Across from her, Stuart shifted in his chair, encased in a suit that had seen better days. ‘I knew you’d be in touch soon enough,’ he said, meeting their gaze. He had changed little over the years. He still sported a buzz cut, was still broad yet lean, despite his advancing years.
Deborah folded her napkin, gracefully straightening her cutlery. ‘I’m guessing you’ve heard about what happened to Dr Curtis? Have the police been in touch yet?’ To her, he was Hugh, but only his friends were afforded the honour of using his first name.
‘Not yet. I take it you’ve brought us here so we get our stories straight,’ Stuart replied.
‘I don’t like this,’ Christina interjected, her bright pink nails flashing as she toyed with the top button of her blouse. ‘I don’t like it one bit.’
Deborah looked at her with the interest of a cat observing a mouse. ‘We’re going to have to deal with it whether we like it or not.’
‘Who’s behind it all? I mean, it can’t be Luka. Not unless he’s risen from the dead,’ Stuart said.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Christina replied. ‘I’ve always thought there was something dodgy about that fire.’
Stuart cast her a filthy look. ‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t there.’
‘Hey, I’m just saying,’ Christina replied. ‘It’s been bad enough getting those flowers every year. That card . . . “Ladybird, ladybird . . .” Whoever’s behind it wants to hurt our families.’
Deborah’s expression darkened. She hated being reminded of the Curtis Institute and all the times she had walked down those creepy corridors at night. Sometimes she could have sworn she heard crying, long after the children had vacated the space. She repressed a shudder as goosebumps broke out on her skin. ‘Look. We need to stand together on this, otherwise—’
‘Otherwise we’re going to jail,’ Stuart interrupted, his face tight. ‘How we thought we’d get away with it, I don’t know.’
‘Don’t,’ Christina squeaked, the colour leaving her face. She reached for Stuart’s hand, unspoken words passing between them. His expression melted and he squeezed her fingers.
‘The guilt is killing me. I can’t bear . . .’ The words died in Christina’s throat as the waiter arrived with their main course. It was a set meal that Deborah had pre-ordered. Christina was a ditherer and she could not afford to waste time.
Stuart picked at his steak as they fell into silence.
‘Eat up, will you?’ Deborah grumbled. ‘This didn’t come cheap, you know.’ It had been the same when they worked together. She had to continually keep on top of things and tell them what to do.
Christina delivered a weak half-smile before swallowing a mouthful of steamed fish. The very sight of her made Deborah tense. Here was a woman with the power to tear her world apart. She returned her smile, forced a softer tone of voice. ‘There’s no need to panic. If they start digging, then tell them the testing was government-approved and you’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘But the government didn’t approve what happened.’ Stuart gestured with his fork as he directed his concerns towards Deborah. ‘Christina’s right. It’s inhuman, that’s what it is. Makes me sick.’
Her nostrils flaring, Deborah inhaled a sharp breath. ‘You weren’t complaining when you both took the pay-off.’ Deborah’s finger curled around her steak knife as anger bubbled to the surface.
‘This is dreadful. Just dreadful,’ Christina said, her words arriving on panicked breaths. ‘If my Marcus hears about this . . . He’s a vicar, for goodness’ sake. He’ll fall to pieces.’ Christina was on her third husband. She may have come across all sweetness and light, but Deborah knew that past infidelities had split her marriages up.
Slicing off a cube of steak, Deborah popped it in her mouth. It melted on her tongue and brought momentary relief. ‘I told you. Stick to the story and we’ll be fine.’
‘What if he comes after my son?’ Stuart said. ‘It’s all right for you. Your kids are grown up. Toby’s only six years old.’
‘Is everything to your satisfaction? Can I bring you another drink?’ Behind them, the waiter spoke, making Christina jump.
‘We’re fine. Thank you, Neil,’ Deborah replied on behalf of them all. She had flirted with him during previous visits, and they were on first-name terms. But today her smile was tight and he took the hint to leave them alone. Shame, Deborah thought, admiring his backside as he walked away. She had been alone for far too long but, for now, dating was not on the cards. She returned her attention to Stuart and Christina, wishing they’d never been involved.
‘It’s too late to change the past,’ she continued. ‘But confess now and our families will pay the price.’ She glared at Stuart. ‘What will become of Toby if you end up in jail?’ She turned back to Christina. ‘And how would your husband deal with the shame?’
Satisfied she had chastised them both, Deborah returned her attention to her meal. She’d had a long time to contemplate things. It had happened a lifetime ago. Only four people knew the truth and Dr Curtis was paying the price. As long as they kept their silence, it ended there, with him.
CHAPTER THIRTY
‘Sure your mum won’t mind me coming over so late?’ Donovan smiled as Amy greeted him at her front door. He knew all about Flora’s adoration of Amy’s ex, as she had discussed it with him at length. But Amy valued their late-night phone calls, and after today’s events she needed to talk to someone who would understand.
‘Of course not, it’s my home too.’ Amy reached for Donovan’s coat, freezing as he took her hand. Closely, he examined the tips of her fingers, which were bandaged after the earlier incident. Heat spread within her, rising as a bloom to her cheeks, but Donovan seemed oblivious to her discomfort as he turned her hand over in his. ‘That looks painful. Are you OK?’
‘It’s fine.’ Slowly, Amy freed her hand, making a conscious effort not to snatch it back. Taking his coat, she hung it on the hook in the hall. The injuries to her fingers were superficial and the cut on her elbow had received three Steri-Strips. It could have been a lot worse.
Turning to Donovan, she drank in his form. Adam had always been clean-shaven but Amy liked Donovan’s stubble. It suited him. It was nice to see him in jeans and a jumper for a change. Having come straight from work, she’d barely had time to change into an old pair of Levi’s and an oversized sweatshirt before he turned up at her door. The proposed get-together was welcome. The house was warm and welcoming, the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies hanging in the air. Flora had set the scene before making herself scarce. Fresh flowers in vases, the sideboards polished and a batch of cookies cooling on a wire rack in the kitchen. Adam loved Flora’s biscuits, but little did she know it was not Adam who was keeping her daughter company tonight.
‘She’s gone to see Mamma Mia! at the Novello.’ Amy knew the theatre trip was an excuse to get out of the house. ‘It’s been hard for her since Dad died, but she has a good network of friends.’
‘And she has you.’ Donovan paused at the living-room door.
‘Me? Living with me comes with its own set of problems.’ Amy paused for breath, realising she had said too much. Being in Donovan’s company brought a sense of calm and ease that immediately drew her in. ‘I’m sorry.’ She flushed. ‘You’ve heard enough about me to last a lifetime.’
Donovan leaned in, his voice deep and warm. ‘Yeah, you’re a bit of a nightmare all right.’
Seconds passed before Amy realised he was joking, and her face broke out into a smile.
Donovan returned his glance to her bandaged fingers. ‘I hear you’ve had a hell of a day.’
Amy sighed. No doubt word of her meltdown had spread across the force. ‘Played. I feel played,’ she replied. ‘I honestly thought Ellen was under all that rubble. He left her nightdress there just to wind me up.’
‘But there was blood on it – wasn’t there?’
Amy nodded. Her relief at the absence of a body had been cut short when they saw the blood on the c
hild’s nightdress. ‘We’ve had it fast-tracked to the lab. It’s Ellen’s. It has to be. Which means we could have a murder inquiry on our hands.’
Donovan nodded. ‘Sending you halfway across London, then setting you up to fail. He’s toying with you.’
Amy had already come to that conclusion and needed answers fast. There was one person who could help her. Someone who was well versed in such games. An involuntary shiver drove its way down her back and she pushed all thoughts of Lillian Grimes away.
‘Anyway,’ she said, pushing down the door handle, ‘there’s someone important I want you to meet.’
Donovan gave her a curious look before following her inside. His smile widened as Dotty bounded towards them both.
‘Careful,’ Amy warned. ‘She’s funny with strangers. Let her come to you.’ But her advice was ignored as he immediately dropped to one knee.
‘Hello, lovely,’ he said, making a fuss of the dog as she danced around his feet. ‘I’ve got one just like you.’
‘You own a pug?’ It was Amy’s turn to be surprised.
‘Yes – Poirot,’ Donovan replied, before turning his attention back to Dotty. ‘He’d like you very much indeed.’
‘You’re kidding. You’ve named your pug Poirot?’
Donovan straightened, brushing off his jeans. ‘What’s so strange about that? I’ve got a Staffordshire terrier too. They get on really well.’
‘A Staffy and a pug. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.’ Amy was unable to imagine her beloved Dotty sharing the limelight with another dog.
Donovan was clearly animated by Dotty’s presence. ‘A couple of years ago we busted a dog-fighting ring and I gave Blackbeard a home. You should have seen him, poor sod. He was a sorry sight.’
‘Blackbeard?’ Amy warmed to him even more. Their relationship felt like kismet. Here was a man who believed in second chances. Up until now, she had been scared he would judge her for her dark past. Having serial-killer parents was not something you dropped into casual conversation.
But there was a vast difference between being kind enough to adopt an abused dog and understanding the sort of twisted background Amy had emerged from. She shelved her thoughts. Now was not the time.
‘He’s blind in one eye and has a tuft of black hair under his chin. He was pretty traumatised when I got him, but now he’s happy as a pig in . . .’ he smiled. ‘Mud.’
‘That’s a myth.’ Switching on a lamp, Amy led Donovan through to the kitchen for coffee. ‘About the pirates, I mean. They didn’t wear eye patches because they were blind. It helped their night vision when they went below deck. They swapped the patch over, you see . . .’ She pursed her lips as she caught Donovan’s bemused expression. Turning around, she filled the kettle, feeling her cheeks burn. She was a detective inspector, so why did she sound like such a nerd?
‘Interesting.’ Pushing up his sleeves, Donovan folded his arms. ‘We could test the theory, I suppose. Got any dark cupboards?’
Stretching on to her tippy-toes, she plucked two mugs from the top shelf. She poured a little milk into a porcelain jug. It was shaped like a cow, its tail forming the handle. Quirky but functional – just like the rest of her mum’s home. ‘Now that you mention it, I had planned to drag you into a dark space.’ She stepped towards him. ‘Just you and me . . . somewhere private. Would you like your coffee first or should we get started?’ She was teasing him, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Get started?’ Donovan’s eyebrows rose as she offered him a cookie.
‘It’s why I asked you here. Shall we get stuck in?’
Coughing, Donovan brushed away an errant cookie crumb, almost choking mid-bite. ‘Erm . . . whatever you say.’
‘You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.’ Amy took him by the hand. His grip was warm and comforting and, for a second, she regretted her impulsive invitation. But as they reached the door to the wine cellar she knew this would test his character once and for all. The thought gave her pause. Was that what this was about? Testing him to see if he had the staying power to see things through? Releasing his hand, she opened the door and flicked on the light. She peered down the steps, a cold chill creeping between her shoulder blades. ‘Are you coming down? It won’t take long.’
‘Won’t take long?’ Donovan said, looking mildly affronted. ‘Miss Winter, if I didn’t think you were joking, I’d say you’re severely underestimating me.’
‘OK, OK.’ Amy laughed. ‘I just need you to check for spiders, maybe get the Hoover in.’
Donovan followed her gaze into the cellar below. ‘Seriously? You want me to hunt for spiders?’
‘Yes, well. I need it cleared if I’m going to use it as a gym again. Pike invited me back to her son’s place, but we’re not on friendly terms anymore.’ She registered the disappointment on his face. ‘Why? What did you think I’d brought you here for?’
‘Where’s the Hoover?’ Donovan’s bemused look suggested he was all too aware of her games.
Within fifteen minutes, every inch of the room had been checked. Amy approached with a mug of fresh coffee and an expression of gratitude on her face. She had fond memories of her time in this space, which her father had converted to a home gym years ago, but since his death she had been reluctant to come down here on her own.
‘Who owns the punchbag?’ Donovan said, running his hand down the length of it.
Amy handed him his cup. ‘It’s mine. Fancy a workout?’
‘I might hold you to that. I did a bit of boxing in my youth – some competitions, nothing major.’
Amy could imagine him in the ring. She’d heard rumours that he had run with a troubled crowd in his youth. Joining the police had been his way of going straight. ‘It’s good for getting rid of pent-up energy,’ she replied, inwardly cringing at the double meaning. Stepping forward, she narrowed the gap between them. ‘Seriously, thank you. I don’t have many friends, and it’s been . . . nice.’
Sipping his coffee, Donovan gazed down at her face. ‘I’m here any time. You only have to call.’
‘You’re hardly living around the corner,’ she said, referring to his Essex abode.
‘What’s an hour and a half between friends?’ Reaching forward, he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. Amy’s heart missed a beat as the warmth of his fingers made contact with her skin.
A sudden gravelly bark was followed by the slam of the front door and she groaned at the intrusion. ‘What time is it?’ Pushing back the sleeve of her sweatshirt, she checked her watch. ‘Don’t tell me she’s back already?’ Flora would be quick to draw inferences.
Amy paused. Would that be so bad? She sighed, knowing she had little choice in the matter. Flora would not have missed Donovan’s coat hanging in the hall. ‘Would you like to stay for a drink? A proper one?’ she said. Her father’s spirits cabinet had been left virtually untouched since his demise. She knew he would approve of Donovan being in her life far more than Adam. ‘I mean, if you’d rather not, I understand. It’s a bit soon to be bringing you back to meet Mum.’
‘I’d love to.’ Donovan’s posture was relaxed as he followed her to the steps.
‘Good. Do me a favour, will you? If she jumps to conclusions about us, do you mind not setting her straight? She might give this whole Adam business a break.’
‘Yeah, why not?’ His smile faded and he gave her a look that was hard to read. Was he hoping for something more between them, or frightened at the prospect? It was impossible to tell. She knew he was recently divorced due to infidelity on his wife’s side. They had more in common than just work.
‘It’s hard getting back into the dating scene, isn’t it?’ Donovan rested his hand on the stair railing. ‘It’s changed so much since I was last single. All these dating apps and websites. What’s wrong with going out for a drink, meeting in a bar or . . .’ He looked at her pointedly. ‘Through work?’
‘I can’t even think about dating yet,’ Amy replied, a little more quickly than s
he meant to.
‘But there’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, is there?’ Donovan followed her up the steps. ‘Nothing heavy. Just two people enjoying each other’s company. Where’s the harm in that?’
Amy was about to reply when her mother’s voice rose in the hall. ‘Amy? Where are you? Are you home?’
Amy smiled at Donovan apologetically. ‘Come on,’ she said, opening the door. ‘I’ll get you a drink. You’re going to need it.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Amy made it to work with only minutes to spare, her legs aching from pedalling her bike against the wind. Last night, the drinks had flowed as she and Donovan curled up on the sofa, chatting about life in the force. She had seen the twitch of Flora’s bedroom curtains as she said goodbye to him on their front step. Hopefully, her mother would drop the subject of Adam once and for all.
Standing in her team’s office, Amy dragged her thoughts away from Donovan as she watched the officers file in. She curled her fingers around a mug from the tray that Molly had left on the table. A porcelain teapot sat alongside a couple of coffees and a packet of digestive biscuits on the side. Molly had the unenviable task of running the tea club and, come afternoon, there would be nothing left on the saucer but crumbs.
‘Can’t we afford any choccy biscuits?’ DC Gary Wilkes asked, sliding a digestive from the plate. His shirt was cobalt blue, paired with a canary-yellow tie. Pink yesterday, yellow today? Amy made a mental note to find out if he was colour blind.
Molly responded to his quip with a withering look. ‘I can only stretch your measly contributions so far. A fiver a week isn’t much for biscuits and all the brew-ups you can drink.’
‘Yeah, but for the price of a pack of digestives, you could easily get some Jaffa cakes.’
‘Jaffas are biscuits, not cakes,’ Steve piped up, and a long-running argument about the definition of Jaffa cakes reared its head once again.
Amy’s mouth twitched in a smile. They were up to their necks in work but such was the nature of their department. When were they not under monumental pressure or dealing with something with the potential to go horribly wrong? These brief moments of office banter helped them stay sane.
The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 13