He sighed. ‘Look. About last night. My timing was off. I didn’t mean any offence.’
‘As you said, water under the bridge.’ She made a silent pact to keep her father’s tradition of a stiff upper lip. She could iron out the problems with her colleagues later on. ‘What’s the story with this radio interview?’
‘Another attempt at exposure, given the newspaper story didn’t work out. I thought we could log on to the station’s website in the briefing room and play it there. I’ve texted the team and asked them to come in early doors.’
‘Right,’ Amy said, as Paddy braked at the traffic lights. Regardless of what was said, she should not have stormed out. It was behaviour unfitting for a DI. She tuned into Paddy’s narrative as he brought her up to speed.
‘The station was running a call-in about missing children, and how white middle-class families get more coverage than ethnic minorities and kids from disadvantaged homes. Luka talked about Toby going missing and how upset he was.’
‘So he played the victim?’
‘Yup. The presenter presumed he was Toby’s father. Can you believe that? But when he started banging on about Dr Curtis they cut him short. We’ll know more when we listen for ourselves.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of Amy’s phone. It was DCI Pike, speaking in clipped tones. ‘Winter? I need to speak to you urgently. Are you on your way in?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Amy replied, noting her formal tone. ‘We’re almost at the station.’
‘Come straight to my office.’ The line went dead as she hung up. This was serious. Was it about last night? Pike never arrived at work before her, much less summoned her before 8 a.m. Surely Ellen and Toby took precedence over all of this. But would Amy be allowed to supervise her team as they investigated the case?
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
‘Let me close the window.’ Pike rose from her chair as Amy took a seat. ‘We don’t want the press listening in.’ She stretched forward as she pulled it shut, blinking against the early-morning sunshine streaming in.
Amy felt a tinge of annoyance at the subtle dig. They would need superhero powers to eavesdrop on this floor from outside. Still, the barbed comment was justified. Since joining the team, she had brought them nothing but grief. Her eyes roved Pike’s office. She’d had a visitor, because for once her workspace was clear. No browning apple cores, no books with cracked spines left face down on her desk. As always, the smell of fresh coffee lingered in the air. Amy’s mouth watered. She had arrived in such a rush; there had been no time to make a cuppa.
Catching her gaze, Pike poured her a cup. ‘I wanted to see you before the briefing,’ she said, passing it over.
Amy closed her eyes as she sipped, allowing herself a quick but luxurious inhalation of Colombian fine blend. She had a full day ahead of her, a ton of paperwork to review, her call with Luka and she had no idea what Pike was going to throw up next. Paddy had assured her that last night’s incident had gone no further than their four walls but, sitting in her DCI’s office, Amy was not so sure.
Pike surveyed her over the rim of her coffee cup. ‘I’ve been thinking about all this press attention. It’s not going away anytime soon.’
Amy sighed. They should be discussing Toby’s case, not the limelight being thrust upon her. Why was her senior officer so lacking when it came to serious crime? Yes, admin was necessary, as well as keeping senior officers happy. But behind all of this was a vulnerable little boy and a four-year-old girl who had disappeared into thin air. Amy’s frustration grew as the sense of urgency hit home. Thanks to Luka’s radio call-in, Amy would be hanged, drawn and quartered if it all went horribly wrong. ‘Have you heard the radio show?’ she said, in an effort to change the subject. ‘Paddy’s downloading it now.’
‘I’m sure he is, and if there’s anything urgent he’ll keep us informed.’ The smallest of stand-offs passed between them. All that could be heard was the ticking of her wall clock and the dull hum of traffic as commuters battled to get to work. ‘I’m talking about damage control,’ Pike continued. ‘You do realise the command team will be all over this negative publicity like a rash?’
‘Of course, but I—’
‘Then it’s imperative we work out the best way to approach this before they haul me over the coals. Luckily for you, I’ve got an idea that should help. I’m pitching it to them after the briefing. It’s our best shot.’
‘I see,’ Amy said, her eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall. Each second counted down with damning finality. If Pike wanted to frustrate her, she was doing a good job.
‘I know someone with connections in the press. They’ve suggested we put a positive spin on things.’
‘In what way?’ Amy kept her emotions in check, hoping it had nothing to do with Adam Rossi. It was his fault they were in this mess.
‘We go to a leading newspaper with an exclusive story on you. The Met Police’s secret weapon – an officer who has turned her special insight into solving the darkest of crimes.’
A cold smile rose to Amy’s face. Her inner child, Poppy Grimes, had awoken from her slumber, igniting a fresh wave of fear that she struggled to control. It was bad enough her story had hit the press, but now Pike wanted to show her off as some kind of Grimes circus freak? Steady, she reminded herself as she felt her annoyance rise. You’re skating on thin ice as it is.
‘We could push for a one-off documentary,’ Pike continued. ‘One of those fly-on-the-wall programmes. They’re hugely popular right now. We’ve had some very positive feedback from previous coverage. I’m sure the command team will be keen to have you on board.’
‘And if I choose not to?’ Amy kept her response brief. Pike already knew what a private person she was, and she didn’t trust herself to say anything more. It was taking all her self-control to stay seated and listen to her babble on.
‘I don’t see how you have any choice.’ Pike paused to sip her coffee. ‘You brought this upon us. The team was set up to generate positive publicity for the force. But there’s still time to turn this around.’
‘Whose idea was this?’ Amy drained her coffee, mirroring Pike’s movements. Her supervisor was not the most innovative of leaders. She would not have come up with this on her own.
‘A friend of mine gave me the idea. He’s a DI on another force.’ She delivered a taut smile. ‘He’s been following your case with interest. You’ve worked with him in the past.’
Crossing her legs, Amy clasped her fingers together. This couldn’t be who she was thinking of. Surely not.
‘DI Donovan from Essex Police,’ Pike continued. ‘We discussed you over dinner last night. You remember him, don’t you?’
Amy inwardly cringed at the thought of them together. Was he Pike’s latest conquest? And who did he think he was, suggesting more publicity when he knew how protective Amy was of her private life?
What private life? her inner voice piped up.
‘Are you all right, Winter?’ Pike’s question held little sympathy.
Amy would not give her the satisfaction of seeing how upset she was. She had to maintain control. Slowly and deliberately, she checked her watch, her words stone-cold. ‘Time for me to go. Paddy should have downloaded the radio call-in by now.’ She swallowed back the swell of emotions that threatened to engulf her whole.
‘And you’re OK with me pitching this to the command team?’
Amy rose from her chair, her eyes not leaving Pike’s as she held her gaze. ‘As you said, I don’t have much choice.’ She could still feel her, Poppy Grimes, the ghost of the child she once was. Maintaining a frosty exterior, Amy stood her ground.
Pike’s smile quivered. Breaking eye contact, she responded with a nod of the head. Was that fear Amy had caught in her eyes? Now she was equipped with details of her background, Pike seemed a little more hesitant about taking control.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
A quick pit-stop to the ladies’ toilets was needed for Amy to pull herself
together. Her behaviour worried her. She was usually the calm one. The one in control. But making contact with Lillian had signalled a change – it had heralded the onset of mood swings which frightened her to the core.
She found Paddy at his desk, staring at a pack of cigarettes he did not have time to smoke.
‘I thought you’d given up?’
‘They’re my emergency pack. Don’t tell Sally-Ann. I’ve not broken into them yet.’
‘If my week gets any worse, I may join you.’ Amy had never smoked a cigarette in her life. ‘Any chance I can listen to that broadcast now?’
‘I’ve already emailed it to you.’ Paddy checked his watch. ‘We’ve got time – want me to set it up?’
‘You know me too well.’ Amy was not technologically minded, and she was keen to get Paddy’s input on what he had heard.
‘It’s not very long,’ Paddy said as they both entered her office. Amy paused. On her desk was a box of Milk Tray chocolates.
‘They were the best we could get at short notice,’ Paddy said, watching as she picked up the card left on top. To the best DI a team could ask for xx. It was Molly’s handwriting.
Amy felt a pang of regret. ‘I don’t deserve these.’ She had never been so at odds with herself.
‘About those taskings – we’ve updated the system with the previous call-on attempts to Christina Watson’s address.’
So they had tried to offer Christina safeguarding. It wasn’t their fault if she had refused to answer the door. ‘I . . . I don’t know what to say.’ She sat in her chair as the strength left her legs.
‘Why don’t we leave Luka to do the talking.’ Paddy leaned over Amy, clicking the link on her computer. His tie dangled from his neck, sporting a Tetris pattern. She resisted a sudden urge to tug it. Just how many novelty ties did he possess?
Outside her office, her team was working hard in preparation for the kidnapper’s next call. She would thank them for the chocolates, and forge ahead. The hunt for the courier was gaining ground. The motorbike plates may have been fake but, thanks to cross-checking the capital’s CCTV, they had narrowed his location down to a residential street in Whitechapel. They were closing in, their endless inquiries finally reaping rewards. But would they be quick enough to save Toby and Ellen?
Now out of her coma, Nicole was in intensive care. Soon she would be well enough to see her daughter, and Amy longed for the reunion to take place. Her team were working exhausting hours to make it happen, but Luka kept evading them at every turn.
The radio channel hosted a popular London talk show. They were not short of callers, despite broadcasting in the wee hours before dawn. Amy supposed that if your child went missing, sleep would be the last thing on your mind. As well as fretful parents, there were the insomniacs, night-shift workers and other nocturnal listeners to boost the show’s ratings. Which category did Luka fit into?
The female presenter sounded bright for someone working in the middle of the night. Kate Mead was young, cheery and had a velvety-smooth voice that was easy on the ear.
‘We have Luka on the line. Welcome, Luka, you’re through to London Talk2Talk FM. I believe you have personal experience of a missing child.’
‘Hello, Kate, thanks for discussing such an important subject. It’s very close to my heart.’
Amy met Paddy’s gaze as the conversation flowed. To an outsider listening in, Luka sounded like an average man. His voice was relaxed, free of the mocking tone Amy had come to know. His Russian accent still lingered but his words were easy to distinguish. ‘I’m sure our listeners would appreciate hearing about your experiences,’ Kate urged. ‘You have a missing boy, Toby. Is that right?’
‘Yes, I do. He’s six years old and in a wheelchair. It’s been so upsetting . . .’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. What have the police said?’
‘Well, that’s the problem. They’re not doing anything. You hear of these high-profile cases that hit the headlines, but not Toby. They’ve got no leads, and there’s been barely any news coverage of his disappearance.’ Luka sighed, his voice forlorn.
‘Can I ask where he went missing?’
‘From school. He got a taxi but he never made it home.’
‘That’s shocking. Have the police made inquiries with the taxi firm?’
‘Yes. They found the taxi abandoned and the driver tied up in the boot. But it wasn’t reported in the news. Is it because I’m Russian? It’s so frustrating. I’ve been driven to such desperate measures. It’s why I’ve come to you.’
‘You must insist they organise a re-enactment. I’m . . .’ A pause. ‘I’m looking at Twitter, and some of our listeners have already started tweeting with the hashtag #TobysArmy. Perhaps you can join in and get a campaign going. See if we can bring some press attention to your son’s disappearance.’
A long pause ensued. ‘You misunderstand me. Toby’s not my son.’ His words were delivered in a deadened tone.
‘Oh, forgive me, I presumed he was. I take it you’re a family member?’
‘No. I’m Toby’s kidnapper. He’s right here with me.’
‘I’m sorry . . . what did you say?’
There it is, Amy thought: the realisation she’s talking to a dangerous man. The penny has finally dropped. Closing her eyes, Amy absorbed the tone and inflection of Luka’s words. Please don’t balls this up. She sent the silent thought to the presenter, even though it was far too late.
‘My name is Luka. Luka Ivanovich Volkov. I have Toby Coughlan. I just want my story to be told.’
A pause for breath. ‘Can you call the police, let us know where you are?’
‘I want to. Toby’s frail . . . unwell. But the police will arrest me the minute I try to bring him back.’
‘How can we help? How can we get little Toby home?’
‘Share my story,’ Luka responded. ‘It’s why I took him in the first place. I want people to know the truth.’
‘The truth about what?’
Amy caught a hint of reluctance in Kate Mead’s voice. She could imagine a radio producer signalling at her to keep Luka talking, when in reality she was probably desperate to get him off the line.
‘The famous Dr Curtis,’ Luka said. ‘He experimented on children in the eighties and it was all covered up. He should be arrested for what he did.’
‘I . . . I’m afraid I can’t really discuss Dr Curtis live on air,’ Kate stuttered, sounding way out of her depth. ‘You need to tell the police where Toby is.’
‘I’ve already called, but they won’t listen. The police officer handling my case is Amy Winter – that’s right, Lillian Grimes’s daughter, the serial killer. Why would someone like that care about one little boy?’
‘We care,’ Kate replied. ‘Please, Luka. Drop Toby off somewhere public. In a safe place where he can be found.’
‘The police won’t listen. The papers won’t listen. And now neither will you. I’ll tell them where he is. But I can’t guarantee he’ll be safe.’ A rasping breath crossed the line. ‘You . . . all of you are to blame. If he dies . . . it’s down to you.’
A loud click filled the air as the line went dead. Silence. A gathering of thoughts. ‘Well, listeners, I can see we’ve had quite an influx of callers. We’ll go to them right after this break.’
Leaning forward, Paddy clicked the pause button. ‘That’s it. Some follow-up calls from members of the public but nothing significant. Toby’s father is aware. The family liaison officer is with him now.’
‘Right.’ Amy nodded, staring into space. Her mind was still on the call.
Paddy straightened, groaning as he rubbed the base of his spine. ‘He must have known they wouldn’t let him slate Dr Curtis live on air.’
‘Definitely. But that’s not why he did it. None of what you heard was genuine. By posing as Toby’s father, he was playing a game.’
‘Why?’
‘The same reason he left Ellen’s bloodied nightdress at the scene. To get back at Stuart Coughlan. A
t me. At the system. Who knows? If he gets away with this, we might never hear from him again. He’s no serial offender. This is coming to an end, and he’s squeezing the last few drops of satisfaction out of it while he can.’
‘Then time is running out.’
‘Effectively, yes. Whoever the kidnapper is, he’s taken on the persona of a dead man who’s ready to go back to where he came from. Today’s operation may be the only chance we have of bringing him in.’
The words had barely left Amy’s lips before Molly threw open the door. ‘Have you heard?’ Her face was animated, her brows raised. Having gauged their reaction, she reined her excitement in. ‘Sorry, ma’am . . . Sarge.’
‘Heard what?’ Amy relaxed her features. It was nice to see some of Molly’s old sparkle back.
‘They’ve arrested the courier. He’s on his way in.’
After locking her computer terminal, Amy left her desk. An arrest package had been in place since the early hours. Their next task would be to put together an interview plan that would harvest some results. Solicitors may need to be arranged, disclosure given. But they had only a few hours before Luka was due to call. ‘At least this way we’ll find out if Luka and the courier are the same person,’ Molly said, trotting beside Amy as they hurried to the custody block. ‘By the way, have you been in the ladies’ toilets?’
‘No. Why?’ Amy lied.
‘There’s a big dent on the inside of one of the doors. Looks like someone punched it. Weird, or what?’
‘Nothing surprises me in this place.’ Amy ignored the sharp sting of her grazed right knuckle as she shoved her hand into her trouser pocket. An image of Poppy Grimes came to her mind’s eye. ‘Pocket rocket,’ Jack had called her, because, even at the tender age of four, she wasn’t afraid to use her fists. But it was not aggression that caused little Poppy to lash out – it was pure, unadulterated fear. Amy had spent her whole life trying to overcome her past. Today she’d lost the battle. Poppy Grimes was back. But was Amy strong enough to live with her?
The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 23