The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(27)

‘It’s me . . . Deborah. Is Nicole really on her deathbed? I rang the hospital, but they won’t tell me a bloody thing.’ She shot from the hip, did not mess around with sympathetic meanderings. If Nicole died, Hugh would get over her soon enough. Flicking her lighter, Deborah touched the flame to her cigarette, taking a succession of short puffs until it was lit.

‘It’s serious,’ he said, the heat fading from his voice. ‘She had a bleed on the brain. The police questioned me for hours.’

Mumbling under her breath, Deborah paced the kitchen floor, menthol cigarette in hand. ‘She rang me yesterday. Shit!’ she swore again. What if the police were tracing her call?

‘They’re still looking for Ellen, thanks for asking.’

‘I’m sorry . . .’ Deborah realised how selfish she sounded. ‘But it doesn’t end here. You know that, don’t you? The police will be knocking on my door . . . and what about Stuart and Christina? It’s only a matter of time until they come clean.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Hugh said sharply. ‘If Nicole dies, I’m looking at a murder charge.’

Deborah’s lips puckered around her cigarette as she locked the smoke deep into her lungs. ‘You said they questioned you . . .’

‘They treated me as if I were a common criminal. Disgusting, it was.’ Curtis sniffed. ‘Then they grilled me about the experiments and how Luka and his mother died.’

Deborah’s frown deepened. ‘Why can’t they leave the past alone?’ She shuddered as a breeze curled around her, as if invoked by the memories of that day. She had first met Curtis through her father, who had been a golfing acquaintance of his at the time. Having decided to study in the field of psychology, she had persuaded Curtis to provide the work experience she needed to progress. How idealistic she had been. How naive.

‘The kidnapper’s claiming to be Luka.’ Dr Curtis’s voice brought her back to the present day. ‘Taking Ellen and almost killing Nicole . . . I fear for my life. Really, I do.’

Deborah sighed. None of them could have imagined back then just how things would turn out, and now they had the burden of this awful secret to bear. ‘What if the police find out? What then?’ Taking one last drag of her cigarette, she stubbed it out in the ashtray. She opened the kitchen window, knowing her son Max would complain about the smell of cigarettes later on. It didn’t matter that he was thirty-nine, he would always be the beating heart of her fears and concerns. Max loved her. Looked up to her. She could not bear for him to find out what she had done. Things had been different then. She had thought it was for the best. But in the cold light of day, her actions would be viewed as grotesque.

‘You’ll have to sort out Christina and Stuart,’ Curtis said. ‘We all need to be singing from the same hymn sheet.’ Silence fell between them, and Deborah became aware of her heart as it skipped a beat. She had forgotten to take her medication. She needed to stay on track.

‘Aren’t you listening to me?’ Dr Curtis exhaled sharply in disbelief.

‘Can’t you do it?’ Deborah snapped, riffling through her handbag for her medication. ‘Things have changed. I’m not that person anymore.’

‘I told you, I’m on police bail. And I’ve got children’s social care crawling all over me, asking about Ellen and the institute.’

Of course, Deborah thought, dry-swallowing a tablet. It always comes around to his precious experiments in the end.

‘I’ve kept my silence . . .’ His voice grew dark and menacing, his breath heavy on the line. ‘If one of them squeals, we all reap the consequences. Remember that. Everything we’ve built will topple like a house of cards. Do you want to go to prison? Have them discredit our work?’

‘Of course not. I’ll speak to Stuart and Christina. I’ll do it tonight.’

‘Make sure you do. You’re the ones he’ll be targeting next.’

Deborah knew he was talking about Ellen’s kidnapper. For years she had told herself that Luka was dead. Closing the door on the past made it easier to bear. It wasn’t just the experiments that would cause her life to come crashing down around her. She had a secret. Something else she’d kept hidden over the years. She had spent her whole life atoning for her deeds, but it was never going to be enough.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The mattress springs creaked as Ellen’s kidnapper slouched on the edge of the bed. He had come here to get some respite, but there was an invader sleeping beneath his covers, her small form curled up, her thumb firmly jammed in her mouth. Somebody’s sleeping in my bed. She looked like a modern-day Goldilocks, with her blonde curls forming a halo around her face. Her captor had come here through force of habit, desperate to lock himself away from the suffocating pressures of the outside world.

The never-ending stream of traffic had intruded on his thoughts: cars honking, workmen drilling, the screaming sirens of the emergency services all hours of the day and night. Today he rejected what the world had to offer. But his safe room was named as such for a reason. It was the only place he felt truly at peace. The world was too noisy, too fast, and his senses were overloaded after a busy day. Ellen was in his space, leaving snot stains on his pillowcase and grubby finger marks on the walls. Children should be obedient. Subservient. Unlike Ellen, who had wailed all day to be let out. He’d had to dose her with Night Nurse and Calpol just to get her to calm down.