CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
This time tomorrow it could be all over, Amy thought, her paperwork under her arm as she entered the interview room. Her thoughts went once again to Ellen, and she wondered how Toby was holding up. Were they together somewhere safe? She could not bear to imagine the alternative. Luka seemed to delight in saying how weak and frail the boy was. It was imperative their interview with the courier reaped results.
Pike had advised her to leave the interview to Molly and Steve. ‘It’s the role of a DC,’ she’d said. But Amy had a personal connection with Luka. She could not allow someone else to take control. She had chosen her interview partner wisely. Steve came with a wealth of knowledge but was more likely to take over the interview. Molly was content to be guided by her and follow her lead. Much was said about interview tactics and the ‘mind games’ police played, but all they wanted was to extract the truth and gather as much evidence as they could.
The courier’s name was Jamie Richmond. Background research had revealed a family man who worked in an Argos warehouse and enjoyed riding his motorbike at weekends. His fingerprints were uploaded to the system, confirming he had not been arrested before.
The interview room was in need of a paint job, housing a small table and four chairs. Above the door was a warning light to signal the interview was in progress. Below it, at eye level, was a small peephole. A black strip ran across the wall in a horizontal line. Tapping that would result in an army of police officers racing from their offices to assist. Often, Amy would hear the heavy footfall of boots as yet another false alarm was activated. It didn’t matter how many times it went off throughout the station, nearby officers dropped what they were doing every time. Not that Amy thought she needed it today. Beneath Jamie’s rough exterior was a man who seemed frightened and insecure. Just seconds in, his presence was enough to tell her that he was not Luka Volkov. He may have intimidated Stuart when he delivered the package, but he withered when confronted by police.
His hair was shaggy but clean, his beard carrying on a couple of inches below his chin. His custody sweatshirt barely stretched over his broad frame. Along with his mobile phone, his clothes had been seized for forensics when he was booked in. Amy was surprised at his decision not to avail himself of the duty solicitor, given the seriousness of the crime. Just three questions into the interview he had progressed from answering ‘No comment’ to speaking in full flow.
‘You’re making a big mistake,’ he said, releasing his thumbnail from between his teeth. ‘It wasn’t me who took those kids.’
‘There’s no mistake,’ Amy replied. ‘We know exactly who you are.’ Normally interviews progressed with open questions, but Jamie seemed unwilling to account for his whereabouts. She changed tactics. Some days you had to work with what you had.
‘If you know who I am, then you’ll know why he’s doing this,’ came Jamie’s response.
‘Doing what? Terrorising children? Killing innocent people? You’ve got kids of your own. How can you be part of this?’ Amy had made it her business to inspect the contents of his wallet and had found the family photo lurking there.
‘You’ll get Toby back safe. Just do as he says.’
‘Like Ellen was safe?’ Amy’s eyes burned with conviction. ‘And Nicole? She nearly died, Jamie. Just tell us what you’ve done with the children. Toby needs urgent medication. And why was Ellen’s nightdress covered in blood?’
‘What I’ve done?’ Jamie sat bolt upright. ‘I haven’t touched those kids. I swear.’
But Lillian’s words about the kidnapper having an accomplice were strong in the forefront of Amy’s mind. Quoting the exhibit number, she slid a photograph across the table. It captured Toby’s innocence as he sat in his wheelchair. ‘Look at it,’ Amy insisted, as Jamie drew away. Sliding the second photo from her folder, she showed him an image of Nicole Curtis, hooked up to a machine in intensive care. ‘That’s attempted murder right there.’
Jamie’s lips thinned as his gaze fell on the picture.
But Amy was saving the most impactful photo for last. Reeling off the exhibit number, she slid the crime-scene photo across the table and pushed it under his nose. It was the image that haunted her nightmares. Ellen Curtis’s nightdress, heavily stained with blood. ‘You did this. Nobody else – you. And if we don’t bring in Luka, you’re going to cop the lot.’
Jamie paled. ‘No . . . Luka said . . .’
‘He said what?’ Amy spat, her words filled with contempt.
Jamie rubbed his eyes as if to rid himself of the images forced into his field of vision. ‘I don’t know who he is. I met him once in a bar. We’ve been in touch by text ever since.’
‘And the phials? Where did you get them?’
‘They were sent to my address. I never meant to hurt anyone. I got in way over my head.’
‘Tell me everything that happened, starting from the first time you met Toby and Ellen’s kidnapper up to the present day.’ At last, Amy uttered the open question best suited for the interview.
‘I can’t,’ he said miserably, his head in his hands.
‘Then we’ll add obstruction to your list of offences.’ Amy allowed her words to sink in. ‘You can help us or obstruct us. You’re going down either way. Which will gain you the most leniency in court?’
‘You can still speak to a solicitor,’ Molly reminded him. The interruption was fair, but irritated Amy because time was running out. A private solicitor could take hours to arrive. Even the duty solicitor was rushed off his feet. They could not afford the time. His silence spoke volumes as he shook his head. Jamie was going to cooperate.
‘I was at a very low point. My wife had just left me, taking the kids with her. Everyone I cared about deserted me in the end.’
Amy focused on his words, a wisp of a thought floating in. ‘You were with Luka during the experiments, weren’t you?’ Next to her, Molly’s pen froze on her pad. This was why Luka had chosen him. He was one of the few who understood.
Nodding, Jamie confirmed her suspicions. ‘I was known as James back then . . . James Baliss. I changed my name when I got older. I didn’t want the doctor finding me again.’
It made sense. Subjects of scientific experiments were often followed up on later in life. But how did Luka catch up with him? And what did Dr Curtis do to make Jamie feel such a way? Had he been drugged too? There were so many things Amy needed to know. But this was meant to be a first-account interview. She’d planned to take what she needed and leave her detective constables to follow up with more.
‘You said you met him in a bar?’ Amy shifted in her seat. She wanted to get to the meat of the story but needed to obtain some background information first.
‘He bought me a drink, said he’d hired a private detective to track me down.’ Jamie hunched over in his seat, his gaze on his hands as they rested on the table. ‘First I thought he was hitting on me. I was about to tell him to fuck off when he mentioned my tattoo.’
‘Your tattoo?’ Amy said, trying to move him along.
Pulling up his sweatshirt sleeve, Jamie revealed a tiny tattoo of the number three on his inner right wrist. ‘He said he knew where I got it from because he had one too.’
‘And did he?’ Molly piped up. Amy accepted the interruption. It was important they verified that Luka was who he said.
Jamie nodded. ‘Kinda. He had a small ladybird on his inner wrist. It was fresh, still scabbing over. He said it was a cover-up, and his number was beneath. I didn’t understand the significance until he explained his plans. It was good to talk to someone who had been through the same thing.’
‘Did you remember him from the tests? Do you believe he’s Luka? Because our records show that Luka’s dead.’
‘We were all kept apart. The only kid I knew back then was called Sam, who I saw in passing a couple of times. There was a girl too . . . I can’t remember her name. We were numbers as far as Curtis was concerned.’ He met Amy’s gaze. ‘It was Luka, though. He knew things that
nobody else could.’
‘And Deborah McCauley? Stuart Coughlan? Christina Watson? You remember them?’
Jamie’s face darkened at the mention of their names. ‘Oh yeah, I remember those fuckers. Deborah wasn’t too bad, but the others . . . they got everything they deserved.’ He blinked, as if remembering his words were being recorded. ‘But, eh . . . he told me three of the drinks were harmless. They had pretty decent odds.’
Inside, Amy glowed at the minor victory. The lab had confirmed for the second time that one of the four phials was poisoned, and Jamie had just confessed to delivering them. She was quick to follow up with another question while he was in a talkative mood. ‘What about the children? Didn’t you think about them?’
‘They were well cared for. The calls were all for effect.’
‘Where are they? What has he done with them?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve not set eyes on them. But Luka swore they wouldn’t come to any harm.’
‘But you can’t say the same for their parents. What happened when you visited Stuart Coughlan?’
‘I gave him the package and drove away. I felt like justice was being done.’
‘Even though his child is in a wheelchair?’
‘That’s hardly my fault.’ He delivered the words with a shrug.
Amy reassessed Jamie’s remorse. The only thing he was sorry about was getting caught. ‘You must know something,’ Amy replied. ‘Toby could die. Is that what you want?’
‘Of course not. But the number I texted Luka on isn’t working anymore.’ He crossed his arms, his chair creaking as he leaned back. ‘My job was to deliver the packages. I was a courier, that’s all. Hell, I don’t even know how Luka’s still alive.’
‘Can you give us a description of him? It will help your case.’
Rubbing his beard, Jamie seemed to consider it. ‘Fortyish, clean-shaven, dark hair, medium build. That’s all I remember. We only met once, and I’d had a bit to drink.’
Amy glanced at her watch. She needed to prepare for what lay ahead. She turned to Molly. ‘We’ll conclude the interview here. Bring him back to his cell and organise a sketch artist. See if he can come up with something better than that.’ At least the interview had gleaned something new. If Jamie was telling the truth, Luka had a ladybird tattoo on his right wrist. As Molly gathered up her paperwork, Amy made a mental note to ensure she questioned him thoroughly about the past.
She faced Jamie. ‘What’s the last thing Luka said to you?’ His pause gave her cause for concern. ‘We’ll be checking your phone, so you may as well cooperate.’
Jamie looked her in the eye, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. ‘He texted it in Russian,’ he said, remorse fading with each word. ‘It’s a proverb. I checked it on Google Translate.’
‘What does it mean?’
‘Soon it will be our turn to triumph.’
A shiver crept down the curve of Amy’s back. Luka’s actions were driven by deep-set convictions. He had no intention of letting the children live.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Amy had not yet forgiven her colleagues for their reaction to her handling of the case, but at least they were getting on with what they had to do. It was not as if they had time to dwell on things. Today their floor was crammed with officers from different departments as they worked together to chase up the latest leads. The more Amy thought about it, the more convinced she was that Luka was not working alone. Had the courier helped him stage Ellen’s nightdress in the building site?
On the board in their office was a timeline of the investigation. To the right were images of people of interest. To the left were lists of urgent outstanding tasks. One of them was to contact Luka’s father, Ivan Volkov. Intelligence reports had been returned saying he was still alive. Now all they had to do was track him down. Contact with Ivan might provide further leads. In the corner, Steve swore as the printer jammed for the third time.
‘Here, let me . . .’ Molly said, pulling out the tray and tweaking the paper inside. There was no time for tea rounds today, no banter, no personal phone calls. The air was filled with a sense of urgency as officers chased up every morsel of information that filtered in.
‘If I can have your attention,’ Amy said, aware that the last time she’d said this, she had stormed out. At times like this she needed to keep up morale.
‘I just want to say well done on bringing the courier in so quickly. I know you worked around the clock to make it happen.’ It was true. Officers had sat for hours viewing ANPR and CCTV, collating images until they had finally produced a result. ‘Jamie Richmond is sitting with the sketch artist as we speak. I’m sure it will help officers on the ground to make a positive identification, which is invaluable at a time like this.’ She looked around the room, taking in her colleagues’ faces. It was with some relief that she saw they appeared open to her words. ‘We’re also close to finding Luka’s father. If we can establish phone contact, then we can use that as leverage when our kidnapper calls.’
‘We’ve offered Dr Deborah McCauley safeguarding,’ Molly piped up. ‘She already has CCTV, and we installed a panic alarm this morning.’ Amy knew she meant the collective ‘we’, as she was able to organise such things without leaving her desk.
‘What if we’re too late for Ellen?’ DC Gary Wilkes replied, scratching the back of his head with a pen. ‘He didn’t mention her in the interview. And then there’s the nightdress—’
‘We won’t be.’ Paddy’s response was firm as he joined in with the impromptu discussion. ‘Failure’s not an option as far as the children are concerned.’ A hush descended as his words fell like stones.
Amy glanced at her colleagues’ tired faces and crumpled shirts, heard their stifled yawns. ‘I know you’re working long hours, but we can’t afford to slow the pace today. Put yourself in Stuart’s shoes. He was prepared to drink poison to save his child, knowing there was no guarantee he’d be found alive.’ She turned back to the whiteboard, picked up a marker pen and wrote: Soon it will be our turn to triumph. ‘This is what worries me.’ She pointed at the words. ‘It’s the last thing Luka texted the courier, Jamie Richmond. Luka’s got a vendetta against Stuart Coughlan and it’s hardly any wonder, given what we know now.’ Amy glanced back at the whiteboard and the long list of outstanding tasks. ‘Steve, how are we doing with tracking down staff at the funeral home?’ She was talking about Sasha and Luka’s cremation after the fire. Someone had to know something, but paperwork was hard to come by, cloaked with an air of secrecy that had plagued them since day one.
Steve gathered his paperwork from the printer and returned to his desk. ‘We’ve managed to track down the funeral director. He’s a chap by the name of George Barber. There’s only one problem, though . . .’
‘What’s that?’
‘He’s got dementia. He’s in a care home in Shoreditch. We’re visiting him later today.’
Amy felt like swearing, but her bruised knuckles were testament to the fact that some frustrations were better off contained.
She rested her gaze on Gary, seeing a young man who was drunk with fatigue. She took a breath, signalling at Molly to open a window. It was growing increasingly warm, and the air was growing stale.
Her thoughts turned to Luka. He had taken his imprisonment hard, although it had been for just a few months of his life. What had happened to him after that? Had he gone underground? His mention of his excursions seemed odd . . . she imagined him as a child, desperate for the police to rescue him as he mingled with Londoners in broad daylight. She frowned, remembering their last conversation.
‘Molly,’ she said, knowing she was good with technology. ‘Do me a favour, find out when the gates were erected outside Number Ten Downing Street.’ Molly gave her a puzzled look but began tapping on her keyboard. ‘Got it,’ she said as she drew the Wikipedia page up.
‘That can’t be right . . .’ she added, peering at the screen. ‘The gates went up in 1989. But the fire . . .’
/> ‘Was in 1985.’ Amy finished her sentence. ‘Which means that either our caller is lying about those trips or Luka survived the fire but remained a captive, somehow. He said he was captive, but who took him there? Did his mother keep him prisoner, allowing him out only on sightseeing trips?’ Amy turned to Steve. ‘Go back to Stuart. See if you can find any holes in his story about finding Sasha dead. What sort of mental state was she in? If we find her, we’ll find Luka. We haven’t a second to waste.’ Had Sasha been blackmailing Dr Curtis? Pulling Luka’s strings all along? But what about the bodies in the fire – who had really died that day?
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Luka glanced in his car’s rear-view mirror, praying for the pain in his head to ease. The tablets he had taken to combat his migraine had yet to take effect. He shied away from his reflection. These days, he hated what he saw. From what he’d read, Amy Winter had experienced a horrific childhood, yet somehow she found the strength to carry on. Mother had told him not to listen, warned him the detective would get under his skin. If DI Winter had her way, he would be locked up behind bars by now. He could not afford to lose sight of the driving force behind his actions. He had tried to put the past behind him and live a normal life, but Luka was triggered each time he saw Dr Curtis’s gloating face in the media. After years of torment, he deserved to have the chance to start again – regardless of the cost. One way or another, this ended today.
Sighing, he answered his mobile phone. The car park was almost empty. Their conversation would be a private one.
‘All set?’ she said, as if sensing his last-minute doubts. ‘Because there’s still time to change your mind . . .’
‘I’ve not changed my mind,’ he said. She used to hold power over him, but he was not a child anymore. ‘We finish what we started and put an end to this for good.’
‘But they’re only little,’ she whispered down the phone. ‘They don’t deserve to die.’
The Secret Child (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 2) Page 24