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

by Caroline Mitchell

  Above them, the wall clock brought with it a sense of impending doom as the minutes since Ellen’s kidnapping ticked away. The first twenty-four hours were crucial in any investigation and they were still playing catch-up, thanks to her parents’ failure to make the call. In the case of missing children, hope slipped away like sand in an egg timer the longer they were gone.

  Amy sighed, feeling a knot form between her shoulder blades. What she needed was a good punchbag session to chase the pain away. ‘Maybe Curtis’s ex-wife might be able to shed some light on things.’ It had been on her agenda to visit the first Mrs Curtis, Shirley, as soon as she could. ‘She goes by her maiden name of Shirley Baker now. Lives not far from here, in a flat on St Luke’s Road.’ Amy rose from her chair. ‘Are you all right to hold the fort if I pay her a quick visit?’

  ‘Sure. Hopefully you can find out what makes Dr Curtis tick.’

  As she left, Amy was struck with a deep sense of gratitude for the freedom granted in her job. It was good to escape the confines of her office in favour of a change of scene. Hers was not a traditional role. She still had the responsibility of managing the budget and overseeing the investigation but, luckily for her, DCI Pike enjoyed admin, often completing tasks Amy should have dealt with herself.

  A quick introduction and a flash of her warrant card were all it took to gain access to Shirley Baker’s flat. She was a statuesque woman, her wavy auburn hair tied high on her head with a scarf patterned with cherries. Amy stepped over the toys littering the hall as she followed the first Mrs Curtis through to the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,’ Amy said, having called ahead and explained the situation. ‘I wanted to check if you had any correspondence with your ex-husband with regard to your children.’ Shirley and Dr Curtis had a son and a daughter, and had been married for ten years before they divorced.

  ‘They’re all grown up now,’ Shirley replied. ‘I’m babysitting my grandchildren today. Do you need me to call them down? They’re watching television in my bedroom.’

  ‘No need to disturb them. Have you spoken to Dr Curtis recently?’

  Shirley nodded. ‘Briefly. It’s awful, what happened to Nicole.’

  Her words may have been sympathetic but Amy caught a hint of insincerity in her voice.

  ‘Have you received any unusual correspondence, noticed anything suspicious?’

  ‘I’d have called the police if I had,’ Shirley replied. Amy was satisfied with her answers for now. She glanced at the kettle as it whistled on the gas stove. It was ages since she’d seen an old-fashioned hob kettle, and it suited the quirky kitchen, which was decorated in a seventies style.

  ‘Would you like a cuppa?’ Shirley said, following her gaze. ‘I was just about to make one.’

  ‘I’d love a coffee. White, one sugar, thanks.’ Amy checked her watch, conscious of the time.

  She recalled one of the first tasks Paddy had insisted she learn. Back then, her tutor was not quizzing her on police procedures or her knowledge of the law. He was teaching her how to make a decent cuppa. Coffee she could manage, but her tea had tasted like day-old dishwater until Paddy took her to task. ‘You’ll either be offered or be making plenty of cuppas during your time in uniform,’ Paddy told her. ‘Take my advice – don’t accept a drink in a place where your feet stick to the floor. If you find something scummy floating on your coffee, it’s not cappuccino froth.’

  Amy gratefully took the coffee and, following Shirley’s lead, sat down at the round kitchen table. It seemed barely big enough to squeeze in a family, but property was at a premium in London and Shirley’s two-bedroom flat would come with a hefty price tag.

  Amy began with an open question in the hope of Shirley filling her in. ‘What do you know about what happened to Nicole?’

  ‘Only that she was poisoned. She didn’t deserve that.’ Shirley relayed what Amy already knew.

  ‘Do you feel your children are in danger?’ Amy observed her face for clues. But Shirley wasn’t wearing the guarded expression that had been evident on Nicole’s face.

  ‘You’re the police officer, you tell me.’

  ‘Nicole mentioned a Luka Volkov. Does the name ring any bells?’

  Shirley shrugged and played with a coaster. ‘My ex-husband worked with many people. I can’t remember them all.’

  ‘What makes you think they worked together?’

  ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Unless this Luka is a clothes designer. The only thing Nicole is interested in is fashion, make-up and shoes.’

  Shirley was obviously not a fan but, having seen a breakdown of Nicole’s shopping habits, Amy could hardly disagree. She sipped her coffee, steam rising from the mug as she gave herself a few seconds to think. ‘So you’ve never received any flowers or gifts that you can’t explain?’

  ‘I wish. The nearest I get to presents are the things my grandkids bring home from playschool.’

  Amy’s grip on the mug tightened. Was Shirley being deliberately obtuse? ‘How was your early relationship with Dr Curtis?’ she continued. ‘Did work ever interfere with your personal lives?’

  Shirley snorted. ‘Let’s put it this way – Hugh has little time for romance. He uses Mensa to find his conquests instead of dating apps.’

  ‘Really?’ Amy said. Nicole did not strike her as the academic type.

  ‘The man’s a sociopath. His only love is his work.’ A tinge of bitterness laced Shirley’s words. ‘Our children were nothing more than lab rats to him.’

  Amy frowned at her sudden change of mood. ‘You’re not serious.’

  Shirley cocked her head as a shriek emanated from a room above. Satisfied it was childish laughter, she sighed. ‘I suppose it’s why he latched on to Nicole. She was more pliable – I wouldn’t go along with his plans.’

  ‘And wife number two? What about her?’ Slipping out her pocket notebook, Amy scribbled down a few words as she listened intently to what Shirley had to say.

  ‘Paula was divorced as soon as he found out she was infertile. Watch yourself with him.’ Shirley threw her a wry smile. ‘If Nicole doesn’t recover, he’ll be on the hunt for wifey number four.’

  ‘You mentioned his plans,’ Amy said, refusing to be drawn into her domestics.

  Shirley’s smile faded as she relayed the events of the past. ‘Hugh’s aim was to boost brain power and concentration skills to give children the best start in life. Have you read his work?’

  Having no children of her own, Amy had never found the need. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s the official explanation you’ll find in his books.’ Shirley’s lips parted in a dark chuckle. ‘The truth is ugly, not fit for public consumption, and I’m in no position to rock the boat.’

  Amy gave her a knowing look. ‘Is he helping you out financially?’

  Shirley pursed her lips. It was answer enough.

  ‘Please,’ Amy said. ‘Off the record, if you like.’

  Amy’s words provided Shirley with enough reassurance to go on. ‘Hugh . . . he was blinkered by ambition. He put the kids in the institution through hell to get results.’ She paused to sip her coffee, her eyes glazing over as she revisited the past. ‘He locked them away for months, put them through a barrage of tests. Those dorms were nothing more than prison cells.’

  ‘But why? I don’t understand,’ Amy said, struggling to grasp it all.

  Shirley’s mouth eased into a sardonic smile. ‘Why does anyone do anything? For money, of course.’

  ‘Are you talking about the book deals? Television appearances? But those didn’t come until later on.’

  ‘You think he funded his lifestyle with a few book deals?’ Shirley said, then checked herself. Bit her bottom lip. ‘I’ve said too much. I’ve got no right to criticise him when he’s supported me all these years.’

  The melody of a children’s TV show carried down from upstairs. Amy imagined Shirley as a young wife, married to Dr Curtis in the early years. Her thoughts held a question. ‘You said
he treated your children like lab rats?’

  Shirley delivered a slight nod of the head, her eyes locked on her mug. ‘Sometimes he used a kind of skull cap, with sensors attached. It was going on for ages before I found out. My son came crying to me one day, saying he didn’t want to play Daddy’s secret game anymore. You can imagine how I felt. At first I thought . . . Well, it’s safe to say that all hell broke loose.’ She paused as she gathered her thoughts. ‘Hugh said it was for measuring brainwave activity. He made them wear it when they were doing their homework. I couldn’t believe he used his own children like that.’

  But it was all right to test other people’s kids? Amy shelved the thought as soon as it appeared. ‘Would your son be willing to speak to the police?’

  Shirley paused as another giggle erupted upstairs. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to his father. My daughter’s due back tonight, though. She’ll be happy to help you, I’m sure.’

  Amy nodded as Shirley continued speaking, making mental to-do notes.

  ‘I guess Nicole was prepared to sacrifice her child’s freedom in exchange for her lifestyle. But I don’t know . . . to deprive your child of a normal life is a terrible crime.’ Shirley cradled her coffee mug in her hands with a faraway look. ‘She approached me on the street a month ago, said that Hugh had some terrible secret. I told her I didn’t want to know.’

  ‘What kind of secret?’

  Shirley shrugged. ‘She was acting odd. Jittery. It’s bad enough she’s spending all my children’s inheritance . . .’ She cleared her throat. Lowering her mug, her eyes went to the clock on the wall. ‘I should get back to the kids. Can we continue this another time?’

  Amy glanced at a photo frame resting on a dresser in the kitchen. Pasta shells decorated the edges, pressed into putty then painted neon pink. The picture showed two blonde girls wearing wide smiles as they posed. ‘Ellen can’t be much older than your grandchildren. She must be terrified – if she’s still alive.’ But Amy’s efforts at emotional manipulation fell on deaf ears.

  ‘I’ve told you everything I know.’ Shirley rose from her chair, waiting for Amy to do the same.

  Amy sighed. At least she had got a small insight into Shirley’s past life. ‘Thanks for the coffee. We’ll be in touch.’

  ‘He’s not a good man,’ Shirley continued as she followed her to the front door, ‘but he didn’t hurt his wife.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Amy’s movements stalled. She had never for a second suggested that he had.

  ‘Oh, come on now, it’s the obvious conclusion, isn’t it? What if she was gearing up to leave him? By getting rid of Nicole, he had Ellen for life – her kidnapping could have been a ruse to take the attention off him.’

  ‘But you don’t think he did it.’

  ‘He hates violence. Mind games are more his forte. According to Hugh, Nicole was poisoned. I can’t picture him standing around waiting for her to die.’

  But he didn’t stand around, Amy thought, recalling how the hood of his car had been warm. And mind games were exactly what the person purporting to be Luka was playing.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time Amy was summoned to her DCI’s office, Pike had obtained and listened to the recording of their suspect’s call.

  As she took a seat across from Pike, every inch of Amy’s body was tense. If it were up to her, she’d be sitting in her department planning their next move, but Pike would kick up a stink if Amy didn’t run everything by her first.

  ‘So that’s the crux of it. He wants to hit the headlines.’ Pike paused the recording as the caller mentioned his demands.

  ‘Seems that way,’ Amy replied, putting herself in his shoes. Her gaze fell on a well-thumbed romance novel face down on Pike’s desk. She recognised the name of the author, Holly Martin, and knew that Pike inhaled her work. But with everything that was going on, was this the right time to be reading romantic novels? Just what was up with her?

  ‘Whatever his motivation, we only comply with demands when the action is worth the outcome,’ Pike said sagely, before sliding the book into her drawer. ‘How far will he go to get what he wants?’

  Amy paused, giving the question some thought. Her colleagues respected her for her insight. If only they knew what lurked in the recesses of her mind. She imagined her caller’s motivations, the driving force behind his words. After a moment, she said, ‘People will go to any lengths if they believe in a cause.’ She closed her hands on her lap as she explained her reasoning. ‘To them, they’re justified, the hero in their own story. I could tell that Ellen wasn’t welcome in his space but he was compelled to take her just the same.’

  ‘But murder?’ Pike replied. ‘Nicole could have died.’ It was true. Her doctors had cited methanol poisoning, which matched the substance found in the phials at her address. If Amy hadn’t performed resuscitation, this would be a murder investigation.

  ‘Did Ellen’s kidnapper want to kill Nicole, though? Did murder factor into his games?’

  Nicole was obviously frightened. As for Shirley’s comments about Nicole spending the children’s inheritance . . . Was Luka working alone? It was another angle to investigate. Amy relayed her concerns to Pike, conscious they needed to keep an open mind.

  ‘Hmm . . .’ Pike said, unconvinced. ‘We’ll focus solely on our phone caller for now. We should liaise with the London Echo, keep their journalist in the loop.’ Her team was already hunting down the letters their caller claimed to have sent to various newspapers each year. Given the London Echo had one of the highest readerships, it was bound to be on that list. The stakes were high and it would be worth submitting to Ellen’s kidnapper if it meant saving her life.

  ‘Anyone, as long as it’s not Adam Rossi.’ Amy smiled. But her smile dropped from her face as Pike raised her eyebrows in response.

  ‘It has to be Adam. He’s the most likely helpful candidate.’

  ‘Why?’ Amy snapped. She would rather walk into quicksand than see him again. If he found out about her connection with Lillian, she would be front-page news.

  ‘Adam is the ideal person to publish this story. Besides, he has more chance of getting approval than the other newspapers – their headlines are all Brexit and terrorist threats.’

  ‘You do know he’s my ex-fiancé, don’t you?’ Amy hated volunteering personal information, but it was worth a shot.

  ‘You’ll have to put all pettiness aside for Ellen’s sake.’ Pike’s swivel chair creaked beneath her as she gestured, driving her words home. ‘I’ve made my decision. Give him a call and start greasing those wheels. Now, off you pop.’

  Amy strode back to her office, her fists bunched as they swung in time with her strides. Seeing Adam was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She walked into the briefing room to see images of the Curtises’ living room pinned to the whiteboard. It made sense for them to run Ellen’s kidnapping and Nicole’s poisoning in tandem. The second day of the investigation and her team’s efforts were clear to see. A series of red lines ran like veins across the board, indicating completed tasks to date. Building a picture of the victims’ routines was imperative. What they ate, who they spoke to, what they wore. Every facet of Nicole and Ellen’s lives was under scrutiny, no matter how trivial. What was the secret that Nicole had approached Shirley about? Was it her husband’s ill treatment of his test subjects, or something even worse? Who else had Nicole spoken to? Officers were particularly interested in calls made to a contact saved as ‘DM’ on her personal mobile phone. The number had come back as unregistered.

  Nicole had very few friends of her own. Had she been calling Dr Curtis’s old colleague Deborah McCauley? The entry carried a hint of subterfuge. Every other contact was saved by their first name, with their picture, birthday and email addresses, all perfectly detailed.

  Amy perused the board, frowning at the comment ‘forensically aware’ underlined in red. Apart from carrying Nicole’s smudged thumbprint, the phials and phone seized at her address we
re DNA- and fingerprint-free.

  Amy braved the bitter January winds to make the five-minute bike ride to Arro Coffee on Bishop’s Bridge Road. It was Adam’s favourite Italian café, and she had arranged to meet him here with the sole intention of buttering him up. They sat at their old spot on the mezzanine, overlooking the main floor. She liked sitting up here, where the scent of good coffee enveloped them like a warm embrace. At the till, two members of staff chatted in Italian. Amy knew the sound of his native tongue put Adam at ease. She was well versed in the tools of manipulation. Perhaps they weren’t so different after all.

  ‘Come va la mia piccola patata?’ Adam asked, tearing a strip of panettone and popping it in his mouth. How’s my little potato indeed. The term of endearment was a signal to say he wanted to make peace. While dating they’d had the most awful flare-ups, and the next day it was as if they hadn’t argued at all. But their truce could be turned on its head just as easily if either of them said the wrong thing.

  ‘I asked you here to talk about the letters.’ Her team had already briefed Adam on the kidnapper, although no new correspondence had been received by the newspaper just yet. Amy’s spoon clinked against her glass cup as she stirred her flat white. She was pleased to find that her butterflies were dormant and no longer fluttered at the sight of him. Since meeting DI Donovan, she had begun to see Adam in a less favourable light. There was something very artificial about him. Donovan was easy-going and did not strike her as self-obsessed. She preferred his rough charm and steady attitude to life.

  Amy forced back a yawn as Adam steered the topic of work back to himself, talking about the accolades he had been awarded for his reporting on the burial sites Amy had helped to find.

  She pointedly checked her watch. ‘We may need the story printed tomorrow, if you can. To be honest, it was my DCI’s idea that we work together. She thinks you’ll do a better job because of your readership.’