The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(3)

‘Absolutely,’ Amy said, feeling a bolt of excitement at the thought of taking on such a big case. Early in her career, she had felt guilty for siphoning enjoyment from people’s misery. But she had come to accept that her heightened senses and her personal experiences helped her spot things other officers missed. Gazing at her father’s photo, she felt a swell of pride. Despite everything that had happened this year – her father’s death and her biological mother coming out of the woodwork – she had kept it together. Yes, there were times when Lillian came close to breaking her, and the battle between them was not over yet.

Today, she was going to focus on the job ahead. She had a good team behind her: half a dozen officers with different personalities, each one carefully chosen for what they brought to the table. As they’d settled into a routine, they had all come to know each other’s little ways. It was beginning to feel like she was at the controls of a finely tuned machine. She had confidence in her team and trusted every one of them, even DC Steve Moss, who’d had a bumpy start but had worked hard to prove his worth. No two days in her job were the same. The role demanded everything she had to offer and more.



‘Molly, I want you to come with me,’ Amy said after bringing her team up to speed. ‘Guys, you know what to do. Get the ball rolling with background investigations, and if anything interesting comes up, then make me aware. Call me on my mobile rather than clogging up the airwaves.’ She paused, casting a determined gaze around the room. ‘We’re bringing Ellen home.’ Pulling on her jacket, she waited for Molly to sign out the keys of the unmarked car. She would not lose sight that the beating heart of the case was a missing four-year-old girl. A child victim herself, Amy understood the trauma and confusion that Ellen Curtis must be feeling. She had Jack and Lillian Grimes to thank for that.

Amy was not alone in her suffering. Up until recently, the whole world had believed her older sister was another tragic victim, murdered by Jack and Lillian. The fact that Sally-Ann was their daughter added an extra layer of horror to an already gruesome case.

The discovery that she was alive changed everything. Her existence was welcome, but also one of the many facets of the past that Amy was still coming to terms with. How had Sally-Ann stayed in the shadows for so long? Why come forward now? But asking such questions would mean pulling the scab off an old wound. It was easier for Amy to throw herself into work than to allow herself to be consumed by past events.





CHAPTER TWO

Novokuznetsk, Soviet Union, 1984

As he sat at the makeshift kitchen table, Ivan’s head hung low. ‘I’ve never worked so hard to be so poor.’ He spoke on the exhale, his words peppered with cigarette smoke. Having finished his shift in the coal mine, he watched his wife, Sasha, prepare their food. As always, he spoke in Russian, and the words could be easily translated into English in Luka’s mind. Proud of her British heritage, Sasha had pushed the language upon her son from an early age.

At just six years of age, Lukasha Ivanovich Volkov knew only hardship, yet his teachers said that he was one of the lucky ones. His papa had a job and was fit to work. His mother was educated and resourceful. As for Luka . . . he was bright. ‘Advanced beyond his years’, according to his teachers.

Most importantly of all, his family loved each other, which was more than could be said for many on their street. Poverty bred frustration, and violence was commonplace in his neighbourhood. While Luka and his family lived in a small apartment purposely built for miners, others shared communal living spaces without gas, heat or running water. The fireplace in their kitchen-cum-living room was better than nothing, and most days they had enough kindling and wood to cook food and keep themselves warm.

But yet his mother complained, ‘Why, among all the mines and steel mills, is there so much poverty? I waited hours in the rain for this sliver of meat.’ She stirred the stew, her brows knitted in a frown. Life in Novokuznetsk was tough, and those unable to work struggled to feed their children. Grim-faced and poverty-stricken, many youngsters fled their homes, living among the wild dogs as they begged for scraps of food. Most people did not have the luxury of pets, and those that did had turned them loose long ago. Drugs were a problem in their area, a temporary solution for teenagers with no hope and no support. But among the glue sniffers and the destitute were small pockets of people who genuinely cared for each other. A reassuring smile, a word of encouragement; they had to stick together because otherwise there was no point in going on.

Luka tried not to concern himself with such things as he played with his toy aeroplane. He imagined himself travelling on it, visiting the faraway lands that he read about in books. How wonderful it must feel to fly like a bird in the sky.

‘Luka, come and get your food,’ his mother said. ‘And wash your hands.’

‘Yes, mamochka,’ he said, rising from the floor. His stomach rumbled as he tucked into his stew and his eyes flicked to Mama’s portion, which was half the size of his.

But Mama was busy focusing on winning his father round. ‘We wouldn’t have all these worries if you let me apply for the scholarship,’ she said. With her wavy black hair and long dark lashes, Mama was pretty when she smiled. But today her features were taut, her words imbued with dogged determination.

Papa rolled his eyes, broth dripping from his spoon as he held it in mid-air. His face was stained with coal dust, accentuating the wrinkles too plentiful for his age. ‘I told you. If it’s too good to be true, then it usually is.’