The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(10)

‘Read the letter,’ he said in a menacing tone. ‘You’ve got three minutes . . . starting now.’

Nicole stared from the screen to the written demand. Drink one for me to notify police of Ellen’s location.

Her tears made a warm trail down her cheeks as she found her voice. ‘Let me see my baby! I need to see her now!’

The man stared, unblinking, before opening a door and turning the camera around. Had she seen those eyes before? But the thought quickly evaporated as her daughter’s face came into view.

The sight of Ellen’s face made Nicole’s heart feel like it was physically breaking in two. Ellen rarely had anything to cry about, but today big fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she gulped for breath. Her hair was dishevelled, her face streaked with dirt. ‘I don’t like it here,’ she sobbed, looking beyond the camera to the person whose face was out of view. ‘I want to go home.’

‘Baby, I’m here! Mummy’s here!’ Nicole cried, swallowing back her tears. But Ellen was not wearing her glasses and Nicole’s words seemed to go unheard. Had he muted the call?

The door closed and a digital stopwatch was held up to the screen, to signal that their conversation was coming to an end. Mercilessly, the seconds ticked away. She knew then, as they counted down to twenty and then ten, that this was part of Luka’s sick game. Hugh’s deeds were coming back to haunt him, but neither she nor Ellen were to blame. Luka wanted to frighten them, that’s all. To teach them an elaborate lesson they would never forget. The liquid was probably harmless. But which one should she choose? Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . the seconds ticked away. Her hand hovered over the phials. Soon the timer would come to an end. She might never see her little girl again. Five . . . four . . . three . . .

‘OK, OK!’ she screamed, snatching one of the phials. She chose the blue liquid because red signalled danger – didn’t it? Popping off the stopper, she threw back her head and swallowed the contents, ensuring her actions were in view. The liquid was tasteless and odourless but warmed her throat on the way down.

‘Done,’ she said, her voice shaking as she stared into the phone. ‘What happens now?’ She still felt the same. Perhaps everything was going to be all right.

But the man behind the mask stared wordlessly before ending the call.

‘Wait . . . no, don’t go!’ Nicole said. ‘I’ve done what you asked. Where are you keeping her?’

But the line was dead and, despite jabbing the buttons, she could not return the call. She threw down the phone, her head bowed as she paced the room. At least Ellen was alive – but for how much longer? Would her kidnapper let her go? Nicole began to feel nauseous and the dull throb of a headache made itself known. Should she call Hugh? Let him know what had happened? She picked up the phone and brought up his number, but after a few seconds it went to voicemail. What now? She thought about the detective inspector who had come to her home earlier. Luka’s note said he would call the police. Should she make her aware? Nicole frowned. There was no point in jeopardising everything now. She clasped her fingers together, her knuckles white as she squeezed them tight. Soon Ellen would be home. They’d move away from this place, just the two of them . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, trickling sensation. She wobbled slightly on her feet. It felt like someone was pushing pins into her brain. Touching the bottom of her nostril, she stared at the tips of her fingers. ‘No!’ She gasped at the sight of it. Was this because of the drink? Warm and moist on her fingertips was a bead of blood.





CHAPTER EIGHT

‘This is DI Winter.’ Standing in the briefing room, Amy spoke with force. She was in no mood to be messed around. ‘With whom am I speaking?’

‘My name is Luka Volkov. But surely you know that, don’t you?’ The sound of his Russian accent sent the hairs prickling on the back of Amy’s neck. Her team had been thorough in their investigations since her visit to Dr Curtis and his wife. Luka Ivanovich Volkov had been one of the children involved in experimental psychological trials during the eighties. He was also the subject of the team briefing she was about to give – and of particular interest because he was dead.

Amy gave Paddy a knowing look. Her caller could have said he was Santa Claus and she would have gone along with it. He clearly knew too much to be a time-waster and she would appease him for now. ‘I’ve been told you have Ellen Curtis.’

‘Yes. And I will speak only to you.’

‘Fine by me,’ Amy replied. ‘Where is she?’

‘I read about you in the newspaper . . .’ he said, in no hurry to give up the information. ‘Amazing work, discovering the bodies of those girls decades after they were murdered. I thought you must be very clever to do that, and wouldn’t it be good if you could rise to the challenge again?’

Amy knew he was referring to the case involving Lillian Grimes. But rather than deterring her, it set her pulse racing. Like a moth to the flame, she found herself being drawn in. Too much time had passed since Ellen’s kidnapping, and she would crawl over hot coals if it brought the little girl home. ‘And what challenge would that be?’

‘To find Ellen, of course. Fate has thrown us together.’

‘Where are you?’ she asked, glancing around the room. One of her colleagues was on the phone, quietly updating Control about the call. Molly was scribbling in her investigator’s book, and Paddy was standing near the door, leg jiggling, waiting to charge off at a moment’s notice.