The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(39)

Glowering, a heavy-footed man approached. He wore a yellow hard hat and a fluorescent vest, just like the other workers on site. ‘You idiot! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ He scowled, his beard white with dust. ‘I’m the site manager. You could have been killed.’

Wobbling on her feet, Amy plucked her warrant card from her pocket. Behind her, a spray of water was being directed towards the rubble to keep the dust down. Amy coughed again. Her elbow stung like hell and she realised she’d cut it when she fell. She tucked her warrant card back into her pocket. The building was vast. There was still hope. She refused to believe that Ellen had been caught up in the blast.

‘We think there’s a child in this building. We’re not leaving until it’s been searched,’ Amy replied. ‘How are you doing it? Explosives?’

‘In central London?’ The man barked a laugh. His face grew serious as he felt Amy’s glare. ‘Excavators rip through the concrete beams and columns. Then we wet it to keep down the dust. It’s done gradually, but with force. Mind you, it’s come to a sodding halt now you’re here.’

‘I see,’ Amy said, approaching the remains of what had once been a concrete beam.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ the site manager called after her. ‘Come back, it’s not stable!’

Amy spun on her heel, her face thunderous as she raised a finger in the air. ‘Swear at me one more time and I’ll—’

‘Boss! I’ve found something!’ A man with a ruddy complexion jumped down from the excavator, pulling the gloves from his hands.

A chill ran down Amy’s spine as she caught the expression on his face. ‘No,’ she whispered. It couldn’t be. Ellen couldn’t have been there. There was still so much of the building to demolish. But the driver hadn’t seen Amy enter the site. Had he missed the little girl inside too?

Amy’s legs felt heavy as she approached the rubble. A sense of stillness fell. Swallowing back the dust lodged in her throat, she followed the gaze of the workmen, wishing she could press a pause button on what was to come. Nobody could have survived the weight of a concrete beam bearing down. Her hand rose to her mouth as she drew in a sudden breath. Sticking out of a pile of torn-up concrete was the hem of a child’s nightdress, blue with a pink ribbon, exactly as Luka had described. But this one was stained with patches of blood.

The sight of the scrap of material proved to be too much. ‘Ellen!’ Amy cried, throwing herself on to the rubble and clawing at it.

‘Hey!’ The site manager lurched forward. ‘We’ve got equipment to clear this lot. You’ll never do it like this!’ The look on his face relayed that he didn’t expect to find Ellen alive.

As Amy tore at the rubble, she paused at the sight of fresh blood. It was only when pain seared in her fingernails that she realised it was coming from her. Grunting, she continued to tear at the rocks, until a gentler voice spoke from behind.

‘Ma’am, you’re hurting yourself. Let them take care of it. It’ll be quicker that way.’ The voice was that of a young police officer, and was followed by a firm hand on her arm.

‘No! Get off me!’ Amy screamed as they tried to lead her away. But her digging was fruitless. She could never move this lot on her own. Her legs shaking and fingernails torn, she glanced up at the gathering crowd and reluctantly stepped aside. She knew what they were thinking. She had failed. She was too late.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

‘Don’t look so jumpy.’ Deborah stared at her guests, mild annoyance sharpening her words. ‘Nobody’s going to see us here.’ It was true. She’d pulled a lot of strings to get a table at Aqua Shard at such short notice. With its breathtaking views of London and its upmarket clientele, they were unlikely to bump into any police here. Like a carrot, she had dangled the invite before them. Fortune had not smiled on Stuart and Christina and she knew they would be unable to resist.

Having finished their appetisers, the wait for their main course seemed like the perfect time to broach the real reason behind the invitation.

‘I didn’t bring you here for a reunion,’ Deborah said, tearing her eyes away from the view.

Christina’s face soured as she sipped her sparkling water, her short, cropped hair making her look like an angry pixie.

Across from her, Stuart shifted in his chair, encased in a suit that had seen better days. ‘I knew you’d be in touch soon enough,’ he said, meeting their gaze. He had changed little over the years. He still sported a buzz cut, was still broad yet lean, despite his advancing years.

Deborah folded her napkin, gracefully straightening her cutlery. ‘I’m guessing you’ve heard about what happened to Dr Curtis? Have the police been in touch yet?’ To her, he was Hugh, but only his friends were afforded the honour of using his first name.

‘Not yet. I take it you’ve brought us here so we get our stories straight,’ Stuart replied.

‘I don’t like this,’ Christina interjected, her bright pink nails flashing as she toyed with the top button of her blouse. ‘I don’t like it one bit.’

Deborah looked at her with the interest of a cat observing a mouse. ‘We’re going to have to deal with it whether we like it or not.’

‘Who’s behind it all? I mean, it can’t be Luka. Not unless he’s risen from the dead,’ Stuart said.