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

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘You took him,’ Amy said. ‘You saved Luka from the fire and raised him as your own.’

  Mother. The word had played on Luka’s lips. Yet he always called Sasha ‘Mama’.

  He had been referring to Deborah. She was his mother now. Had she forged a birth certificate? Given him the name Max, the little boy that never was?

  ‘Why all this?’ Amy said, watching Deborah intently for any sudden moves. ‘You could have stayed as you were. Nobody would have known.’ Deborah had lied about her son having a university degree and a black belt in karate. For someone so proud of her child, there was not one photo of him to be seen. No graduation pictures, no martial-arts trophies – no evidence he had ever existed. She had home-schooled her son, kept him prisoner all these years. He was a living ghost. By the time he was given his freedom, he was no longer able to cope.

  ‘You think I don’t know that?’ Deborah gesticulated with the knife. ‘Max . . . Luka needed closure. He bought the flowers online and sent them every year. Even now, Luka is a part of him, right down to the marrow of his bones.’

  Amy understood. Poppy Grimes would never leave her. The best she could do was live with the shadows of her past. Some were fleeting, some were dark, but they could not hurt her anymore.

  ‘Where’s Toby and Ellen? Luka said they were at a scrapyard.’ Paddy loomed over Deborah, his voice firm.

  Amy’s eyes stayed trained on Deborah’s knife. ‘They’re not in any scrapyard, are they? You couldn’t kill those kids, any more than you could kill Luka all those years ago.’ The pieces were finally slotting into place. Luka had started by threatening Dr Curtis and the others, while Deborah tried to protect him from the police. But living in isolation had left Luka severely disturbed and she had been unable to keep a lid on it all.

  ‘I thought if I helped him I could make him see sense, but his migraines have affected his thinking. He’s not well.’

  Amy took a cautious step forward, her hand extended, palm up. ‘And you probably counselled him yourself, because you couldn’t risk anyone finding out that he was Luka, not Max. It’s time to finish this, Deborah. Give me the knife.’

  Lashing out with the blade, Deborah forced the officers back. ‘He’s Max. As far as I’m concerned, Luka died in that fire.’

  Amy did not have time to argue. The children were her priority and she had an idea where they were. ‘Toby’s in the panic room, isn’t he, along with Ellen?’ The plans of Deborah’s house had made for interesting viewing; Amy had checked out a recent planning permission she had applied for. Not once had Deborah mentioned a panic room when she was safeguarded by police. Her CCTV cameras weren’t there to catch intruders – they were there to watch Luka’s every move.

  ‘I want to see my son.’ Sidestepping them both, Deborah edged down the hall. She was going to him, just as she had done all those years ago, finding comfort in the depths of despair. The wild look flashing in her eyes told Amy that Deborah had been affected by events of the past too. She wobbled on her feet, walking without the benefit of her cane, which was propped against the wall.

  ‘Put down the knife.’ Amy advanced, her eyes flicking to Paddy, who was to her right. She watched as he slowly reached beneath his jacket for his baton on the clip of his harness. For once, he was wearing his full set of appointments, and now he had a choice: use CS gas or his baton to subdue the suspect and protect them both. Unlike Amy, he reacted badly to gas, and spraying it at such close contact would temporarily blind them both. Amy’s police radio was nestled beneath her jacket. If she could get to the emergency button, she would be placed on an open mic. GPS would bring backup to her location and Deborah need not know she had called for it.

  Her eyes darting from Amy to Paddy, Deborah reached the kitchen door. ‘You were wrong about the children. They’re not in the panic room. They’re at a breaker’s yard in Peckham. I drove the car there myself . . .’

  ‘No,’ Amy said, dread filling her core. Reaching beneath her blazer, she pressed the emergency button on her airwaves. She had nothing to lose now. But Deborah caught sight of the movement. Still holding the knife, she seized her opportunity and pulled open the door.

  ‘No you don’t!’ Amy and Paddy bundled forward. Knife or not, they were not about to let her go. With a flick of his wrist, Paddy extended his baton, bringing it down on Deborah’s arm.

  ‘Ah! My arm!’ Her words were punctuated by the clang of the kitchen knife as it dropped to the tiled floor. ‘You’ve broken it!’ Bending over, Deborah gripped her forearm, her face screwed up in pain.

  But their safety came first, and Paddy dragged Deborah’s hands behind her back and snapped cuffs on her wrists. ‘Are you all right?’ Amy asked, as Paddy recited the caution.

  ‘Go!’ he said, no further explanation needed. She was already halfway out of the room.

  ‘The suspect states that the children are in a breaker’s yard in Peckham,’ Amy said, updating Control. Left and right she darted through Deborah’s home, until she found the living room. She had memorised the house plans, but now, standing in the room filled with books of every kind, she struggled to find a way in. Where was the door? She thought of Toby, in desperate need of medication, and wondered what state they would find Ellen in. ‘Toby! Ellen!’ she called. ‘It’s the police! Can you hear me?’ Amy said a silent prayer. Please let them be here and not in the breaker’s yard. Her eyes lit on a bookcase filled with medical journals of every kind against the far wall. Grunting, Amy pushed it, exhaling with relief to discover a small white door disguised as a panel in the wall. It opened with a click as she pressed against it, and Amy slid through.

  ‘Ellen? Toby?’ She scanned every inch of the room. In the corner a wheelchair sat empty. ‘No,’ she said as she cast her eyes over an unmade bed. Three specks of blood dappled the pillowcase. What had Luka done? And then she heard it, the smallest of whimpers, followed by a sob. Dropping to her knees, Amy’s heart did a somersault as she peered under the bed. ‘They’re here,’ she informed Control. ‘They’re safe.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said softly, coaxing the children out. In his hand, Toby clutched a piece of Lego to his chest. He shielded Ellen, who peeped out from over his shoulder like a frightened rabbit in the undergrowth. A lump rose in Amy’s throat as she took in the scene, gesturing for them to come out. ‘It’s all right, I’m a police officer. You’re safe now.’

  Ellen’s eyes were wet with tears as she clambered out from under the bed. Dragging himself from beneath it, Toby’s features crumpled too. ‘I want my daddy,’ he sniffed, his chin wobbling as he spoke.

  Amy’s heart melted and she opened her arms wide. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, encompassing them in a hug. ‘You’re safe now.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  The Curtis Institute, February 1985

  ‘Wake up! There’s a fire, we have to go!’ Deborah’s voice grew insistent as she shook Luka’s shoulder hard.

  His eyes snapping open, Luka’s heart missed a beat. He had been dreaming of Papa . . . of home. But as he took in his surroundings, he realised he had awoken to a living hell. In the distance, he could hear crackling, feel the stench of burning plastic rising in his nostrils as he rose from his bed. Beneath his door, a thin film of acrid smoke drifted through. ‘Fire? Mama . . . where is Mama?’ He choked on his words.

  ‘Stuart’s gone to get her. Come now, there’s no time to waste!’ Throwing a blanket around him, Deborah scooped Luka up in her arms. He gazed up at the sprinklers as they negotiated the corridor. Why wasn’t the fire alarm ringing? His eyes streaming, fear gripped his being as the ceiling tiles began to melt. Strip lighting popped and fizzed overhead, plunging them into darkness and sprinkling them with glass.

  ‘Keep your head down!’ Deborah shouted, crouching over him as the flames licked her heels. He bounced in her strong arms, wondering if they would make it out. Was Mama safe? Was she waiting for him? The plan was that Deborah would sneak them both out when Stuart was on his break. There had been no m
ention of a fire when she had explained earlier in the day. A rush of fresh air hit his face as they reached the sanctuary of outside. But they were at a part of the building he did not recognise. Peeping from beneath the blanket, he was jolted from Deborah’s arms, and he realised he was being deposited in the back of a car. ‘Cover yourself up.’ Deborah’s words were breathless, her face holding a determination he had not seen before. ‘You need to keep your head down.’

  Luka frowned. He did not understand. Shaking Deborah’s hands from his shoulders, he wanted to run back the way he had come. ‘Mama!’ he cried, rasping for breath, his words punctuated by a series of coughs. ‘We need to go back! Mama!’ All he could hear was the roar of flames and distant sirens growing closer. Luka trembled, the feeling of dread coming in waves until he could hardly breathe.

  As he tried to escape the confines of the car, Deborah tightened her grip. Her face was red and blotchy, her eyes bulging as she spoke. ‘Lie down. I’ll come back to find your mama as soon as I’ve taken you somewhere safe.’ She brought her hand to her mouth as her breath erupted in a cough.

  ‘No,’ Luka cried, his throat scratchy and dry. ‘We need to go back now!’

  ‘Listen to me!’ Deborah clutched his shoulders and delivered a gentle shake. ‘The sooner I get you somewhere safe, the sooner I can find out where Stuart has taken Sasha. But we need to get to her before the doctor does. We can’t afford to wait.’

  The journey to the house took minutes and, under cover of darkness, Deborah sneaked him in. There was a bed, a television, even toys. This was a little boy’s room. Luka’s face wrinkled in confusion. As she laid him on the duvet, Deborah stroked his hair. Why wasn’t she rushing back, like she had promised? The ring of her phone in the hall made them both jump. Her words were short as she took the call, simply saying she was on her way. Briefly, she returned to Luka. ‘I need you to be a brave boy. Can you do that for me?’

  Luka nodded, but inside his belly it felt like there was a host of rats clawing to escape. Minutes later she returned, wearing a change of clothes, her face clean, her hair brushed. ‘I’ll find your mother and bring her here. Can you stay until I get back? There’s a fridge . . . food and drinks. A television you can watch.’

  Luka’s eyes danced around the room. As if reading his thoughts, Deborah spoke. ‘It’s a safe house. I did this for you both.’

  ‘What about Mama?’ Luka said. ‘I want her here with us.’

  ‘I know.’ Deborah stroked his hair. ‘You can both hide here until we get you home. I’ll be back soon. Can you hang on until then?’

  Luka nodded.

  ‘That’s my boy.’ Deborah smiled, concern evaporating from her face. She pointed to a door in the corner of the room. ‘There’s the bathroom. You can clean yourself up. There’s pyjamas and clean clothes in the wardrobe too. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back soon. This is your home now.’

  It felt like a lifetime before she returned. The room was windowless, just like the place he had come from, but for the first time in months Luka felt safe. At least now there was hope. Deborah cared about them both and would help them start again.

  As the door slowly opened and Deborah walked in, Luka’s heart fell like a stone.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she wept. ‘Sasha . . . she didn’t make it. I’m sorry, sweetheart.’

  Luka’s screams eventually gave way to giant, shuddering sobs. Taking him in her arms, Deborah did her best to console him. The fire was a tragic accident. It seemed a two-bar heater Sasha had been using set light to her bedclothes. She was asleep when it happened and the faulty electrics deactivated the alarms. Stuart had not been at his post. By the time he discovered the fire, he was beaten back by the flames. If it hadn’t been for Deborah, Luka would be dead too.

  For a while, he blamed her for Mama’s death. She should have let him back inside. But it was not Deborah who insisted on locking the doors at night. Not Deborah who made his mother take those drugs. It was not Deborah who had neglected her duty, leaving the institution when she should have been doing her rounds.

  But Luka wished he could have gone back inside – even if it had meant risking his life. Later, when he was older, Deborah told him about the darker side of the experiments and how Dr Curtis had blackmailed her into keeping quiet about their use of drugs. If the truth came out about the pharmaceutical company, then Deborah would go to prison too.

  As for Sam? The truth was, he had died in his room. The fire chiefs mistook his body for Luka’s because nobody was looking for Sam. When Luka asked about his father, Deborah had more bad news to share. ‘I should have told you sooner,’ she said, imparting the news that Ivan had been killed when the mine he was working in collapsed. Almost overnight, Luka was orphaned. It was too much to bear. Through the weeks and months of his grief, Deborah remained steadfast. He would live the life she had promised him. She would help him begin again. That was when Luka Volkov died and Maximus McCauley was born.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  ‘Please. Don’t charge my son. He’s been through enough.’ Deborah’s face crumpled as she negotiated her way through the police interview the next day. Across from her sat a male and a female detective. The man was called DC Moss; the woman’s name she had already forgotten. She looked like she was in her twenties but seemed quite capable of holding such a responsible role.

  ‘It’s our job to gather evidence. The Crown Prosecution Service makes the decision to charge,’ DC Moss said, looking at her arm as she nursed it. ‘How are you doing with that?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she replied. It was badly bruised but not broken, and right now she was only interested in protecting her son. ‘Hugh . . .’ She paused, rethinking the use of his first name. ‘Dr Curtis is behind everything. He’s the one who imprisoned those children at the institute. The rest of us were bystanders. He pushed them to their limits in the name of drug research.’

  ‘We’re looking into it,’ the young officer piped up, just as Deborah caught sight of the name DC Molly Baxter on her folder.

  ‘I’ve got paperwork, copies of all his test results. It’s in a safety-deposit box.’ Deborah watched as the officers exchanged a glance. She wasn’t stupid. She had kept the evidence as leverage in case she got caught. ‘It was all his idea to light the fire at the institute,’ she continued. ‘I pretended to go along with it so I could save Luka. Dr Curtis . . . he never had any intention of letting him go home.’

  ‘Yet you never saw fit to report him to the police,’ DC Moss interjected.

  ‘I couldn’t. My father would have gone to jail. Back then, he was my mother’s carer. She wouldn’t have been able to cope without him.’ Memories of her mother filled her with a sense of sadness. How disappointed she would be in her now, if she were still alive. Not to mention how Luka would feel when he discovered she had left Sasha to die.

  ‘There were five children in the Zitalin study.’ Deborah’s words were heavy with regret. ‘I didn’t know about Julian and Martha until the fire, when I read some of the paperwork Dr Curtis had told me to burn.’ She glanced at the officers across from her, then to the camera recording her every move. ‘It said that Julian had died of convulsions a month into the study and Martha . . . she died in her sleep.’ Deborah knew her father had taken pay-offs for cremating their bodies on the quiet. But where were their parents? Were they runaways? Or had they come from the children’s home Sam originated from?

  Deborah thought about the orderlies. Would Christina have ended her own life if she hadn’t been pressured into keeping quiet? A pang of guilt hit her. ‘I was taken on at the same time as Stuart and Christina, just after Jamie, child number three, ran away.’ She knew Luka had found him again, and together they had conspired for revenge.

  ‘Dr Curtis desperately needed another child to finish the Zitalin trials. That’s where Luka came in.’

  ‘And child number four?’ DC Baxter piped up. ‘You mentioned there were five children.’

  Deborah frowned as she recounte
d her words. ‘Oh, yes, number four was Sam. He died of heart failure after Luka joined us.’ That was the day they had all been bound into a secret which would span over decades. ‘Dr Curtis is a monster,’ Deborah said, her thoughts floating back to the orderlies. ‘He got Christina and Stuart to give Sam his medication so they would be implicated if anything went wrong. As for me . . . by the time I found out what he was really like, it was too late.’

  ‘So you felt justified in helping Luka kidnap Ellen and Toby?’ DC Baxter’s voice brought her into the present day.

  Deborah picked at a thread on the cuff of her blouse. ‘I tried to help Luka live a normal life as Max. Yes, he had episodes, but I thought it was under control. That was, until Dr Curtis started popping up on television. That’s when the migraines began.’

  ‘Let me get this straight.’ DC Moss scratched his cheek. ‘You’re saying that Luka was driven to commit a crime because he saw Dr Curtis on TV?’

  Deborah sighed. ‘It was like he was two different people. My kind and loving son Max, who supported animal-rights charities, and Luka, the little Russian boy who wanted revenge.’ She looked from one officer to the other. ‘It started with the flowers, but then he tracked down Jamie. When I found out about the kidnapping I pretended to go along with it. What choice did I have? Luka had already spent years hidden away. I couldn’t bear for him to go to jail.’ Deborah shook her head. ‘There was no stopping him once the idea took hold. I looked after Ellen when he took Toby. She suffered from nosebleeds – poor mite. I bought them toys . . . tried to make them as comfortable as I could.’

  ‘And the plan was for you to dump them at a breaker’s yard in Peckham?’

  ‘He would never have gone through with it. He knew I would never have hurt those kids.’ Deborah tried to sound convincing but, deep down, she wasn’t sure. It had taken her some time to persuade him to use Ellen’s nightdress at the building site as a substitute for the little girl herself. ‘And where were you when he needed you?’ She glared at the officers, trying to allocate blame. ‘Everybody let him down. That’s why he made that police officer jump through hoops. He liked being the one in control.’ Her gaze fell to her clasped hands resting on the table. She knew who was really to blame in all of this. Her actions had been for her own selfish gain. From the moment she had first met Luka, all she could see was her little boy, Max. Selfishly, she had taken him, moulding him into the son she had lost. But their relationship was tainted by the past, and nobody in the world could replace her secret child.