanted to ram the damn apple down her throat. ‘There’s no need to take me off the case. Apart from my DNA, I have no connection to Damien Grimes.’

  ‘Really?’ Pike arched an eyebrow as she chewed. ‘I seem to recollect you meeting up with him for tea not very long ago. And it’s not as if you’ve made any great breakthroughs. A new set of eyes is what this investigation needs.’

  ‘No breakthroughs? Are you kidding me? I gave you Lillian’s last three victims.’

  ‘And now I understand why she was so keen to comply. This has all worked out rather nicely for her, wouldn’t you say? She has you to thank for the appeal.’

  Amy rose from her chair, her jaw rigid. ‘Are you punishing me? Or are you just grieving for my father? Because I’m grieving, too.’

  ‘I have work to do,’ Pike replied, a knot forming between her brows. ‘And it’s best you leave before you cross the line.’

  ‘But, ma’am, I have a theory . . .’ Amy said, using her title a little too late.

  ‘Put it in an email.’ Rising, Pike rested her apple core on the desk and opened the office door to see Amy out. Her expression tightened as she caught the look of defiance in Amy’s eyes. It was only there because Amy wanted her to see it. The women stood head to head, Pike with her hand on the door.

  ‘Remember what I said, Winter? You’re either with me or you’re in my way. I expect you to support this arrest.’

  ‘I would agree with you . . .’ Amy said tersely. ‘But then we’d both be wrong. Now if you excuse me, I’ve got some enquiries to make.’

  Turning on her heel, Amy marched down the corridor, her mind racing ahead. She had knocked on Pike’s door for advice and been dismissed like a petulant child. #Onedayleft. The hashtag was branded on her brain with a digital clock counting backwards at frightening speed. She had less than twenty-four hours to find Hemmy and bring her home alive. The more she thought about her hunch, the more her instinct screamed to follow it up. But after what had happened with Dougie, could she ever trust herself again? She had believed him when he said he was going to hand himself in. Now he was dead. Today she had a new suspect in her sights. But what if she was wrong?

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  In truth, if Amy had enough belief in her hunch, then she would not have left Pike’s office so soon. But there seemed something ludicrous about her suspicions. It was so ridiculous that she had to check it out for herself before telling anyone else. Where was their motivation? There was a time when she would have listed the validity of her suspicions and ticked off each bullet point. She may even have crossed the suspect’s name off her list. But the last couple of weeks had taught her that not everything was so easily figured out. Particularly people, who could surprise you when you expected it the least. Which was why she had followed her suspect to work today.

  The fact they were dressed in black raised another flag of suspicion. As she watched them furtively sneak into the plant entrance, that flag turned red. The hospital was a large building, housing many patients. Privately owned, its occupants were afforded the very best of care. But something told Amy her suspect was not there to comfort patients. As they swung the rucksack upon their back, it was obvious they were up to no good. Just the same, she held off calling for backup, dialling Paddy’s number instead. Had she been wrong about her suspect and called the police, there would be hell to pay.

  ‘Yes?’ Paddy replied, his tone strident.

  ‘Hello, my little ray of pitch black. Everything all right?’ Amy tried to hide her concerns. If this lead turned out to be nothing, she could not afford to look like a fool.

  Paddy sighed. ‘I feel like my head’s going to come off. Damien Grimes has gone AWOL, and now I’m being told that Pike is the SIO. What happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Amy replied, figuring that now may not be the best time to ask for his help after all. ‘Are you sure that’s all that’s wrong?’ It was unlike Paddy to get in a flap over his caseload: his relaxed attitude to work usually drove her mad. There was a pause before he continued, and she could hear the sound of a closing door.

  ‘It’s Elaine, my girlfriend,’ Paddy said. ‘She’s left me.’

  ‘Oh, Paddy, I’m sorry,’ Amy said. She was about to say more when he interrupted her.

  ‘I told her about Geraldine last night over dinner, but the thing is . . . she already knew.’

  Now it was Amy’s turn to sigh. At least he was at work, which was the safest place to be. Her suspect had darted into the rear of the building, and she was losing precious seconds. ‘I can’t talk right now. Can I speak to you later?’

  In the background, a voice demanded Paddy’s attention. ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you when you get back. We’re working on an interview plan.’

  After putting her phone on silent, Amy shoved it into her pocket and got out of the car. She would have to do this alone. She crept past the chain-link fence, her shoes squelching on the muddy path. The fact that the gate had been left open suggested that her suspect was planning to be speedy. Gazing left and right, she scanned for CCTV cameras, but this part of the building was yet to benefit from the security measures in place for its more modern counterpart. The slate-grey building housed generators, heating and plumbing, and her suspect had no reason to be there. Silently, she hurried down the weed-infested path and through the back door, which had been left slightly ajar. Stepping into the murky corrid
or, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of engine oil and machinery fumes. She would have to quicken her steps if she hoped to catch up. Blinking, she accustomed her eyes to the dimness, the glow of the late afternoon sun barely visible through dirt-stained windows high on the wall. Amy strained for sounds, her heartbeat thundering as blood and adrenaline pulsed through her veins. It was hard to believe they were in central London, although the sound of the underground station served as a reminder as a tube train rumbled from below. Stilling her movements, she strained to hear footsteps and followed them to the end of the corridor.

  She paused at a half-open door. Slowly, she unclipped a pouch on her shoulder harness and released her baton from its belt. She flicked it open, and the Asp extended fully in her hand. She took comfort from its weight as she flexed her fingers around the handle. Peering into the darkness, Amy felt four years old all over again.

  With each step inside, Amy’s eyes crept around her, just as they had in her basement all those years ago: to the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling; to the boxes stored against the walls. ‘Hemmy?’ she whispered. But instead of scratching, she could hear the gentle clanking of chains. Muggy heat vibrated from plant machinery, making her tense as it emitted a hiss of steam. In the distance, another low rumble from below made the ceiling vibrate, speckling dust in her hair. It did not seem to disturb the many spiders hanging from their nests. Amy felt herself visibly shrink. Get a grip, she thought. Her steps measured, she held her Asp above her shoulder. A noise from the end of the building made her squint into the distance. Turning on the lights would only notify her suspect that she was here.

  It was all too perfect. The gate left open, the door left unlocked. She had followed her suspect into the bowels of this building with nothing but her equipment to keep her safe. Amy was walking into a trap. She was about to take a step back when she heard moaning from the far corner of the room.

  ‘Hermione,’ she whispered, peering into the darkness. ‘Are you there?’ A memory rose of a sudden scratching noise from a chest in the corner. Her hamster . . . Amy’s heart faltered. Hammy. What were the odds of that? She was reliving that day all over again. Except Sally-Ann would not come tapping down the steps to save her. This time, she was on her own. This time she could put things right.

  Gripping her baton, she followed the clink of chains drawing her in. With her free hand, she slid her phone from her pocket, the backlight stinging her eyes. No signal. She needed to get to high ground, call for backup, but Hermione could be dying down here. She could not leave her alone.

  Another moan, growing louder as Amy approached. And then she saw her: a bruised and battered figure huddled in the corner, connected by chains to a pipe. Amy’s footsteps echoed as she raced towards her. But all too late, she saw Hermione’s eyes flash a warning. The glint of a blade edged Amy’s vision, blinding pain filling her senses as it sliced into her skin.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  He watched Amy creep down the stairs, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. From his vantage point, he worked out it would take three minutes for her to reach Hemmy. Three minutes to confront him for what he had done.

  He hated the way Hemmy cringed when he touched her. As if he would ever abuse her in that way. He was no rapist or paedophile. His actions were necessary and just. He remembered the first time he saw her, how the light reflected on her blonde hair. Such a pretty girl, with a caring nature; but beauty and charm did not protect you from a brutal world. He had been careful to hide his identity and imagined her gratitude when he ‘rescued’ her after the three days were up. But now his plan had come apart at the seams – thanks to that Winter bitch. He had caught the spark of suspicion in her eyes when they last met. The detective had figured it out, and too late, she had come looking for him.

  For a while it had worked, securing an appeal for Lillian Grimes. Prison was no place for her, and he could not wait to see her when she was released. But liberating Lillian was only half the plan. Three days, that’s all it was meant to be. Three days in Hemmy’s company, keeping her safe and watching her sleep. But somewhere along the line it all went dangerously wrong. He was not a violent man, but what choice did he have? He was not going to prison. Things could still go to plan, but not while Amy Winter was alive.

  He watched as she negotiated the corridor, slightly crouched, her police baton drawn. She was toned but short in stature. He had the advantage over her. Having grown used to the dark, it was second nature to him now. Slowly and without sound he pulled on the gas mask, gently picking up the rucksack he had brought. The small white canister peeped out from the top. This one was marked in red letters. DANGER. It would drag her into a sleep from which she would never wake. Amy was the loose thread in his plan. Once she was removed, everything else would fall into place. Tugging on the mask, he found comfort in the rubbery smell. Silently, he crept towards her, holding his breath as he drew near. He slid the scalpel from his inside pocket and gripped it in his right hand. Every plan needed a backup. He would slit her throat if it came to it. It would be worth it if it meant setting Lillian free. Nothing would come between him and his goal.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  As the scalpel pierced through her skin, Amy cried out in pain. She had glimpsed her attacker barely seconds before he struck. Swiftly, he disarmed her, slicing her flesh. Her pulse pounding, she stemmed her bleeding forearm. A small stream of blood trickled through her fingers and dripped steadily to the floor.

  ‘I wouldn’t,’ her suspect said as she moved to release her incapacitant spray from her harness.

  Dropping his left shoulder, he shrugged off his rucksack and slid it to the floor. ‘Don’t be fooled by its size,’ he said, sliding out the canister peeping out from the top of the bag. ‘This contains enough poison to kill you both. Now throw me your harness.’ Still holding the scalpel, he kicked her baton away. Skittering into the darkness, it flew into the far corner, rebounding against a metal pipe with a clang.

  Amy considered her options as she diverted her gaze to Hermione. Lying on the floor tethered by a length of chain, her face was streaked with sweat. Even without her bindings, it was clear she was in no fit state to get to her feet. Barely conscious, her eyes blinked open as she softly mewed in pain. If Amy was right about her suspect, it would be beyond him to kill such a defenceless young girl. Especially one only three years older than his own sister was when she died. She could talk her way out of this. She had to. Slowly, Amy raised her palms. Blood dripped down towards her elbow, streaking her shirt in jagged red paths. She gritted her teeth. It may be a surface wound, but it stung like hell.

  ‘Relax,’ she said, doing her best to sound calm. ‘I’m here to help. She needs a doctor. Why don’t you let me . . .’ Walking backwards, she approached the young girl.

  ‘Stay where you are.’ The man’s words rattled through the mask. He was bigger than Amy, but she had encountered far worse than John Thompson in her career.

  ‘She’s innocent, just like your sister. Please, John, take your mask off and call for an ambulance. She needs our help.’

  Hemmy’s eyes fluttered open a second time, her lips parting as she heard her captor’s name.

  ‘I’m not John,’ he replied angrily, sucking in a harsh breath. ‘I’m Damien Grimes. He . . . I set this all up.’

  ‘You’re a good few inches taller than Damien,’ Amy said, looking over her shoulder. ‘And he’s in custody as far as I know.’ Placing her palm on Hermione’s forehead, she winced at the fiery heat of her skin. The eerie rattle of the gas mask grew louder as John advanced. In order to get them both out of here, Amy had to shatter his plans. She also had to pretend she didn’t view him as a threat. Both were a lie. Now she could see that John had been trying to set Damien up all along.

  ‘You’re no murderer,’ Amy said. ‘You’re a vet. Hardly the type to kill someone in cold blood.’ But he was the sort of person to write hundreds of letters to Lillian in prison. It wasn’t Gladys who had been harassing Lillian Grimes
for years; John was behind it all. I could paper my cell walls with the letters, Lillian had said. It was only when Amy read them for herself that her concerns grew. Vicious and nasty, they wished a slow torturous death on the woman who had killed his sister. On the few times that Gladys did write, it was to say she forgave Lillian for her sins. Both he and his mother had been victims in all of this. That’s what put Amy off all along. Why would he want Lillian set free?

  John raised his voice to be heard through the mask. ‘You don’t know me.’

  Despite the weird acoustics, Amy could easily make his words out. ‘It got me wondering when you used her nickname. Only close friends and family call her Hemmy. It made me see you in a different light.’ She glanced back at the young girl, who was struggling to keep conscious. ‘Why help Lillian though?’ Amy returned her attention to her advancing attacker. She needed to keep him talking. Lure him into a false sense of security as she worked out her next move. ‘After everything your poor mother went through. And what she did to your sister . . . dumping her in that freezer without any remorse. Why would you want Lillian freed?’

  ‘I don’t want to help her.’ John’s words were torn now, etched with pain. ‘I want to kill her. Prison is too good for the likes of Lillian Grimes. She deserves a slow, painful death, with her remains scattered in a rubbish pit.’

  Amy noted the present tense. He had not abandoned his plans. He would take her here, into the basement of the animal hospital and make her pay for what she had done. ‘And you befriended Damien through Facebook?’

  John did not deny her theory. ‘For hours he used to bang on about his mum, and how the police set her up. I wanted that bitch freed, so I could sort her out myself.’

  Amy stiffened as a sudden expulsion of steam caused the pipe behind her to hiss. Now it made sense. After kidnapping Hermione, John joined The Keepers group and used it as leverage to reopen Lillian’s case. It served a double purpose: setting Damien up for the kidnapping and giving Lillian a taste of her own medicine when she was free.