The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(33)

His methods were elaborate but, from the confines of his room, it had given him something to focus on. Sourcing the phials, accessing the drugs – it was all in a day’s work. Finding the courier had taken longer, but it had been worth the wait. Their conversation had helped dissolve any lingering doubts.

But now the detective was making him unsure of himself all over again. Mama would not want him to back out now. But Mama had not spent her childhood in captivity. By the sounds of it, DI Amy Winter had. He could have ended this quickly, given her Ellen’s address without the runaround. Truth was, he enjoyed talking to her. He turned his gaze to the pavement, striding purposefully through the busy London streets. There was no better game than one set against the clock. It added an element of agonising yet delicious suspense. It made him feel alive.

Even while injecting seeds of doubt into his psyche, DI Winter’s voice had reeled him in. There was something mysterious about her that made her stand out from the rest – that made her someone like him. He wished she had been there when he needed her, then things would have turned out differently. But, for now, her attention would act as a cooling balm, salving the wounds of his past. Death was too good for the likes of Dr Curtis. Losing everything he owned was justice enough.

His fists clenched in the front pocket of his hoodie as fresh hatred bloomed. Sliding his phone from his pocket, he activated the screen. Soon it would be time to call the detective back. A delicious thrill shot through him. He could be standing right in front of her and she would have no clue about who he really was. It had been worth the risk – taking Ellen – worth every second of listening to her whiny voice. How many people had a cause that they would kill for? Or kill themselves for? Because there was one thing he knew for sure. If the police caught him today, all bets were off.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Amy watched as Baseball-Cap Man folded his newspaper and ambled ahead of her into the station. Soon the plainclothes police officer would board the same tube as her. She only hoped he could do so without the suspect recognising who he was.

Within seconds, Amy had relayed the gist of her conversation to DC Molly Baxter, who, in turn, updated Control. Their discussion served to guide her next move and update the officers on the scene.

‘OK,’ Molly said, sounding focused. ‘Take the Central line to Bond Street Underground. That’ll take about eight minutes. Then change at Bond Street and take the Jubilee line to Westminster. It’s a four-minute journey, and Big Ben is just a couple of minutes’ walk away.’

Amy memorised the directions. She knew that, once she entered the Underground, her phone signal could die. Perhaps that was what Luka had wanted all along. Was he watching her? A shudder drove down her spine as her apprehension rose. Brushing past fellow travellers, she entered the gates to reach the platform, her footsteps quickening as the rumble of the tube signalled its arrival. Despite the chill of the morning, she was met with a whoosh of lukewarm air as the train came to a stop.

Her umbrella tucked under her arm, Amy strode through the double doors, gripping the bar above her as she took up space in the central aisle. The compartment was busy but not packed, allowing her enough room to survey her travelling companions. It was the usual mixture of Londoners; at this time of the day, most commuters were already nestled behind their office desks. Briefly, a suited man met her gaze before her eyes flicked to the mothers with small children snuggled in buggies. Next to them were a couple of teenagers running late for school, their headphones blocking out the world as they scrolled through songs on the iPhones glued to their hands.

Amy peered down the length of the carriage, wobbling slightly as the tube train trundled on its tracks. She caught sight of a man in a dark hoodie, his head turned away from her. Could it be Luka? Was he travelling too? But where was the child? Was she walking into a trap?

Her mind examined potential scenarios, none of them good. She checked her watch, the eight-minute journey feeling like eight hours as they passed through the stations. Notting Hill Gate, Queensway, Lancaster Gate, Marble Arch – each one appeared as a flash of white tiles in between tunnels as she sank deeper into her thoughts.

She had to second-guess Ellen’s kidnapper. Define his motivations and evoke some empathy. The more she spoke to him, the further she opened herself up to the possibility that Luka was alive. Had the fire been some kind of set-up? A means for him and his mother to escape? He could not have done it alone. She dragged herself back to her childhood, to the painful place that helped her understand the wicked people in the world.

Now that Lillian Grimes had reignited contact, she kept creeping back into Amy’s thoughts. But her psychopathic parents had murdered for their own sick satisfaction. Already, Amy sensed that Luka was not like them. His motivation came from a place deep in his heart. His actions were a compulsion, forged by the need to ease his troubled mind. And what about Sasha? Was she in on this too? There was something about the way Luka spoke; it unsettled her to dwell upon it. His comments about Ellen’s unwanted invasion were territorial in nature. He was protective of his home. Had he and his mother escaped the fire all those years ago and lived a life underground? His experience in captivity was driving his actions . . . Amy briefly closed her eyes as she put herself in his shoes. What if he had lived his life hidden away from the world? It was bound to damage him psychologically – but enough to commit murder? What would it have been like for her, had she not been adopted? She checked herself. This was no time for sympathy. Sliding her phone from her pocket, she glanced at the screen. No signal. Her thoughts raced. What was Luka planning?