CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Amy watched as Baseball-Cap Man folded his newspaper and ambled ahead of her into the station. Soon the plainclothes police officer would board the same tube as her. She only hoped he could do so without the suspect recognising who he was.
Within seconds, Amy had relayed the gist of her conversation to DC Molly Baxter, who, in turn, updated Control. Their discussion served to guide her next move and update the officers on the scene.
‘OK,’ Molly said, sounding focused. ‘Take the Central line to Bond Street Underground. That’ll take about eight minutes. Then change at Bond Street and take the Jubilee line to Westminster. It’s a four-minute journey, and Big Ben is just a couple of minutes’ walk away.’
Amy memorised the directions. She knew that, once she entered the Underground, her phone signal could die. Perhaps that was what Luka had wanted all along. Was he watching her? A shudder drove down her spine as her apprehension rose. Brushing past fellow travellers, she entered the gates to reach the platform, her footsteps quickening as the rumble of the tube signalled its arrival. Despite the chill of the morning, she was met with a whoosh of lukewarm air as the train came to a stop.
Her umbrella tucked under her arm, Amy strode through the double doors, gripping the bar above her as she took up space in the central aisle. The compartment was busy but not packed, allowing her enough room to survey her travelling companions. It was the usual mixture of Londoners; at this time of the day, most commuters were already nestled behind their office desks. Briefly, a suited man met her gaze before her eyes flicked to the mothers with small children snuggled in buggies. Next to them were a couple of teenagers running late for school, their headphones blocking out the world as they scrolled through songs on the iPhones glued to their hands.
Amy peered down the length of the carriage, wobbling slightly as the tube train trundled on its tracks. She caught sight of a man in a dark hoodie, his head turned away from her. Could it be Luka? Was he travelling too? But where was the child? Was she walking into a trap?
Her mind examined potential scenarios, none of them good. She checked her watch, the eight-minute journey feeling like eight hours as they passed through the stations. Notting Hill Gate, Queensway, Lancaster Gate, Marble Arch – each one appeared as a flash of white tiles in between tunnels as she sank deeper into her thoughts.
She had to second-guess Ellen’s kidnapper. Define his motivations and evoke some empathy. The more she spoke to him, the further she opened herself up to the possibility that Luka was alive. Had the fire been some kind of set-up? A means for him and his mother to escape? He could not have done it alone. She dragged herself back to her childhood, to the painful place that helped her understand the wicked people in the world.
Now that Lillian Grimes had reignited contact, she kept creeping back into Amy’s thoughts. But her psychopathic parents had murdered for their own sick satisfaction. Already, Amy sensed that Luka was not like them. His motivation came from a place deep in his heart. His actions were a compulsion, forged by the need to ease his troubled mind. And what about Sasha? Was she in on this too? There was something about the way Luka spoke; it unsettled her to dwell upon it. His comments about Ellen’s unwanted invasion were territorial in nature. He was protective of his home. Had he and his mother escaped the fire all those years ago and lived a life underground? His experience in captivity was driving his actions . . . Amy briefly closed her eyes as she put herself in his shoes. What if he had lived his life hidden away from the world? It was bound to damage him psychologically – but enough to commit murder? What would it have been like for her, had she not been adopted? She checked herself. This was no time for sympathy. Sliding her phone from her pocket, she glanced at the screen. No signal. Her thoughts raced. What was Luka planning?
After changing at Bond Street, Amy took the Jubilee line to Westminster. The total journey time of seventeen minutes had never felt so long. Westminster Underground station was a mass of stainless-steel and shiny decor, and as she rushed up the steps to daylight, the juxtaposition of modern and traditional was a sight to behold. Big Ben towered above her, marred only by the scaffolding which masked its beauty against the azure sky. The view was breathtaking, and had she not been so caught up in the moment, she would have taken longer to stop and stare.
Shielding her eyes from the winter sun, she weaved through busy pedestrians. London was not a place you could stand still in for very long. As she scrambled for her phone, she dropped her umbrella, mentally reprimanding herself for bringing it along. Such was the British weather, she was now treated to blue skies and an icy breeze. Finding the nearest bin, she deposited the unwanted item, gripping her phone in her left hand as she waited for it to ring. Was Luka here, timing her movements? Officers were already searching for him on the ground. But without an up-to-date photo, they had very little to go on.
Another question rose in her consciousness. Why her? Had he really chosen her because of an article in a newspaper? But the thought evaporated as her attention was diverted to the ringing of her phone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘Call the bloodhounds off,’ Luka said, instantly dispensing with formalities.
‘I’m not with you.’ Amy took in the scene as she searched for her mystery caller. She was standing near the base of Big Ben, the pavement milling with tourists taking photos and selfies on their phones. The air smelled of icy drizzle and petrol fumes, the day carrying a sense of urgency that made every muscle in her body tense. She peered through the multi-lane traffic at a man across the road holding a video camera. His pot belly stretched the material of his white polo shirt, his baggy jeans were wrinkled and worn. Briefly, he met her gaze, before turning his attention to the structure above. Amy threaded her fingers through her hair. This whole scenario was making her paranoid, but she had a creeping sensation that Luka was not far away.
‘Don’t play games with me, Detective Inspector,’ he replied. ‘If you don’t call them off, you’ll have Ellen’s blood on your hands.’
‘All right,’ Amy replied tersely, scanning the crowds for Baseball-Cap Man. She caught sight of him just as he crossed the road to join her. Fanning her hand, she gestured at him to back off. She returned her attention to her caller. Luka was off on a tangent, musing about old times.
‘I studied your face when you saw Big Ben. It’s an impressive structure, isn’t it? Imagine how I felt when I saw it for the first time.’
Amy’s heart skipped a beat. Where was he? More to the point, what would she do if she found him? Take her chances and give chase, or listen to what he had to say? Right now, the choice was not hers to make.
‘Dr Curtis brought us here when we first arrived,’ he continued. ‘I remember, Mama’s eyes were like saucers as she took it all in. She did not stop smiling . . . but I did. Because the next day my induction started.’
‘Is Ellen with you? Let me speak to her.’ Amy tried to steer their conversation back to the child. But Luka seemed determined to have his say.
‘One of the first things they did was cut my nails short. Later I realised it was to stop me from making crescent-moon shapes in the palms of my hands. My sightseeing trips came with a very heavy price.’
Avoiding the throng of pedestrians, Amy stood against the black metal railings bordering the landmark as she tried to find some common ground. ‘I need to speak to Ellen. You’ll have my full attention after that. You can talk for as long as you like.’
Brittle laughter crackled down the phone. ‘You know, it’s quite a novelty to have you hanging on my every word. You’ll find Ellen near the Imperial War Museum. Time is ticking. She doesn’t have long.’
‘You’re kidding me,’ Amy said, aghast at the prospect of dragging things out even more.
‘She’ll be there, I give you my word.’
Turning on her heel, Amy headed back to the tube station from which she had come. Her stomach churned at the thought of Ellen being in danger. ‘You’d better not be was
ting my time,’ she said, searching her pocket for her Oyster card.
‘You’ll find out soon enough.’ Luka ended the call.
Amy called Molly to inform her of her next stop. ‘We need a covert unit at the Imperial War Museum, but be quick, time is running out.’ She could hear Molly tapping furiously on her computer as she dictated her journey.
‘It’ll take you ten minutes by tube. We could get a car to you, but there are no guarantees you won’t get stuck in heavy traffic.’ They both knew a blue-light run was out of the question. It would only scare Luka off. Sighing heavily, Molly’s breath ruffled the line. ‘Take the Jubilee line eastbound, change at Waterloo and get the Bakerloo line. Then go southbound to Lambeth North tube station. Has he told you anything more?’
‘He’s twigged the plainclothes officers, but we can’t arrest him yet. This could be our only hope of reaching Ellen in time.’
‘In time for what?’
Crossing the road at the traffic lights, Amy milled through daytime shoppers as she headed back to the mouth of the tube station. Her blouse was sticking to her, her skin clammy as she gripped the phone. ‘Have paramedics on standby, update Control and I’ll call as soon as I can.’ Shoving her phone in her pocket, she took the escalator down to the inner workings of the station. A pair of headlights beamed from the tunnel as the train rumbled down the tracks.
She jumped on board and was immediately hit by the stench of garlic hanging on someone’s breath. At the other end of the carriage, a scruffy man with more hair than he needed was playing an accordion. Not that you could call it music. Amy was tempted to pay him to stop.
She walked the length of the carriage, settling in a section void of noise and questionable odours. Like before, she used the journey time to think, her eyes dancing over her fellow travellers as she studied them.
Exiting Lambeth North station, she followed the signs to the Imperial War Museum. Her throat was dry and she eyed up the coffee stand. What she wouldn’t give for a drink. But refreshments would have to wait. Molly’s latest update had come in the form of a text. DCI Pike was unhappy with all the running around. There was a fine line between following a substantial lead and being made a fool out of – if they didn’t get anywhere on this leg of the journey, she was to return to the station. As Amy stood on the pavement, the screech of sirens on the busy road made her heart stall. When the police car flashed past, she checked for missed calls to ensure that there wasn’t another incident coming in for her team.
In cases such as these, it was easy to become blinkered, but she knew that, back at the station, her colleagues were fighting a rising tide of crime. She noted the presence of uniformed officers across the road. Were they here for her? It warmed her to feel part of such a big family and know they had her back if need be. Crossing at the traffic lights, she broke into a jog, continuing until she reached the tree-lined Lambeth Road. At the entrance to the Imperial War Museum, her phone began to buzz.
‘You’re running behind,’ Luka said.
‘You’d better give me something concrete.’ Amy’s patience was wearing thin. ‘If you don’t tell me where Ellen is, I’m returning to base.’
‘Have you ever been to the museum?’ Luka replied, ignoring her request. ‘I remember the day Dr Curtis brought me here. I could almost smell the trenches, hear the bombs whistling above my head. I felt this country was powerful. He talked about our studies being immortalised, his findings being used by scholars and students to come.’
Amy ground her teeth. ‘Luka, I’ve done as you asked. Now tell me where she is.’
Luka continued, ignoring her as she spoke over him. ‘I remember feeling a little frightened by the enormity of it all. Sometimes when Deborah explained the bigger words, I would catch a glimpse of concern in her eyes. I knew there was more to this study than the doctor was letting on.’ Pausing for breath, Luka forced himself to focus. ‘I need you to go to one more location.’
‘No. No more addresses. It ends here.’ Resting her hand on her hip, Amy stood firm. The mention of Deborah’s name added an authenticity to proceedings that put her on edge.
‘You’ll find Ellen near Oxford Street. It will take fifteen minutes on the tube and ten minutes to walk to her location. That’s twenty-five minutes – exactly the time she has left.’
‘Why should I believe you?’ Amy said, yet she found herself heading back to the tube station just the same. Her police radio beeped a point-to-point call from her shoulder harness. It was DCI Pike. She chose to ignore it, unwilling to take the risk of Pike calling the whole thing off. What choice did she have? Luka was their only link to Ellen. She could not walk away now.
‘If you don’t do as I say, this conversation will haunt you for the rest of your life. Now hurry, there’s no time to waste.’
It was true. She could hear the sincerity in his voice. This was a man who knew what it was like to be plagued by regret. As the call ended, Amy phoned Molly and relayed the latest instructions.
‘Ma’am Pike has asked you to call her as soon as you can,’ Molly replied. ‘She’s tried reaching you on the radio—’
‘I turned down the volume,’ Amy interrupted, having enough to focus on with Luka sending her halfway across London. ‘Listen, I want you to map the perimeter of Oxford Street. Start at the tube station then work outwards at a nine-minute walk at an average pace. Update Control with all the derelict buildings in the area – houses, empty shops, anywhere he could be hiding her. Tell Paddy we need a search team in but to keep a low profile.’ Did Luka want her to experience the bitter disappointment of finding Ellen dead? She couldn’t let that happen.
A text beeped through, along with an attachment. Taking a deep breath, Amy prepared herself for what lay ahead. It was Ellen, tears streaking her face as she pleaded with the camera phone. ‘Please come and get me,’ she cried, her chin wobbling as she spoke. Her childish whimper filtered into a space in Amy’s brain where it would play on a loop. Ellen was against a concrete wall from what Amy could make out, poor lighting casting a shadow on her face.
‘I want to go home. I want my mummy.’ Abruptly, the clip ended. Her adrenaline racing, Amy forwarded it to the team. She noticed the echo as the little girl spoke, the sound of traffic in the distance and the rumbling of heavy engines. Even during that tiny video clip, Amy had gathered a couple of clues. Ellen was in the city. Luka was telling the truth.
The team is on it as we speak, Molly texted. Take the tube to Oxford Circus. Good luck.
Amy whispered a silent prayer as she prepared to take the next train.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Swaying in the Underground train, Amy wondered if stress was intentionally factored into Luka’s games. Was Luka Volkov really orchestrating her movements? If so, were his claims about Dr Curtis true? She couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for the boy who had come to England with such high hopes. But it offered no justification for his actions. If Luka had kidnapped Ellen and poisoned Nicole, then he was just as bad as the people at the institution. The latest hospital reports were hopeful – Nicole had fought for her life and was coming through the other side. But the pressure was on for Amy to bring her daughter home.
Her muscles tensed as the doors opened, the tannoy announcing her train’s arrival. Bustling past commuters, she offered no apology as her thoughts raced ahead. Surely Luka was not following her now? She would have noticed someone giving chase. But how was he reaching each location before her? With his all-seeing commentary, he was beginning to seem very godlike as he continued to play his game. She only hoped her team was making some inroads. A feeling of foreboding taunted her movements. As she emerged into daylight she welcomed the cold spikes of drizzle on her face. Despite the wintry weather, her armpits were damp with sweat, her clothes itchy against her skin. But the biggest prickle of discomfort came from within. She held her phone aloft, groaning at the lack of reception. Which direction should she go in? Her team would be tracking her radio on GPS. As if in response, h
er phone buzzed in her hand. She exhaled with relief to see four bars on the screen, a good-enough connection to accept the call.
‘I’m here,’ she said, panting slightly. She glanced up and down the street, picking out fellow Londoners on their phones. A man with a briefcase, a couple arm in arm. Any one of them could hold the key.
‘And here is where we part,’ the response came. ‘You have five minutes to get to Ellen. Shame, as it’s a ten-minute walk. Of course, you could get a cab, but traffic is bad. You’d never reach her in time.’
‘Where am I going?’ Amy asked, feeling like a runner on the starting blocks.
‘Oxford Street, Marylebone Lane.’
There was little time to call Molly, but Amy knew the area well enough to find it on foot. Breaking out into a run, she held the phone to her ear as she raced past bustling Londoners. ‘Where is she?’
‘You’re a resourceful woman,’ Luka taunted. ‘I’m granting you with enough intelligence to work that out.’
‘I can’t, not in time. Is she in danger?’ Swerving to one side, she dodged a Labrador who shot out in front of her as it escaped its owner’s lead. On any other day, she would stop to help, but he would have to fend for himself today.
‘Let’s just say her whole world is about to come tumbling down.’ Luka responded. ‘You’ll see when you get there.’
‘Please!’ Amy hated the sound of her voice as he made her beg. ‘I don’t know where I’m going. Give me something more.’ Silence fell between them, and for a moment she thought he had hung up.
The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 11