The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)
Caroline Mitchell
‘There are no secrets that time does not reveal.’
Jean Racine
PROLOGUE
The intruder’s eyes roved over the little girl’s form. How safe she must feel, asleep in her lavish room. How protected. A rumble of hatred rolled from within. The kidnapper’s thoughts were dark, consuming all in their path. He could almost sense his brain pulsating, tormented by years of reflection that offered no relief.
Walking his fingers over the dressing table, he took in the luxurious surroundings. His eyes fell on the varnished wooden rocking horse with its real mane and tail. To the sheepskin rug splayed on the carpeted floor. Opening the wardrobe door, he touched the little girl’s clothes. Felt the bile rise in his throat. A rabbit-skin hat, a fur-lined coat – ripped off the backs of innocent creatures. The suffering of animals did not bother the occupants of this household.
The same could be said for human pain. The crackle of flames from downstairs infiltrated his consciousness, reminding him of the urgency of his task.
‘Who are you?’ Ellen blinked as she woke to find him standing at the end of her bed. Moonlight seeped through her bedroom window, providing enough visibility for her to make out his outline.
‘Shh,’ he said, briefly pressing a finger to his lips. ‘It’s a secret.’
‘Are you the bogeyman?’ the little girl asked, sitting upright. Her mouth fell open, her tongue gliding over her front teeth.
The man smiled. She was precocious, unafraid. So unlike other girls her age. Raised in a bubble, four-year-old Ellen was protected from the world and unaware of the dangers she faced . . . until now. Swiping her blonde curls from her eyes, she squinted for a better look.
‘The house is on fire,’ he said. ‘We need to leave.’ Taking her glasses from the bedside table, he passed them to her, unable to disguise the shake in his hand. Despite all the planning, he could not believe he was here. Could he go through with it? It was too late to back out now.
Ellen sniffed as she slipped her glasses on. Most children would rush from their beds, their hearts beating wildly at the announcement of such news. But not Ellen. She was different, just like him.
An acrid smell filtered through the bedroom window, endorsing the validity of his warning.
‘Time to go,’ he whispered, gently pulling back her feather duvet. ‘It’s not safe here anymore.’ He was dressed in black, his eyes a void of nothingness, his scarf and hat hiding much of his face. Not that anyone would find him. He was a dead man, after all.
‘Where’s Mummy and Daddy?’ Ellen asked, her blue eyes cartoonishly big behind her thick spectacles.
‘They’re safe.’ The words grated on his lips. If it were up to him, he would have taken the child without saying a word, but providing reassurance was the best way of keeping her calm. Sweat laced his forehead, his muscles tense as adrenaline raced through his veins. Time was running out, his stress levels were rising and making him twitch. ‘We need to go. Now.’ Leaning forward, he scooped her up. The time for persuasion was over.
The fire he’d lit had caused a diversion, sending the babysitter spiralling into panic downstairs. Nobody saw him slip out the side door with the child in his arms. It wouldn’t stop there. He was on a mission. Soon more children would be silently taken from their homes. Thoughts of justice finally being served spurred him onwards and he deposited the child in the back seat of the rented car.
‘Where are we going?’ Ellen said as he strapped her in.
‘On an adventure. Now be quiet. I need to concentrate.’ He could not afford for his migraine to return. When pain closed in, sanity took a back seat and his actions were driven by a stronger force. The scream of sirens cut through the night, hastening his movements as he jumped into the driver’s seat. Starting the car, he floored the accelerator and gravel rattled against the undercarriage as he sped away.
CHAPTER ONE
Ruler in hand, Amy stretched on to her toes as she tried to reach the block of yellow Post-it notes on the top shelf. Cursing her choice of clothing, she checked over her shoulder before nudging the ruler into the depths of the shelf. She groaned. If she had worn her trouser suit instead of her pencil skirt, then she could have jumped on to her desk and grabbed them before being seen. Such hiding places were necessary, as Post-it notes were like gold dust now the admin department had declined her requests for more.
‘Gotcha!’ she exclaimed as she shot the stack of notes off the shelf. But her triumph was short-lived as she caught sight of her DCI ducking to avoid the yellow missile zooming across the room.
‘Not the warmest of welcomes,’ Pike said, picking up the block of stationery from Amy’s office floor. At least, Amy liked to call it an office. In truth, it was half the size of DCI Pike’s, which was on the floor above and had a much better view of the streets below. Amy’s space gave her just enough room to fit in a ridiculously high bookcase, a battered filing cabinet, two swivel chairs and her desk.
Dressed in a grey trouser suit, DCI Pike put her frown lines to good use as she glared in Amy’s direction. Her brunette hair was lighter than Amy’s, cut into a short choppy style that did little to soften her harsh expression.
‘Sorry, ma’am.’ Amy blushed, depositing the Post-it notes in her desk drawer. They would hide there, along with other goodies such as highlighter pens, rulers and a diary for the year ahead. Planning was important, as far as Amy was concerned, although lately her life had taken a disturbing deviation from the routine. ‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she asked, curious about the sudden visit.