The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(13)

Curtis was looking very sheepish right now. He had medical training. Why hadn’t he administered CPR? Gently and swiftly, Amy turned Nicole into the recovery position, closely monitoring every breath.

When the paramedics arrived, Amy stood and gave a quick explanation of events. In the corridor, Dr Curtis sniffed.

Amy and Paddy had walked in on something they did not understand. Why had Nicole been almost murdered when their caller had said she’d cooperated with him? Amy checked her watch, making a mental note of the time. She would have to provide a police statement. It was the best way of remembering crucial details that might be forgotten later on.

Outside, car doors slammed as uniformed officers arrived at the scene. Updating Control, Amy instructed that nobody else enter until everything had been cordoned off.

She nodded at Paddy as unspoken words passed between them. It was the second time Dr Curtis had failed to telephone the police. And why hadn’t he been trying to save his wife when they arrived? If it had been left to him, Nicole would have died.

There was only one thing left to do.

‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of attempted murder.’ Paddy’s words flowed confidently as he took a firm grip of Dr Curtis’s arm. Reciting the caution, he led him outside, towards a marked car. Curtis followed meekly, as if in a state of shock.



Shoulders hunched, features taut, Dr Curtis’s body language mirrored that of many before him as he sat on the plastic chair in the interview room. The decision to arrest him had not been taken lightly. If the press got hold of this, it could ruin Dr Curtis’s career.

A Styrofoam cup of tepid tea sat on the table, untouched. It was hardly what Dr Curtis was used to. Amy watched from another room as Molly and Steve conducted the interview, leading him through the usual introductions before they began. This was termed a ‘first account’ interview. Further in-depth questioning would follow as they examined every detail of the events leading up to his arrest.

Harvey Forshaw of law firm Forshaw & Smith began to take notes. He was a broad, well-tailored man, and Amy’s team had encountered him more than once. The esteemed firm of lawyers was known for defending celebrity clients and were regularly in the press. Amy disliked Forshaw because of his stalling techniques. With painful deliberation he had thumbed through the custody report before taking over an hour in the consultation room with his client. Each action was designed to wind down their custody clock, leaving officers with less time for the interview.

Amy’s team had twenty-four hours to detain Curtis, and that included his designated eight hours’ sleep. An extension was unlikely to be granted. It was better to interview then bail, rather than keep him in overnight and wind down the custody clock. It was unusual for bail to be granted for such a serious offence, but Dr Curtis’s record was pristine and he was unlikely to abscond.

Amy snapped out of her thoughts. They had barely begun interviewing and she had already forecasted the gloomy conclusion. Curtis had not been arrested on suspicion of kidnapping his daughter, so their questioning of him on that matter was curtailed. But if she could pick up anything – the slightest clue as to Ellen’s whereabouts – it would make the fallout of his arrest worthwhile. But judging by his body language, Curtis was not ready to open up.

Introductions out of the way, Steve delivered his opening question, asking Curtis to explain his movements that day.

‘I’ve told the officers already,’ Curtis sighed wearily. ‘I was looking for Ellen, visiting parks where I’ve taken her in the past. When I got home I called out to Nicole but there was no answer. I’d just found her when the police started banging on my door.’

‘Was anyone else in the house? Any signs of forced entry?’

‘No . . . We have housekeepers but Nicole sent them home. Speak to them if you don’t believe me. It’s why I left. She said she needed some space.’

‘She was upset?’ Steve sought confirmation.

‘Of course she was upset – what sort of question is that?’

Steve ignored the doctor’s outburst. ‘Had you argued?’

Curtis shifted in his chair. ‘Her nerves were frayed. Voices were raised.’

‘What about the phone and the phials of liquid we found at your address? What do you know about them?’

‘Nothing,’ Dr Curtis replied. ‘They’re not ours. I don’t know where they came from.’

‘So we won’t find your fingerprints on them?’

‘No.’

‘But there’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?’ Steve regarded him with a cynical eye. ‘Why did you shut your wife down when she told officers Luka was responsible for Ellen’s kidnapping?’

‘Luka is dead. I didn’t want her wasting police time.’ He folded and unfolded his arms, unable to sit still.

‘He’s causing an awful lot of trouble for someone who’s dead,’ Steve replied. Sliding a clear plastic exhibit bag across the table, he looked Curtis squarely in the eye. ‘I refer to exhibit CC05, a card found in your wife’s pocket. What can you tell us about this?’

Dr Curtis leaned forward and stared at it, the colour draining from his face. It was the card quoting the ‘Ladybird, Ladybird’ poem with Luka’s signature underneath.

‘Do you need further consultation?’ his solicitor interceded, clearly unaware of this latest turn of events. ‘We can pause the interview . . .’