The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(24)

‘It’s got to be front-page.’ Amy tensed, her fingers gripping the lip of her bag. ‘I’m serious. A child could die.’

‘You’re asking me to commit to a story when we don’t even know what he’s going to say!’ Adam pushed his seat back under the table after he had vacated it. He met Amy’s eyes, regret crossing his face. ‘Fine. I’ll run it by my boss.’

‘Front-page?’

‘I’ll do my best. I promise.’

Her ex had let her down so many times. Amy prayed this was one promise he could keep.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Amy’s head bobbed up as she realised she had begun to doze off at her office desk. Her evening had comprised overseeing the investigation, chasing up leads and liaising with the media department about their latest press release. The caller’s letter had been sent to the Echo as predicted, and Adam had promised to do his best to print a non-libellous version of his words. Amy stared at the scanned copy. She had read the letter three times but was struggling to absorb it. Surely children weren’t tested like laboratory mice here in the UK? She returned her gaze to the printout.

I came from Russia, left before the collapse of the Soviet Union. Fear was constantly in the background and you were always being watched. People regularly disappeared with no explanation and any mention of their name was followed by hushed whispers and warning glances through narrowed eyes. I lived in poverty, saw the destitute, but was told we had more than most.

My mother brought me to England in the hope of a better life. But Dr Curtis showed us little compassion and went back on every promise he made. Our passports were taken. My environment was toxic. My room was windowless and I had little contact with the outside world. Everything I did was monitored, and the tests became increasingly hard to bear. What saved me were the sightseeing trips to London. Without them I would surely have lost my mind . . .

Amy scrolled to the last paragraph on the page.

. . . we were nothing more than prisoners, kept against our will. I was marked, like several others, lab rats for Curtis’s use. Just like in my home town, children disappeared and nothing more was said . . .

A shadow at her door made Amy’s heart falter. It was their lead CSI. ‘Malcolm, what are you doing here?’

‘I’ve come to rescue you, darling. Haven’t you noticed everyone else has gone home?’ Malcolm’s mouth twitched in a smile as he leaned against her office doorway, hands in pockets, ankles crossed. He was the very epitome of suave, and Amy loved being in his company.

‘I sent them home an hour ago.’ She yawned. ‘We’re in for an early start.’ Stretching her arms, the bones in her shoulders cracked, making Malcolm wince.

‘You’ve finished late every day this week. It’s time we got you out of here.’

‘But I wanted to talk to you about the case. I got your report and—’

‘C’mon now.’ Malcolm gently guided her out of her chair. ‘I’m up for talking shop, but not here. If we hurry, we can grab a swift one in the Ladbroke Arms before closing time.’

Amy checked her watch: 10.30 p.m. They would have to be quick. ‘My bike’s out the back and I need to update my planner for tomorrow. I’ll meet you there.’

‘You’re not cycling at this hour, you’ll freeze to death. I’ll drop you home.’ He ushered her towards the door. ‘Come along – chop chop. And give your hair a comb, darling, it’s a frightful state.’

‘Thanks,’ Amy said ruefully, reaching for her bag. As she peered into her compact, she had to agree. Quickly running a brush through it, she applied a light coating of lipstick to disguise the paleness of her lips.

Malcolm was right, she was working herself too hard. She needed to ease her foot off the pedal or she would be no use to anyone at all.



As Malcolm stood at the bar, Amy thought of her relationships with her colleagues and how important they had become. In the police, you were part of a much bigger family. While in uniform, you were usually paired up with the same person, who became your ‘work husband’ or ‘work wife’. And conversations weren’t just limited to the job. In the wee hours, officers opened up about their personal lives and family problems. But not Amy. It was why she had got on so well with Paddy when he was appointed her tutor after she joined. Talk of home lives was avoided in favour of suspect motivations or the latest crime hotspots. Work was both a passion and a distraction from what was going on at home.

As Malcolm brought their drinks to the table, she knew that he was the same, keeping work and home separate. His wife was a sensitive soul with a love of knitting, and unlikely to want to hear of his latest gruesome research.

‘Cheers, darling,’ he said, clinking his glass of diet cola against her gin and tonic. Amy gave him a grateful smile before taking a much-needed sip.

‘What do you think of this? We found it on the body.’ Amy opened the photos app on her phone. She wasn’t meant to photograph evidence, but Dr Curtis’s reaction to the note had bothered her, and it was something she’d wanted to contemplate at home. She tilted her phone so nobody else could see.

Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home

Your house is on fire

Your child is gone . . .

Luka

‘Luka and his mother died in a fire, didn’t they?’ Malcolm mused. ‘Perhaps whoever wrote this set the fire to get revenge on Dr Curtis. Maybe that’s why Nicole nearly died too.’