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

by Caroline Mitchell

  Another thought lingered as she answered ‘No comment’ to the barrage of questions being thrown at her. How had so many people known to gather here at this time? And for the press to be involved too? The whole thing smelled of a set-up.

  ‘Everybody get back!’ a strong male voice barked, causing the crowds to part. ‘NOW.’

  Amy felt a surge of relief as she recognised Donovan’s voice. His arm clamped around her shoulders, he whisked her inside the station, her feet barely touching the ground.

  Being rescued was a novel experience, and she was glad to get inside in one piece. Pressing her tag against a door sensor, Amy led Donovan into a private office used for printing out reports.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, his face creased with concern. The room was empty, apart from a police community support officer who was on her way out.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied. Shrugging off her jacket, Amy groaned as she caught sight of an egg splattered on the back. ‘Ah, no. This is one of my best suits.’ She knew she should thank Donovan, but it seemed like an admission of weakness. She prided herself on being self-sufficient – and, given the recent news, she knew she would be going it alone from now on.

  ‘There you are.’ His face flushed, Paddy burst through the office door, a wad of paperwork in his hand. ‘I heard there was a ruckus. Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Amy snapped. ‘Honestly, there’s no need to fuss.’

  ‘Where was her backup? Anything could have happened.’ Donovan shook his head in disgust. ‘There were enough of you watching upstairs.’

  ‘Not me, mate,’ Paddy replied, his features grim. ‘I came as soon as I heard.’

  ‘It all happened so quickly,’ Amy said, trying to regain her composure, even though she was shaking inside. She gave Paddy a taut smile. ‘I’ll be with you in a minute. Best you get back to the team.’

  Frowning, Paddy glanced at the paperwork he was holding, as if just realising it was there. ‘As long as you’re all right.’

  ‘She is now,’ Donovan said as Paddy left, his words loud enough for him to hear.

  Donovan’s protective streak was something Amy had not seen before, and she had mixed feelings about it. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was cold. She could feel her walls rising. Why was he here? Had he come to gape, just like the rest?

  ‘You weren’t answering my calls. I was in the area and thought I’d see how you were.’

  ‘Really? In the area? You work in Essex.’ Amy’s face was set in stone as she uttered the words. None of this was Donovan’s fault, yet she was taking her frustration out on him just the same. She folded her jacket, unable to meet his eyes. ‘So you’ve read the headlines then?’ she said, filling the uncomfortable silence.

  ‘I had an inkling of your connection to Lillian after our trip to Essex,’ Donovan said quietly, referring to Amy’s last big case. ‘I wondered why she called you Poppy. Then I spoke to one of the drivers, and he mentioned Lillian referred to you as family. But I wasn’t going to say anything – at least, not until now.’

  A sick feeling grew in the pit of Amy’s stomach. So that’s why he had befriended her. He’d wanted to know what made her tick.

  He reached out to touch her, frowning as she took a step back. ‘I wanted to see if you were OK, that’s all. I thought you could do with a friend.’

  ‘Well, friends are certainly in short supply right now.’ Amy looked into his eyes, surprised to see more than friendship there. She couldn’t do it. Could not allow herself to get hurt again. A cold smile graced her face as her internal walls rose another inch. ‘Who can blame them? If you’ve any sense, you’ll steer well clear.’

  ‘But what if I don’t want to?’ Donovan said, taking another step towards her as she turned towards the door. ‘I . . .’ he faltered. ‘I care about you.’

  ‘Care about me? Well, that’s pretty stupid of you.’ Amy opened the door to leave, barely giving him a second glance. ‘I’ve got work to do. See yourself out.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Throwing her car keys into the kitchen dresser drawer, Deborah shouted to her son, Max, that she was home. With one fluid movement, she retrieved a coffee pod and slipped it into the machine. Placing a glass cup beneath the spout, she inhaled the tantalising aroma as it poured. Not that she should be drinking caffeine. The detective’s visit had unnerved her, making her as jittery as hell. She had told herself to relax, that nothing could touch her now. So why had a high-ranking officer such as DI Amy Winter come knocking on her door? The attractive young woman had surveyed her with interest, intruding on every facet of her home. Had she sensed her guilt bubbling beneath the surface? Had she suspected her of foul play? But Deborah’s worst secrets were buried decades in the past.

  ‘I don’t think you should leave the house,’ she said, as Max plucked her car keys from the drawer. It was a gently worded command.

  ‘I’m only popping out for groceries. I’ll bring you something back.’ He turned his brown eyes upon her, pausing as he caught her worried gaze. He might tower above her, but he would always be her little boy.

  She reached out and touched his forearm. ‘The police were here, it’s not safe. Stay home. We’ll put a movie on, have a duvet day. I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer. We can order food from that nice deli you like.’ She was grasping at straws, waffling in an attempt to keep him from walking out.

  ‘What am I, twelve?’ He chuckled. ‘You’ll be offering me jelly with my ice cream next.’

  She smiled. ‘I know you’ve got things to do, but I’ve not been feeling very well. I don’t want to be on my own.’ Using her heart condition was a low blow, but she needed to keep him home. She had always wanted a big family, but the condition that came to light after she gave birth to Max meant having more children had been too much of a risk.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, the keys rattling as he dropped them back into the drawer. ‘We can put on a box set – but nothing soppy, mind. I get to choose.’

  ‘It’s Game of Thrones again, isn’t it?’ She shook her head in mock disgust, pleased she had won him around. The insistent ring of the phone in the hall drew her attention away. ‘I’ll be right back. There’s a leaflet for the deli in the drawer.’

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped, picking up the receiver. Her response was sharp, the interruption unwelcome. She rarely received social calls, and she wanted to forget about the past for one day.

  ‘It’s me – Stuart,’ the voice on the other end responded, making her spirits plummet. Couldn’t she have one evening alone with her son?

  Lowering her voice, she closed the kitchen door fully before walking to the far end of the hall. She knew from the fear in his words that he was ringing to ask for help.

  ‘He’s got Toby. He’s got my boy. I don’t know what to do.’ Stuart quickly relayed the story of the courier visiting his workplace. Just like that, his son had disappeared into the ether, an unwilling pawn in a game he did not understand.

  ‘He sent me phials. Said I had to drink one or my son would die. I was going to call the police but then I saw Toby on FaceTime, crying to come home. What sort of sick fuck is he? Taking my boy like that. Toby needs his medication. He needs his routine—’

  ‘Did you see his face?’ Deborah cut through his words. ‘The kidnapper . . . did you speak to him?’

  ‘No, he was wearing some kind of mask. I took the drink and he hung up. Should I believe him? He’s not given Ellen back.’

  ‘Have you called the police?’ Deborah held her breath as she awaited his response.

  ‘He told me not to. Do you think I should?’ Stuart’s voice broke as he emitted a whimper of despair. ‘What should I do? I want my boy back.’

  ‘Just do as he says,’ Deborah replied in hushed tones. Feeling like an ant under a microscope, she rubbed the base of her neck. Every inch of her body ached – a side effect of being permanently tense.

  ‘I tried ringing Dr Curtis,’ Stuart said. ‘Seems like he’s washed his hand
s of us all.’

  ‘Do you blame him?’ Deborah struggled to catch her breath. ‘His wife almost died.’

  ‘Exactly. We’re dealing with a killer. Luka is alive. He’s coming for us all.’

  ‘Luka is dead,’ Deborah snapped, feeling a build-up of pressure in her chest. Her breath tight, she leaned against the wall, willing her heart rate to slow down.

  ‘Mum?’ Max called from the kitchen. He opened the door and poked his head through. ‘Oh. Sorry, I thought you were off the phone.’

  ‘It’s work,’ she mouthed, rolling her eyes in irritation. ‘Be with you in a sec.’ In his hands was a takeaway leaflet from the deli she had mentioned. She clasped a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Order my usual. Use my card, it’s in my handbag on the side.’

  Flashing her a smile, Max withdrew into the kitchen and quietly closed the door. She was so lucky to have him – which is why she had to keep him safe.

  Stuart’s voice came like an irritant down the phone. ‘I’m going out of my mind here. What will I do?’

  ‘Go home. I gave the police your address. They’ll be visiting you soon enough.’

  ‘But . . . the kidnapper said not to call them. Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because they wouldn’t bloody well leave me alone!’ Deborah spat the words. ‘Stick to the story and we’ll be fine. I’ve got to go.’ A wave of dizziness overcame her as she hung up the phone. She felt queasy, adrift on the deck of a ship with no captain to steer it. Goodness knows how she was going to eat. Her past was clawing for her attention and would not be ignored. She thought of her son, how he would feel if he knew the truth. No matter how much she tried, nothing could make up for her misdemeanours. She had done an unspeakable thing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  ‘Sorry, ma’am, have you got a second?’ Molly caught Amy on her way to her office.

  ‘Sure,’ Amy said, staring at the tropical plant drooping in the corner. It had seen better days. She sniffed, catching sight of a tea bag sticking out of the soil. ‘Who’s been feeding it tea?’

  ‘Not me.’ Molly smiled, looking younger than her twenty-nine years. She wasn’t wearing any make-up and her freckles were on show. Amy listened intently as she took a breath to speak.

  ‘It’s about Dr Curtis. I didn’t want to mention it during briefing as I was waiting to hear back from children’s social care.’

  ‘What have you got?’ Amy replied.

  Much of the briefing had been about Luka, and they had debated whether he was still alive. Her team had mixed reactions and the doctor was not off the hook yet.

  ‘Curtis was a psychologist, but he had a licence to practise as a psychiatrist too. I looked it up, more out of nosiness than anything else, ’cos I didn’t know the difference between the two.’ Her tongue darted out of her mouth as she licked her lips. The habit came into play when she was excited about something. ‘Anyway, it’s unusual for someone to practise both. A psychologist can’t prescribe medication, but a psychiatrist can. That got me wondering if Dr Curtis had prescribed drugs to the kids in his care.’

  Amy’s interest was piqued. ‘And social care? How could they help?’

  ‘They said that Ellen was on medication – Zitalin. It’s big in the US and was hugely popular here in the early nineties. Lots of kids are prescribed it to help with their studies.’ Her eyes shone with the discovery. ‘I rang Curtis’s first wife, Shirley Baker, put the question to her and . . . guess what? Her kids were on Zitalin too – but as soon as she divorced Dr Curtis, they came off the drug.’

  Amy smiled at Molly’s ability to think outside the box. ‘Good job. So that’s what she meant about them being lab rats. Curtis is due to answer bail soon, isn’t he?’ Further interviews were allowed, as long as earlier questions weren’t repeated.

  Molly nodded, still smiling. The tiniest words of encouragement could make her day.

  ‘Re-interview him when he comes in,’ Amy said. ‘I don’t think we’ll have enough to extend his bail but it gives us something new to offer the CPS.’ Given Luka was now in the frame, it was unlikely that the Crown Prosecution Service would advise a charge for Dr Curtis, but the theory about children at the institute being drugged would give them food for thought. ‘Also,’ Amy said, tapping her chin, ‘request further intelligence on his finances. His wealth came from somewhere, and it wouldn’t surprise me if one of the big pharmaceutical companies wasn’t funding his studies back then. You say that Shirley was acting shifty. It makes me wonder if someone is blackmailing them.’

  Another thought occurred to Amy. ‘But why hasn’t Luka specifically mentioned being drugged?’ The vagueness of his motives had bothered her all along. She’d toyed with the theory that he was trying to protect the people responsible so he could get to them first. But why involve the police?

  Inside her office, the phone began to ring. Amy turned to Molly one last time. ‘I’ve set some new tasks on the system. Let Paddy know if you’ve any problem keeping up.’ The computerised system was used to keep track of the vast number of updates inputted each day. Each entry was time-stamped, and Amy used it to oversee proceedings and set tasks of her own. It was up to her sergeant, Paddy, to chase them up and ensure completion in the timescales she set.

  The call was from Amy’s brother, Craig. It was only natural for him to be devastated by the news about her biological mother but, after the foray outside the station, she had little energy to deal with it now. She felt horrible for giving Donovan the brush-off earlier on.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied, after Craig asked her how she was. ‘But I haven’t got time to talk.’ In the privacy of her office, her blinds were half-closed. Her egg-stained jacket hung on the back of her chair, ready for the dry cleaner’s.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Craig replied. ‘Mum’s been so upset.’

  ‘I’ve only just found out myself.’

  ‘I’m your brother, I should be looking out for you. How were you meant to cope with it on your own?’

  ‘By taking a leaf out of Dad’s book and getting on with things.’ It was how their father had coped with every situation he encountered. Robert Winter had also been adopted. His mother was only sixteen when she’d had him, and neither had tried to get in touch with the other. Unlike Lillian, who would not give Amy a minute’s peace. Ever since Robert died, she’d seemed hell-bent on bringing Amy down – something Adam seemed more than happy to help her with. Amy would not have been surprised if Lillian had somehow organised the scrum of people outside.

  ‘To think you nearly married that chump . . .’ Craig said, the sound of his footsteps punctuating his words as he paced the floor. ‘I can’t believe Adam printed that story. He cheats on you, humiliates you the day before your wedding and now this . . .’ His footsteps came to a halt. ‘I should give him a piece of my mind.’

  Amy smiled. Her brother was a lover, not a fighter. She had stuck up for him throughout their schooling, scaring off any bully who dared approach. But the newspaper headlines were like a punch to the face, connecting Amy to the brutal murders her parents had committed during those dark years. ‘Adam’s pissed off because he thinks I’m seeing someone else,’ Amy said.

  ‘After everything he did? Unbelievable!’ Craig exclaimed.

  ‘Looks like I had a narrow escape.’

  ‘You’re dealing with this really well.’ Craig’s voice carried a hint of concern. ‘Mum said that’s why you went to see Lillian in prison. I remember feeling jealous because she granted you an audience. I’m so sorry. I behaved like an idiot. I should have been there for you.’

  ‘There’s nothing anyone can do.’ Amy massaged her temples. In truth, she did not want to give it any more of her energy, which was best served focusing on the case. Thanks to the information Deborah had supplied, officers were closing in on Stuart’s address. Credit checks had assisted in obtaining the current address of Christina, the other orderly who had worked at the Curtis Institute. Their safety was paramount.

 
‘So who’s this new guy on the scene?’ Craig said, pulling Amy from her thoughts. ‘Mum said he’s in the job too.’

  ‘Oh, nobody, we’re just friends. I told Mum we were seeing each other so she’d get off my back about Adam.’

  ‘I don’t think you need to worry about that now. Listen, I’ve got to go, but if there’s anything you need . . .’

  ‘Don’t call you – yeah, I know.’ Amy smiled. ‘Now, stop being so nice, you’re freaking me out.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Craig chuckled. ‘But I’m lodging a complaint with the paper. It’s about time Adam was taken down a peg or two.’

  Thoughts of Adam were quickly discarded as Paddy sharply rapped on Amy’s door. ‘I’m wanted. Chat to you later,’ she said, ending the call. She looked at Paddy. ‘What is it?’ He swung the door open with an urgency that relayed something was up.

  ‘Two things. We’ve got an address for Stuart Coughlan. Officers are on their way to Stuart’s address.’

  Springing from her chair, Amy grabbed a spare blazer from the hook on the wall.

  ‘You can’t go, not yet.’ Paddy shot out an arm, blocking her departure. ‘That’s the second thing . . . Luka’s on the line, and he’ll speak only to you.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Amy’s team gathered around her, the room falling silent as she picked up the phone. Every effort would go into tracing the origin of the call, but their suspect was not stupid. He would not hang around for very long. ‘DI Winter,’ she said, her tone firm.

  But the voice that responded was brittle and pained. ‘I’m only going to say this once, so you’d better take note.’

  ‘Is that you, Luka?’ Amy was keen to extend every second of their conversation. She was desperate to ask him about Ellen, but the call needed to be handled with care.

  ‘Who else would it be, you stupid cow?’ Her caller sucked in a sharp breath between clenched teeth.