The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2)

by Caroline Mitchell

  PRAISE FOR CAROLINE MITCHELL

  ‘For me, this book had everything – an excellent police procedural with tension, pace and a compelling storyline. With the added psychological element, there was nothing more I could have asked for.’

  —Angela Marsons

  ‘Fast-paced, twisty, and chilled me to the bone . . . I loved every minute of it!’

  —Robert Bryndza

  ‘The writer’s conflicted heroine and twisted villain are superb characters.’

  —The Sunday Express magazine

  ‘Heart-thumping moments that left me desperate to read more.’

  —The Book Review Café

  ‘The very definition of a page-turner.’

  —John Marrs

  ‘The tension built up and up . . . I devoured every page.’

  —Mel Sherratt

  ‘With her police officer experience, Caroline Mitchell is a thriller writer who knows how to deliver on plot, character, and most importantly, emotion in any book she writes. I can’t wait to read more.’

  —My Weekly magazine

  ALSO BY CAROLINE MITCHELL

  The DI Amy Winter Series

  Truth and Lies

  Individual Works

  Paranormal Intruder

  Witness

  Silent Victim

  The DC Jennifer Knight Series

  Don’t Turn Around

  Time to Die

  The Silent Twin

  The Ruby Preston Series

  Death Note

  Sleep Tight

  Murder Game

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2019 by Caroline Mitchell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503905023

  ISBN-10: 1503905020

  Cover design by Tom Sanderson

  This book is dedicated to my readers, who enable me to have the best job in the world.

  CONTENTS

  START READING

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ‘There are no secrets that time does not reveal.’

  Jean Racine

  PROLOGUE

  The intruder’s eyes roved over the little girl’s form. How safe she must feel, asleep in her lavish room. How protected. A rumble of hatred rolled from within. The kidnapper’s thoughts were dark, consuming all in their path. He could almost sense his brain pulsating, tormented by years of reflection that offered no relief.

  Walking his fingers over the dressing table, he took in the luxurious surroundings. His eyes fell on the varnished wooden rocking horse with its real mane and tail. To the sheepskin rug splayed on the carpeted floor. Opening the wardrobe door, he touched the little girl’s clothes. Felt the bile rise in his throat. A rabbit-skin hat, a fur-lined coat – ripped off the backs of innocent creatures. The suffering of animals did not bother the occupants of this household.

  The same could be said for human pain. The crackle of flames from downstairs infiltrated his consciousness, reminding him of the urgency of his task.

  ‘Who are you?’ Ellen blinked as she woke to find him standing at the end of her bed. Moonlight seeped through her bedroom window, providing enough visibility for her to make out his outline.

  ‘Shh,’ he said, briefly pressing a finger to his lips. ‘It’s a secret.’

  ‘Are you the bogeyman?’ the little girl asked, sitting upright. Her mouth fell open, her tongue gliding over her front teeth.

  The man smiled. She was precocious, unafraid. So unlike other girls her age. Raised in a bubble, four-year-old Ellen was protected from the world and unaware of the dangers she faced . . . until now. Swiping her blonde curls from her eyes, she squinted for a better look.

  ‘The house is on fire,’ he said. ‘We need to leave.’ Taking her glasses from the bedside table, he passed them to her, unable to disguise the shake in his hand. Despite all the planning, he could not believe he was here. Could he go through with it? It was too late to back out now.

  Ellen sniffed as she slipped her glasses on. Most children would rush from their beds, their hearts beating wildly at the announcement of such news. But not Ellen. She was different, just like him.

  An acrid smell filtered through the bedroom window, endorsing the validity of his warning.

  ‘Time to go,’ he whispered, gently pulling back her feather duvet. ‘It’s not safe here anymore.’ He was dressed in black, his eyes a void of nothingness, his scarf and hat hiding much of his face. Not that anyone would find him. He was a dead man, after all.

  ‘Where’s Mummy and Daddy?’ Ellen asked, her blue eyes cartoonishly big behind her thick spectacles.

  ‘They’re safe.’ The words grated on his lips. If it were up to him, he would have taken the child without saying a word,
but providing reassurance was the best way of keeping her calm. Sweat laced his forehead, his muscles tense as adrenaline raced through his veins. Time was running out, his stress levels were rising and making him twitch. ‘We need to go. Now.’ Leaning forward, he scooped her up. The time for persuasion was over.

  The fire he’d lit had caused a diversion, sending the babysitter spiralling into panic downstairs. Nobody saw him slip out the side door with the child in his arms. It wouldn’t stop there. He was on a mission. Soon more children would be silently taken from their homes. Thoughts of justice finally being served spurred him onwards and he deposited the child in the back seat of the rented car.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Ellen said as he strapped her in.

  ‘On an adventure. Now be quiet. I need to concentrate.’ He could not afford for his migraine to return. When pain closed in, sanity took a back seat and his actions were driven by a stronger force. The scream of sirens cut through the night, hastening his movements as he jumped into the driver’s seat. Starting the car, he floored the accelerator and gravel rattled against the undercarriage as he sped away.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ruler in hand, Amy stretched on to her toes as she tried to reach the block of yellow Post-it notes on the top shelf. Cursing her choice of clothing, she checked over her shoulder before nudging the ruler into the depths of the shelf. She groaned. If she had worn her trouser suit instead of her pencil skirt, then she could have jumped on to her desk and grabbed them before being seen. Such hiding places were necessary, as Post-it notes were like gold dust now the admin department had declined her requests for more.

  ‘Gotcha!’ she exclaimed as she shot the stack of notes off the shelf. But her triumph was short-lived as she caught sight of her DCI ducking to avoid the yellow missile zooming across the room.

  ‘Not the warmest of welcomes,’ Pike said, picking up the block of stationery from Amy’s office floor. At least, Amy liked to call it an office. In truth, it was half the size of DCI Pike’s, which was on the floor above and had a much better view of the streets below. Amy’s space gave her just enough room to fit in a ridiculously high bookcase, a battered filing cabinet, two swivel chairs and her desk.

  Dressed in a grey trouser suit, DCI Pike put her frown lines to good use as she glared in Amy’s direction. Her brunette hair was lighter than Amy’s, cut into a short choppy style that did little to soften her harsh expression.

  ‘Sorry, ma’am.’ Amy blushed, depositing the Post-it notes in her desk drawer. They would hide there, along with other goodies such as highlighter pens, rulers and a diary for the year ahead. Planning was important, as far as Amy was concerned, although lately her life had taken a disturbing deviation from the routine. ‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she asked, curious about the sudden visit.

  Amy’s relationship with DCI Pike had been tenuous since their last falling-out. These days, she felt she was on a knife edge every time they were alone. Today was no exception.

  ‘A job has come in,’ Pike said, wasting no time in explaining her presence. ‘It’s high-profile and to be handled with care.’

  ‘Sounds right up my street,’ Amy replied, standing behind her desk. ‘Tell me more.’ Amy was well known in the force for her uncanny gift for dealing with sinister minds. Only recently had she discovered where her insights originated from, having closed the door on her past at an early age. But now the door had been ripped off its hinges, her darkest memories squirming as the truth leaked free. She would use them to her best advantage. Help people who could not help themselves.

  The truth was so horrific that she had not yet gone public with the news. Up until the age of four, Amy had been raised by serial killers known as the ‘Beasts of Brentwood’. It was a blessing her adoptive parents Robert and Flora Winter had taken her in. Having recently met her biological brothers and sisters, it was clear that Amy had been the lucky one.

  All her life, she had compartmentalised her ugly past. But since reuniting with her biological sister, Sally-Ann, she had been bombarded with nightmares of their time in the Grimes family home. She needed to create new, happier memories, and integrate her sister into her present-day life, if she had any hope of moving on.

  ‘Have you heard of Dr Hugh Curtis?’ DCI Pike had the voice of someone who had smoked all her life.

  Amy tilted her head to one side. ‘The name rings a bell. Is he famous?’

  Pike’s eyes rested on the framed photo of Amy’s adoptive father, Superintendent Robert Winter, which was on display on the desk. For a split second, the DCI’s grief at his loss was laid bare.

  ‘Yes,’ Pike said, taking a sharp breath to compose herself. ‘He’s just been awarded an OBE.’

  Amy nodded. Whatever the job was, it would be perfect for her team, which had been formed to deal with high-priority cases that were bound to hit the press. ‘What have we got?’

  ‘Child abduction. Dr Curtis and his wife were at a charity do and their four-year-old, Ellen, was taken from her bedroom. She was in the care of their babysitter. It looks like whoever’s responsible lit a fire to cause a diversion.’

  ‘Four-year-old?’ Amy said, feeling her throat constrict. ‘Really? I’ve not seen anything in the news.’

  Upon waking every morning, she checked the newspapers for the latest headlines. Crimes against children hit her hardest of all.

  ‘The fire authorities alerted us to the arson. We knew nothing of Ellen’s disappearance until her grandmother reported it today.’

  A short burst of laughter sounded from outside the office. It was DC Molly Baxter. Amy would recognise the shrillness of her giggle anywhere. But a sharp glance from DCI Pike through the window put an end to any joviality.

  ‘She’s happy in her work.’ Amy smiled, but Pike’s expression told her it had been a long time since she’d equated police work with enjoyment. Amy folded her arms across her chest, warding off the chill that had crept into the room. ‘Why didn’t Ellen’s parents report her missing?’

  Neglectful parents were one of Amy’s bugbears. Discovering the truth about her own biological parents had impacted every aspect of her life.

  ‘That’s what I want you to find out,’ Pike replied.

  ‘Do you think Ellen’s abduction is a front for something darker?’ When it came to crimes against children, quite often the perpetrator was known to the victim, be it a friend, a relative or someone closer to home. ‘Could her parents be hiding something?’

  ‘Possible, but doubtful.’ DCI Pike shifted from one foot to the other. She had yet to take a seat, and although the backs of Amy’s legs were tiring she mirrored Pike, remaining rigid in her stance. Even now, her competitive streak came into play.

  Pike continued: ‘Dr Curtis is an intelligent man. Had he set this up, he’d be more likely to act like any other worried parent and inform us straight away.’

  ‘Of course,’ Amy said, slightly embarrassed she had been slow to work this out. ‘Couldn’t Ellen have been scared of the fire and run away?’

  ‘Her grandmother is adamant she wouldn’t have – and, given Ellen’s age, I’m inclined to agree. The babysitter said she read her a bedtime story, and when she peeped in on her at nine she was fast asleep.’

  ‘Sounds like abduction all right,’ Amy said. ‘Her parents were reluctant to involve the police, which means they may have already been sent a ransom note.’

  ‘It’s looking that way.’ DCI Pike checked her watch. ‘You’ve been tagged as dealing with the incident. Keep me updated.’

  Numerous ideas jostled for Amy’s attention as her mind raced ahead. She would have loved to explore them with Pike as they both visited the scene. They were fortunate their roles allowed them more freedom than regular officers of their rank, but it was not something Pike seemed willing to take advantage of. ‘Office-bound,’ Paddy had once called her, and today Amy could see why. ‘Have statements been taken?’ she asked as Pike turned to leave.

  ‘Officers are at the scene now,’ she replied, her f
ingers curling around the door handle as if nothing would stop her leaving. She gave one last glance in Amy’s direction. ‘I’d like you to attend. You’ve got excellent insight into this sort of thing.’ She opened the door. ‘But remember, discretion is key.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Amy said, feeling a bolt of excitement at the thought of taking on such a big case. Early in her career, she had felt guilty for siphoning enjoyment from people’s misery. But she had come to accept that her heightened senses and her personal experiences helped her spot things other officers missed. Gazing at her father’s photo, she felt a swell of pride. Despite everything that had happened this year – her father’s death and her biological mother coming out of the woodwork – she had kept it together. Yes, there were times when Lillian came close to breaking her, and the battle between them was not over yet.

  Today, she was going to focus on the job ahead. She had a good team behind her: half a dozen officers with different personalities, each one carefully chosen for what they brought to the table. As they’d settled into a routine, they had all come to know each other’s little ways. It was beginning to feel like she was at the controls of a finely tuned machine. She had confidence in her team and trusted every one of them, even DC Steve Moss, who’d had a bumpy start but had worked hard to prove his worth. No two days in her job were the same. The role demanded everything she had to offer and more.

  ‘Molly, I want you to come with me,’ Amy said after bringing her team up to speed. ‘Guys, you know what to do. Get the ball rolling with background investigations, and if anything interesting comes up, then make me aware. Call me on my mobile rather than clogging up the airwaves.’ She paused, casting a determined gaze around the room. ‘We’re bringing Ellen home.’ Pulling on her jacket, she waited for Molly to sign out the keys of the unmarked car. She would not lose sight that the beating heart of the case was a missing four-year-old girl. A child victim herself, Amy understood the trauma and confusion that Ellen Curtis must be feeling. She had Jack and Lillian Grimes to thank for that.

  Amy was not alone in her suffering. Up until recently, the whole world had believed her older sister was another tragic victim, murdered by Jack and Lillian. The fact that Sally-Ann was their daughter added an extra layer of horror to an already gruesome case.