The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(17)

Adam wanted to ask what she meant about DI Donovan, but he could not get away quickly enough. He checked his watch, feeling his skin crawl. ‘I’ll run things by my boss and let you know as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t delay,’ Lillian replied. ‘I’ve got stories that will make your hair curl.’

‘Right, I’d best be off,’ he said, eager to escape.

Adam forced a smile before walking away. He had never been so desperate to be out of anyone’s company in his life. He wanted to have a shower. To scrub his face and hands. To get any semblance of that woman out of his thoughts. Yes, he relished the prospect of such a huge story, but it would mean spending more time in Lillian’s presence. What a horrible thought.

A pang of regret prickled his conscience as his impulses played tug of war. Only now could he see why Amy had been so upset when he broke that last story on Lillian Grimes a few days after her father’s death. How hard it must have been, coming to terms with it all. And then he’d waded in, thinking only of himself.

Still wrestling with his conscience, he left the building. Lillian had presented him with a fantastic opportunity that any other journalist would snap up. It was mind-blowing. But this would affect Amy’s career. What if she lost the respect of her colleagues – or, worse still, respect for herself? She wasn’t as strong as she led everyone to believe. Beneath that icy exterior lay the heart of a damaged, vulnerable little girl. And now he knew why. If he could not bear to sit in Lillian’s company for more than ten minutes, what had it been like being brought up by parents like the Grimeses? In that house, with bodies buried beneath the basement floorboards. Seeing her sister murdered before her own eyes. It did not bear thinking about.

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking both ways before crossing the road. Lillian had said she would give him an exclusive. But why him? And that comment about Amy seeing someone else. It was obvious she wanted to twist the knife. Hadn’t Amy been through enough?

Deep in thought, he mulled over his options, oblivious to the drizzle of rain. For once in his life he could be selfless – he owed her that much. ‘Easy come, easy go,’ he muttered. He would bury the story for Amy’s sake. It would never see the light of day.





CHAPTER TWELVE

Amy cast an eye over at the clock on the kitchen wall. As far as she was concerned, 2 a.m. was a perfectly respectable time to sit with a gin and tonic in hand. Outside, the wind howled a wintry chorus, but with the lights off and the radiators still warm, their kitchen was a cosy nook. Cast in the orange glow of the street lamps, Amy watched, entranced, as the rain fell in rivulets against the windowpane. It would have been hypnotic had she not so many thoughts racing around in her head. In times like these, with the world asleep and the dog curled up on her bed, Mr Gordon was the best solution to a long day.

She tipped the bottle of gin towards her glass, topping it up with a measure of tonic until it was full to the brim. ‘Whoops.’ She chuckled, watching it slosh over the edges. Drawing the glass towards her, she took an unladylike slurp.

‘Oh! You frightened the life out of me.’ Flora’s left hand splayed across her chest as she switched on the kitchen light.

Amy squinted as the flash of the sixty-watt lightbulb temporarily blinded her. Before her, Flora stood in her full-length white nightgown, a smearing of cold cream giving her face a deathly appearance.

‘You’re pretty bloody frightening yourself.’ An impromptu giggle escaped Amy’s lips. Her mother was the old-fashioned kind, out of place in the modern world.

‘Amy, don’t swear,’ Flora scolded, approaching her for a closer look. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘I’m working on it.’ Amy took another swig from her glass. She usually tried not to drink on a work night, but she needed a respite from her thoughts. A wisp of a memory bloomed – her adoptive father sitting at this very table with a tipple of brandy, weary after a long day.

‘Is that why you’re sitting in the dark?’ Concern was etched on Flora’s face. ‘What’s happened?’ Taking a glass from the cupboard, Flora slid it across the table before pulling up a seat. Amy couldn’t help but smile. Her mother was always willing to keep her company, no matter what time it was.

She sat in Flora’s presence, her worries tugging at her consciousness once again. ‘I’ve had a pig of a day. It started with the kidnapping of a four-year-old child and ended with her mother being poisoned.’ She rubbed the base of her neck, her shoulders stiff from hunching over her computer as she reviewed the investigation. Having exhausted their inquiries, Amy had sent her team home to get some sleep. With the custody clock ticking, Dr Curtis had been bailed pending further reports, and a search of his premises had turned up nothing new. Unfortunately for them, the iPhone seized at the address had been invaded by a virus that had wiped it clean.

At least the phials seized should produce something of value, and they were awaiting lab results. But from whom did they originate? The so-called walking ghost of Luka Volkov, or the equally mysterious Dr Curtis? Some would say the doctor had been through hell, almost losing his wife and his child in one fell swoop. But how much of it was of his own making? Was he trying to silence Nicole before she implicated him in whatever he was trying to cover up? Having located one of Curtis’s ex-wives, Amy was pleased to discover she did not live far away. She would call round in the afternoon. And what about Luka Volkov? Would he ring her, as promised? The thought of him made Amy take another sip of gin.