‘Me answer my phone? You barely give me the time of day,’ Adam fumed. ‘Then you click your fingers when it suits you and expect me to dance to your tune.’
‘You’re a journalist, aren’t you? It was to do with work.’
‘Then why meet me in Arro and not here? You were leading me on. Now things haven’t worked out, you’re spitting your dummy out of the pram.’
Adam was right, she had manipulated his emotions purely to help Ellen’s case. She drove her hand through her hair. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve messed you around, but a little girl is missing. The world doesn’t revolve around you.’
‘Around me?’ Adam’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. ‘You’ve no idea of the sacrifices I’ve made for you, the opportunities I’ve turned down.’
‘I don’t have time for your theatrics.’ Amy checked her watch. ‘I’m expecting a call from Luka. I need to go.’
‘Wait.’ Adam’s hand hovered over her arm. ‘Are you seeing someone named Donovan?’
Amy could not believe her ears. Who had told him that? But a straight answer was not on the cards when she did not know herself. ‘What business is it of yours?’
A shadow of regret crossed Adam’s face. ‘Listen . . . I need to talk to you. I know everything . . .’
But Amy’s head was cocked to one side, listening to the intercom in the corridor as it called her name. ‘That’s me. You need to go.’
Taking a deep breath, Adam blurted out his words as he stood in her way. ‘Marry me. Properly, this time. I understand now why your dad didn’t want us to be together. But there’s no need for secrets anymore.’ Reaching out, he took both her hands, but with a look of sheer horror, Amy snatched them away. What planet was he on? She needed to make things clear between them once and for all.
‘I’m only going to say this once. We are never getting back together. As for getting married . . .’ A cold laugh escaped her lips. ‘That’s the biggest joke I’ve heard all year.’
‘Listen to me,’ Adam said, blocking her exit. ‘There’s no need to be so defensive . . . I know about—’
‘No, you listen to me.’ Amy’s voice grew louder. ‘I was ready to give up my job for you, have kids – the lot. But hey, maybe you did me a favour by sleeping with that stripper. What’s the saying again?’ She paused as she recalled the phrase. ‘A leopard doesn’t change its spots.’
‘I’m not leaving until you listen.’ A thunderous shadow darkened Adam’s face. The intercom blared for the second time, demanding Amy’s presence. She’d had enough of this.
‘You sure about that?’ Pulling open the door, Amy grabbed his arm and dragged him into reception. Heads turned in their direction, curious glances from people waiting to be seen.
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ he said in a loud voice, as Amy pulled him through the double doors to the street outside. She didn’t care who was watching. This time he had pushed her too far.
‘Just remember,’ Adam shouted as she turned to go back inside, ‘you gave me no choice.’
Cheeks burning, she strode back in. Pushing her tag against the door panel, she allowed herself into the confines of the station, away from prying eyes. But every step she took down the darkened corridor made her regret her show of force. Adam had always been unpredictable, but today she had sensed something darker emanating from his presence. He’d said she was making a big mistake. Something told her this was not the end.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Adam walked with his hands deep in his jean pockets, his feet dragging against the pavement as he took the route back to work. He was on autopilot, tormented by Amy’s behaviour and the way she had treated him. His proposal had been meant to defuse the bomb, not make it explode in his face. He had not expected her to recover so quickly from their parting, much less begin seeing someone else.
He kicked a stone, barely noticing the patter of rain against his leather jacket. If only he’d had such clarity of vision when they were engaged. He had always played the field. He could not recall one girlfriend he had remained faithful to, and there had been quite a few. He blamed his bloodlines, believed the stereotypes about young Italian males. His mother had seemed content to turn a blind eye when his father played around. Yet the thought of Amy seeing someone else evoked an anger he could not control. It had taken all his restraint not to slap her across the face when she dragged him outside and treated him with such disrespect.
It seemed Lillian had been telling the truth about Amy seeing DI Donovan. Who’s to say the rest of Lillian’s story wasn’t true too? He ground his back molars at the thought of Amy and her new squeeze laughing at him behind his back. And to publicly humiliate him like that . . . he didn’t owe her anything after the way she had treated him.
Onwards he walked, inhaling the dirty tang of exhaust fumes from the steady stream of passing cars. A bus trundled by as he paused at the traffic lights. He scanned its occupants: shoppers, mums with children too young for school and a pensioner or two. Ordinary people with ordinary lives, so far removed from the likes of Lillian Grimes. His meeting with the psychopathic serial killer played heavily on his mind. He had been shocked to discover Amy’s true parentage, but deep inside he had always sensed she was different. If he was honest, it excited him a little bit. He liked pressing her buttons, drawing out the darkest emotions she tried to keep locked within. But he had pushed her too far with his infidelity and thrown it all away.
As for Lillian . . . she was a woman who disgusted and intrigued him in equal measure. He could see how people became entangled in her web. When she demanded your attention it was impossible to say no. It was like driving past a car crash. You knew there was something grisly inside the wreckage, yet morbid curiosity made you feast your eyes on the carnage as you passed. It was why he had become a journalist.
He had expected Amy to crumble, to take him back with open arms. He had underestimated her. Since her father’s death she had reverted to who she’d been when they first met. That cold, hard exterior; her unflinching gaze.
His thoughts were interrupted by the light at the crossing as it signalled it was safe to go. Screw it, he thought, lowering his head against the rain. Plucking his phone from his jacket, he dialled his boss’s number. Tim had been in the industry for over thirty years and had the grey hairs to prove it. With an expanding waistline and a penchant for rich food, he was headed for a heart attack one day. Not that Adam helped ease his stress.
‘Where are you?’ Tim’s deep voice boomed over the line as he picked up the call. ‘And why haven’t you been answering your phone?’
Adam grimaced. It was Tim who had put the block on Luka’s letter, saying the whole thing was a ridiculous hoax. Adam might have agreed with him had he not witnessed Amy’s dogged determination. But his boss would not stay angry with him for long.
‘I’m on my way back,’ Adam said, a smile curling on his lips. ‘And have I got a story for you.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Amy fixed her expression as Paddy met her halfway down the hall. The hint of cigarette smoke hung on his clothing, even though he was meant to have given up.
‘Luka’s called,’ he said, his steps quickening as he matched her pace.
‘What line is he on?’ The sound of Amy’s heels echoed across the narrow space.
‘He wouldn’t wait. Said you’re to go to Holland Park tube station and he’ll call you with Ellen’s whereabouts from there.’ Concern tightened his features. They were all under pressure to find Ellen safe and well.
‘Is there a unit in place?’ Amy’s thoughts were focused now, her spat with Adam forgotten.
‘A covert one. He was very clear – no police involvement. Ma’am Pike wants you to walk there in case a job car scares him off.’
‘Suits me.’ Amy would use the time to assemble her thoughts. As she reached her office, she tugged on her harness. It evenly distributed her radio, CS canister, handcuffs and extendable baton, all available at the flick of a clip. Th
e old-fashioned term was ‘carrying her appointments’. Some officers housed them in their pockets or bags. Some, like Paddy, forgot them entirely. They would rest beneath her coat. Insurance for what lay ahead.
She was informed that arrangements had already been made. A small unit of plainclothes officers would follow her on her journey while Paddy and the team tracked her progress from the office. She prayed the meeting would be productive. The team were chasing every imaginable lead but were yet to come back with a result.
The drizzly weather reflected her mood as she strode to Holland Park, taking short, quick steps. Amy opened her umbrella to protect her hair. Worn loose, it skimmed past her shoulders in brunette waves, giving her less of a regimented look. She had given consideration to her appearance as she dressed this morning. If, by some stretch of the imagination, this was Luka, his problems stemmed from his time in a clinical environment. Her razor-sharp business suit with its white starched shirt was not the best attire to get him on her side. A soft floral blouse combined with a navy coat and matching trousers would do the trick. Her shoes were flat in case she had to give chase. It may have seemed like overkill, given it could be a hoax, but Amy’s instincts told her differently. The Curtis family had been singled out, and no demands for money had been made. It seemed obvious that the suspect’s actions were born from revenge. Unlike Amy’s biological parents, she guessed Luka did not kill for the sake of it, but his acts could clearly be brutal nonetheless.
Despite the puddles and rolling grey clouds, Holland Park Avenue was a pleasant wintry walk. The tree-lined street housed some impressive properties, and celebrities such as David and Victoria Beckham had taken up residence there. With its domed windows and pale brick walls, Holland Park tube station was in keeping with its upmarket surroundings. Retracting her umbrella, Amy focused her thoughts on the job ahead. Standing at the traffic lights, she monitored pedestrians as they passed. Was this a trap? A diversion? Or just a wild goose chase?
But Luka’s comments about Ellen had rung true. The colour of her nightdress, the fact that her spectacles had been taken but her slippers left behind. His thoughts on animal fur were another branch of the investigation being pursued. She checked her watch as speckles of drizzle dappled its face. Two minutes past nine. Should she go inside? But her phone signal would inevitably be lost. Relaxing her posture, she reminded herself that she was being watched. Not just by Luka. Her colleagues were relying on her to get this right.
The vibration of her phone was welcome as it alerted her to a call. Lowering her head, she blotted out the world as she accepted the blocked number.
‘Where are you?’ It was the man claiming to be Luka, his voice tinged with the same faint Russian accent as before.
‘Holland Park tube station,’ Amy said, not missing a beat. He sounded more assertive this time, focused. It felt as if the dice had been thrown and there was no backing out now.
‘Good,’ Luka replied. ‘I googled you . . . You’re quite a celebrity, although you shy away from the media as much as you can. Tell me, Amy . . . I can call you Amy, can’t I?’
‘I’d prefer it if you did.’ Amy was keen to dispense with titles to keep him on side. The fact he was researching online could mean he was bonding with her in some way.
‘Why are you drawn to such serious cases when you’re uncomfortable with the attention they bring?’
Amy inhaled deeply, the smell of the streets grounding her as she prepared her response. She had been prepped for this phone call. No pressure. Refer to him as Luka if that’s what he wants, and allow him to lead the way.
‘I don’t think of the media when I’m helping victims,’ she answered honestly. A lorry rattled past and she strained to listen to the call. ‘Where’s Ellen? Is she with you? I need proof she’s alive.’ She wanted to ask if Luka was connected to Nicole’s poisoning, but their police negotiator had been firm in his instruction: keep the focus entirely on the child.
‘It comes down to justification,’ Luka mused, ignoring her question. ‘You justify hunting me down because you believe it’s the right thing to do. I justify my actions because I have no choice. We are all justified by our wants and needs. Who’s to say my reasons aren’t just as valid as yours?’
‘The law,’ Amy replied flatly, her patience running thin.
‘And you think your law is always right all of the time? Even if it fails to protect those who need it the most?’
‘I presume you brought me here for a reason.’ She was taking a risk but was unwilling to waste another minute debating on the street.
‘I’m also a victim of crime,’ her caller replied. ‘The problem is that nobody cares about me. And now the criminal is being rewarded. The accolades, the awards . . . have you seen Dr Curtis’s house?’ An edge sharpened in his voice. ‘He gets all of that, while I live in a box.’
‘Did you try to kill his wife?’ The words left Amy’s lips before she could contain them.
‘I gave her a choice: risk her life for the one she loved. Something not afforded to me.’
Amy frowned. What was he talking about? ‘If Nicole risked her life to save Ellen, then surely her daughter should be returned?’
‘And she will be.’ Luka’s reply was instant. ‘Whether she’s found alive . . . that’s up to you.’
Found alive? Amy thought. Does that mean he’s already left her somewhere? ‘Then what’s the next step?’ She eyed a man in a baseball cap reading a newspaper on the corner by the tube station. He’d been staring at that same page since she arrived. Briefly, their eyes met. She exhaled a breath. He was one of theirs. She returned her attention to the call as the kidnapper’s voice filtered through.
‘I want you to take a walk in my shoes, a trip through my memories, so you fully understand. If I have to kidnap a child to catch your attention, then so be it.’ A humourless chuckle ensued. ‘It’s ironic, given all the children that Dr Curtis used over the years.’
‘His wife could have died, and his child is missing. I see nothing to laugh about.’ Amy’s response was curt. She’d had enough of his teasing. ‘What you’re doing . . . you might think it will help, but it won’t. I know what you’re experiencing. Guilt. Depression. Anger. I know because I’ve been through them myself.’ Silence passed as her words sank in. ‘I can help you get through this, but only if you let Ellen go.’
A beat passed between them. ‘Mother told me you’d do this. Try to make me turn myself in . . . You think it’s been easy? Having that kid touch my things . . . in my space.’
But it was his comments about his mother that made Amy’s eyebrows shoot up. He was talking about Sasha in the present tense, not the past. ‘Mother? You mean Sasha’s alive? How—’
‘Take the tube to Westminster and go to Big Ben,’ Luka interrupted. ‘I’ll ring you when you arrive.’
Amy noted the word ‘arrive’. Did that mean he was already there? ‘Why Big Ben?’ she said, trying to squeeze out more information.
‘It was my first day trip to London. Mama lived for those days when Dr Curtis took us sightseeing. But nobody knew of the darkness behind it all.’
‘Sexual abuse?’
‘Of course not,’ Luka replied, as if the very idea was preposterous. ‘Hurry. The tube’s coming in, and you haven’t got long.’
‘Is your mother with you now? Can I talk to her?’
‘Don’t.’ Luka’s tone hardened. ‘You’re not fit to speak her name.’
Amy took a deep breath. For now, the topic of his mother was out of bounds. She remembered the advice she had been given – to keep her focus on the child. ‘When I get to Big Ben . . . then you’ll tell me where Ellen is?’
‘Think of it as a treasure hunt,’ Luka replied. ‘But this one comes with a timer. So you’d better hurry up if you want to reach Ellen alive.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Ellen’s kidnapper exhaled the breath he had been holding. The call had gone better than he had thought it would. He had not expected to develop
a connection with the detective and it had taken him off guard. Walking the pavement, he turned his face to the sky, feeling better now that Ellen had vacated his room. When he’d first made contact with Dr Curtis and his staff, he had never imagined things would escalate like this. The yearly flowers and messages were meant to be as far as it went. But then, every time he turned on his television he would see Dr Curtis’s smarmy face. If he wasn’t gloating about his many books, he was talking about his awards. It was obvious the flowers and veiled threats were having no impact at all. Something needed to be done.
His methods were elaborate but, from the confines of his room, it had given him something to focus on. Sourcing the phials, accessing the drugs – it was all in a day’s work. Finding the courier had taken longer, but it had been worth the wait. Their conversation had helped dissolve any lingering doubts.
But now the detective was making him unsure of himself all over again. Mama would not want him to back out now. But Mama had not spent her childhood in captivity. By the sounds of it, DI Amy Winter had. He could have ended this quickly, given her Ellen’s address without the runaround. Truth was, he enjoyed talking to her. He turned his gaze to the pavement, striding purposefully through the busy London streets. There was no better game than one set against the clock. It added an element of agonising yet delicious suspense. It made him feel alive.
Even while injecting seeds of doubt into his psyche, DI Winter’s voice had reeled him in. There was something mysterious about her that made her stand out from the rest – that made her someone like him. He wished she had been there when he needed her, then things would have turned out differently. But, for now, her attention would act as a cooling balm, salving the wounds of his past. Death was too good for the likes of Dr Curtis. Losing everything he owned was justice enough.
His fists clenched in the front pocket of his hoodie as fresh hatred bloomed. Sliding his phone from his pocket, he activated the screen. Soon it would be time to call the detective back. A delicious thrill shot through him. He could be standing right in front of her and she would have no clue about who he really was. It had been worth the risk – taking Ellen – worth every second of listening to her whiny voice. How many people had a cause that they would kill for? Or kill themselves for? Because there was one thing he knew for sure. If the police caught him today, all bets were off.
The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 10