‘Seeing as it’s you, I’ll help you out. Head to Welbeck Street. You’ll find her there.’
‘Luka, wait . . .’ But her words were cut short as the line went dead. Her feet pounded the pavement as she ran, her mind focused on the task ahead. Her breath came thick and fast as she relayed the information to Molly, ignoring passers-by as they glanced in her direction. ‘What’s in Welbeck Street? Any derelict buildings? Maybe leisure centres with swimming pools? What could put her in so much danger that it would risk her life? And on a countdown too?’ Amy knew this could be a wind-up and she’d be playing right into Luka’s hands. But this had to be the last stop.
Tapping her computer keyboard, Molly brought up the latest information, all the while relaying Amy’s instructions to their team. Amy’s colleagues were on hand should they find the missing child, and a paramedic was on standby to resuscitate her, if it came to that. ‘We’ve got luxury apartments, a couple of hotels, some private clinics – nothing that stands out. There’s an unusual-looking high-rise car park at the end, but that’s closed now. Officers are ringing local hotels to make them aware.’
‘Get them to check their swimming pools and rooftops,’ Amy said, pausing to catch her breath as she reached the long, narrow street. It has to be something obvious, otherwise he wouldn’t have given me so little time.’
‘Unless he set you up to fail.’ Molly voiced Amy’s concerns. It didn’t bear thinking about. An image of Ellen floated into Amy’s consciousness. Her gap-toothed smile was enough to melt the hardest of hearts.
Ellen was near, Amy could feel it. But time was slipping away.
She jogged up Welbeck Street, looking left and right. ‘Ellen!’ she called at the top of her voice. ‘Ellen, are you there?’ She glared into shop windows and apartment doorways. There were no derelict buildings in this well-to-do location. What could put the girl in immediate danger? Molly informed her that officers were discreetly making house-to-house inquiries. Amy threw a glance behind her, watching the police cars pull up. It was risky, given Luka’s instruction, but she was grateful for the backup just the same. Above her, the car park loomed, an ominous grey reflection of her plummeting spirits. She craned her neck, tapping into her intuition.
‘That’s it,’ she whispered, her words barely audible as she voiced her thoughts. ‘That’s what he meant.’ Sliding her radio from her shoulder harness, she brought it to her lips and pressed the button to speak.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The Curtis Institute, August 1984
Luka ran a hand over his freshly cut bristles. His once long and wavy hair was now shaved, and he hated the way the cold air curled around the nape of his neck. He sat on his bed, legs folded, as he checked the label stitched into the collar of his sweatshirt. Subject 5. If he was number five, did that mean there had been four others before him? Was that why they had numbered him? So they could tell them apart? He thought about the children he sometimes saw in the corridor, and of the markings on the inside doors of the cubicle toilets. With some reverence he had traced his fingers over the names ‘Martha’ and ‘Julian’ which were scratched into the wood.
He winced at the sight of the red scab crusted over on his wrist. The number was tiny, the size of his fingernail, but it itched like mad just the same. He blew on the inflamed skin to cool the tenderness. Mama would go crazy if she knew. But Deborah said Mama was the ‘anxious type’, and if Luka had a problem he must go to her instead.
A soft knock on his bedroom door signalled that Deborah was on the other side. ‘Are you ready? It’s time.’
Sighing, Luka pulled on his grey sweatshirt and shoved his feet into his plimsolls. His head hung low as he followed her down the long, gloomy corridor. A bunch of keys jangled from a chain on Deborah’s hip, reinforcing Luka’s sense of confinement. Room doors were locked from the outside and people needed special permission to access this floor. Apart from his mama, there were four constants in Luka’s life: Dr Curtis and Deborah were there most of the day, while orderlies Stuart and Christina took it in turns to stay overnight. Upstairs, outside workshops ran afternoon classes ranging from music lessons to maths. It was not what Dr Curtis had promised, and Luka spent most of his days completing tests.
His glance flicked to the locked doors. More than once he’d heard crying coming from inside the rooms.
‘Today we’re going to try something new.’ Deborah’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. ‘Isn’t that exciting?’ She smiled as they approached the waiting room, but her smile was rigid, the corners of her eyes creasing as she spoke. It provided no comfort in an uncertain life.
Deborah tried to make the tests fun. Just like in the book Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, portions of food were placed before him with the words ‘Eat me’ on a card. They ranged from squares of cake to sweets coloured blue or red, but Luka could pick just one. On other days, four phials were presented with the words ‘Drink me’ on the side. Luka always picked red, until it gave him a tummy ache. His decision-making was monitored and documented each time. Since taking the tablets the doctor had given him, Luka found it easier to work the patterns out. The drink that made him sick was always top right, unless it was red and then it was bottom left. As the tests became more intricate, Luka was determined to pass each one. But the bitter tablets he swallowed made him see things that weren’t there. ‘Hallucinations,’ Deborah called them, noting them down.
Pausing outside the waiting room, she squeezed his shoulder, catching his worried expression. ‘You’ve got music lessons later. Why don’t you focus on that for now?’
Luka’s gaze fell to the floor as a sense of trepidation threatened to swallow him whole. ‘I want Mama,’ he uttered, clasping his hands together until his fingers were tied up in knots.
A soft sigh escaped Deborah’s lips as she bent to meet his gaze. ‘Sweetheart, your mother’s busy in the canteen, feeding the workshop students upstairs. You don’t want to worry her now, do you? Think how upset she’d be.’
Luka blinked away the tears beginning to form. The doctor had delivered on his promise of giving her a job, but Mama had dreamed of waitressing in a London café or hotel.
‘Now, c’mon . . .’ Deborah squeezed his forearm before straightening up. ‘Do well today, and you can see her later on.’
The waiting room was a sterile space with paint-blistered white walls and plastic chairs lining each side. In the corner, a mop lay in a bucket of stagnant water, and a selection of well-thumbed comics were splayed on a grubby, glass-topped coffee table in the centre of the floor. But Luka’s attention was drawn to the boy hunched in a seat in the corner of the room. Like him, the boy wore a grey tracksuit, but his seemed barely able to stretch over his chubby form. Sniffing loudly, the boy pushed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets to dry his tears.
‘Oh.’ Deborah frowned as Dr Curtis entered the room. ‘Why isn’t Sam . . .’ She coughed to correct herself. ‘Subject Four back in his room?’
But Dr Curtis seemed oblivious to the boy’s distress. ‘We had a breakthrough.’ Clutching a piece of paper, he waved it in the air. ‘Come. Let me show you . . .’ He gestured Deborah into the adjoining room. Tentatively, Luka stepped forward. Was he meant to go with them?
‘Where are you going?’ Dr Curtis barked, his bushy brown eyebrows knitting as he scowled.
‘I – I . . .’ Luka stuttered, looking to Deborah for support.
‘Sit down. We won’t be long.’ She guided him to a seat on the far side of the room. She looked at the other boy, but her gaze did not linger for long. ‘Christina will be with you soon.’
Twiddling his fingers, Luka sagged in the chair. He missed his friends. He missed his father too. It had been weeks since his last letter. If Papa were here, he would put Dr Curtis straight. Mama was not good at standing up for herself.
Another sniffle erupted from the corner. Slipping a tissue from his tracksuit-bottoms pocket, Luka rose from his chair and handed it to the boy. Dolefully, he accepte
d it, his red-rimmed eyes relaying that he had either received bad news or been through something tough. Either way, Luka had to know.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, claiming the seat beside him. Despite the boy’s distress, it felt strangely comforting to be speaking to someone his own age. His time was often spent in isolation. He had a strong urge to befriend the other children he sometimes saw in the corridors, but they weren’t usually allowed to mix.
‘Sam,’ the boy said, making a parping sound as he blew his nose. ‘I hate this place.’
‘Me too,’ Luka said, the words hanging heavy on his breath. None of them was there for fun. ‘What’s the doc so happy about?’
‘I passed some dumb tests,’ Sam replied flatly. ‘I couldn’t do them before. Now they’re easy.’ He scratched his temple. The faint outline of a sucker was still visible on his skin. The right side of his face jerked upwards in an involuntary twitch.
Luka hated wearing the hat that was the prerequisite for the algebra tests. ‘It’s for studying your brainwaves,’ Deborah had told him last week when she slipped it on. The white cloth cap was covered with circular pads and had a chin strap to keep it in place. Tiny wires connected to a bigger cable which fed into a computer port. But when Deborah started sticking the pads to the side of his face, Luka had baulked. ‘It’s all right,’ she had said, her voice warm. But her words were a betrayal. She would say anything to get him to comply.
‘The other kids . . . they’ve all gone home.’ Sam’s words cut into his thoughts. ‘The workshops are finishing this week too.’
‘Really?’ Hope lit Luka’s face like a beacon. ‘Maybe they’ll let us go too.’
‘I don’t have nowhere to go.’ Sam lifted his sleeve, displaying his ‘Number 4’ tattoo. ‘You got one of these?’
Tentatively, Luka drew back his sleeve to show that he did.
Sam delivered a narrow smile. ‘Then you ain’t going nowhere either.’
Luka’s mind raced. What did he mean? Didn’t the other kids have numbers too? He was about to ask when Sam’s face contorted in pain. Rubbing his chest, Sam groaned at the sight of the woman bustling through the door.
Christina’s presence put an end to their snatched conversation. A small, stick-thin woman, her eyes were wide as she entered the room. A flash of red drew Luka’s attention. Christina painted her nails a different colour each week. So sterile was Luka’s environment that he found himself looking forward to the change. But red signalled a warning, and Christina seemed in no mood to talk as she pulled Sam from his chair.
‘C’mon, I’m behind schedule,’ she said, her face pinched as she pushed him out of the door. Sam tripped over his feet, his hand still planted on his chest. Christina hadn’t even noticed he was unwell.
Why had they sent all the other kids home but not them? What did the markings mean? Luka watched him leave, feeling even more nauseous than before.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Tuning into the private police channel, Amy raised a query about the building works taking place. ‘What’s going on at the car park? There are contractors everywhere.’ Welbeck Street car park was a stunning piece of architecture, its facade made up of concrete diamonds which demanded each passer-by’s attention. But inside, the building was dark and dingy, a neglected space into which few would venture alone. Amy rarely parked there because of the number of break-ins reported. She had not realised it was closed to the public due to construction.
‘I was just about to call you.’ Molly’s reply was instant. ‘It’s being demolished today. They’re knocking it down to build a hotel. We’re trying to call the site manager now.’
‘That’s it!’ Amy said, recalling Luka’s words. Her whole world is about to come tumbling down. Sprinting towards the building, Amy shouted a warning at the top of her lungs. Reaching into her coat pocket, she pulled out her warrant card, knowing her colleagues were not far behind. ‘Stop what you’re doing!’ she screamed. ‘There’s a child inside!’
A broad man in a fluorescent sleeveless vest and hard hat ambled towards the plastic fence that had been erected to keep the public at bay. ‘Sorry, love, but you’re not coming through. We’ve cleared the building. There’s no one inside.’
Amy ground her back teeth in response to his condescension. It was often a by-product of being female and five foot two inches high. Would he have reacted the same way if one of her male colleagues had instructed him to stop? ‘It’s Detective Inspector, actually,’ she said, ignoring his attempt to halt her entry. ‘Tell your men to put a stop to this now.’ Darting past him, she squeezed through the fence and approached the building where demolition had already begun. Any minute now a wrecking ball could come hurtling towards her, or perhaps an explosion of TNT? But such warnings were whispers in the back of her mind as she searched for the four-year-old child.
‘Get back! It’s gonna come down! Get the fuck back from there!’ The air was peppered with swear words as workmen on the periphery waved in response to her presence. But Amy was too wrapped up in finding the little girl to stop now.
‘Ellen!’ she shouted, craning her neck left and right. ‘Ell—’ The force of the blast that followed knocked her off her feet, spewing rubble in the air. Amy coughed to clear her airways as she inhaled a lungful of concrete dust. One of the giant concrete pillars had come down. Radios communicated the news between workers and the on-site machinery fell silent. The dust filtered up Amy’s nostrils, tasting chalky on her tongue. Shaking, she rose to her feet. ‘Ellen,’ she choked, blinking furiously as she tried to clear her vision. In the background, a siren screamed as more of her colleagues reached her location.
Glowering, a heavy-footed man approached. He wore a yellow hard hat and a fluorescent vest, just like the other workers on site. ‘You idiot! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ He scowled, his beard white with dust. ‘I’m the site manager. You could have been killed.’
Wobbling on her feet, Amy plucked her warrant card from her pocket. Behind her, a spray of water was being directed towards the rubble to keep the dust down. Amy coughed again. Her elbow stung like hell and she realised she’d cut it when she fell. She tucked her warrant card back into her pocket. The building was vast. There was still hope. She refused to believe that Ellen had been caught up in the blast.
‘We think there’s a child in this building. We’re not leaving until it’s been searched,’ Amy replied. ‘How are you doing it? Explosives?’
‘In central London?’ The man barked a laugh. His face grew serious as he felt Amy’s glare. ‘Excavators rip through the concrete beams and columns. Then we wet it to keep down the dust. It’s done gradually, but with force. Mind you, it’s come to a sodding halt now you’re here.’
‘I see,’ Amy said, approaching the remains of what had once been a concrete beam.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ the site manager called after her. ‘Come back, it’s not stable!’
Amy spun on her heel, her face thunderous as she raised a finger in the air. ‘Swear at me one more time and I’ll—’
‘Boss! I’ve found something!’ A man with a ruddy complexion jumped down from the excavator, pulling the gloves from his hands.
A chill ran down Amy’s spine as she caught the expression on his face. ‘No,’ she whispered. It couldn’t be. Ellen couldn’t have been there. There was still so much of the building to demolish. But the driver hadn’t seen Amy enter the site. Had he missed the little girl inside too?
Amy’s legs felt heavy as she approached the rubble. A sense of stillness fell. Swallowing back the dust lodged in her throat, she followed the gaze of the workmen, wishing she could press a pause button on what was to come. Nobody could have survived the weight of a concrete beam bearing down. Her hand rose to her mouth as she drew in a sudden breath. Sticking out of a pile of torn-up concrete was the hem of a child’s nightdress, blue with a pink ribbon, exactly as Luka had described. But this one was stained with patches of blood.
The sight of t
he scrap of material proved to be too much. ‘Ellen!’ Amy cried, throwing herself on to the rubble and clawing at it.
‘Hey!’ The site manager lurched forward. ‘We’ve got equipment to clear this lot. You’ll never do it like this!’ The look on his face relayed that he didn’t expect to find Ellen alive.
As Amy tore at the rubble, she paused at the sight of fresh blood. It was only when pain seared in her fingernails that she realised it was coming from her. Grunting, she continued to tear at the rocks, until a gentler voice spoke from behind.
‘Ma’am, you’re hurting yourself. Let them take care of it. It’ll be quicker that way.’ The voice was that of a young police officer, and was followed by a firm hand on her arm.
‘No! Get off me!’ Amy screamed as they tried to lead her away. But her digging was fruitless. She could never move this lot on her own. Her legs shaking and fingernails torn, she glanced up at the gathering crowd and reluctantly stepped aside. She knew what they were thinking. She had failed. She was too late.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
‘Don’t look so jumpy.’ Deborah stared at her guests, mild annoyance sharpening her words. ‘Nobody’s going to see us here.’ It was true. She’d pulled a lot of strings to get a table at Aqua Shard at such short notice. With its breathtaking views of London and its upmarket clientele, they were unlikely to bump into any police here. Like a carrot, she had dangled the invite before them. Fortune had not smiled on Stuart and Christina and she knew they would be unable to resist.
Having finished their appetisers, the wait for their main course seemed like the perfect time to broach the real reason behind the invitation.
‘I didn’t bring you here for a reunion,’ Deborah said, tearing her eyes away from the view.
Christina’s face soured as she sipped her sparkling water, her short, cropped hair making her look like an angry pixie.
The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 12