The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(4)

‘But the Curtis Institute would be our passport to England. Can you imagine seeing London? Those bright red buses, the colourful clothes and shops. All the tourist attractions. The Tower of London and Windsor Castle.’

‘And how could you afford to visit these places? You think this Dr Curtis is going to show you around London and expect nothing in return?’

‘But he’s not getting nothing, is he? Luka’s bright. The teachers say he’s gifted.’ Sasha edged towards her husband. ‘I can get a job, earn money while he takes part in the trial. It could pave the way to a better life for us all.’

‘And he couldn’t find these gifted children in London?’

‘They want children from all over. Please. Let me apply and see what happens after that.’

Exhaling loudly, Ivan dropped his spoon into his bowl. ‘Fine, if it makes you happy, but don’t get your hopes up. Nice things don’t happen to people like us.’

Luka wiped the dribble of broth that edged down his chin. Soon his stomach would grumble again but for the moment hope was on his horizon. ‘Are we going to England?’ His heart gave a little flutter at the thought.

His mother turned to him, her smile lighting up the room. ‘Perhaps, sinochka. Perhaps.’





CHAPTER THREE

Amy had barely entered her office when her phone rang. ‘Hello?’ she said, without checking the caller display. She grabbed her police-issue harness from the back of her chair, visibly withering as she recognised her caller’s voice.

‘At last, my darling daughter sees fit to answer my calls.’ Like liquid poison, Lillian Grimes’s voice seeped down the line.

Amy’s spirits plummeted. It was bad enough the woman haunted her nightmares; why must she insist on ringing her at work? ‘Go to hell!’ she said, before slamming down the phone. She had a scene to attend and there was no point in expending any more energy on Lillian Grimes. As the phone rang for the second time, she unleashed her annoyance.

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Sod off, or I’ll do you for harassment!’

‘Steady on . . . what did I do to deserve this?’ The voice on the other end was friendly and warm, in total contrast to the scheming caller seconds before. A recent acquaintance, DI Donovan of Essex Police had got to know Amy well. Too well.

Amy sighed. Her relationship with her ex, Adam, had reinforced the idea that she was better off alone.

‘Oh. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.’

‘That’s a relief.’ A smile was carried on his words. ‘Everything OK? You haven’t returned my calls.’

‘Sorry.’ Peering out of her office window, Amy watched her team hard at work. ‘I’ve been up to my eyes in it. I didn’t finish until nearly two this morning and I was back at the crack of dawn.’

‘Ah, the life of a bobby – who’d want it?’

‘I guess we’re gluttons for punishment. Look, I can’t talk right now. Is it important?’ She was still irritated by Lillian’s call, and the planner on her desk was jam-packed with things to do.

‘No . . . I’ll be in your neck of the woods soon, maybe we could meet up then?’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Her eyes flickered to Molly’s as the young officer approached her office door, car keys in hand.

‘Um, sorry, I’ve . . .’

‘. . . got to go.’ Donovan finished her sentence. ‘No problem. Speak soon.’

Ending the call, Amy paused for breath. She was too wrapped up in work to talk about hooking up. Inside, she was buzzing from the tingle of urgency that heralded each new case. As Molly drove them to the scene, Amy used the time to think.



Amy’s position as DI of the high-priority crime unit offered up a variety of backdrops to her day. She often visited luxurious London homes, but rarely did she envy the homeowners. Their grief was just as real as those with barely a penny to their name. Such seemed the case today as she spoke to the Curtis family about the disappearance of their child.

At five foot eight, Dr Curtis was not a tall man, but his commanding presence hinted that he was used to getting his own way. His silver-grey beard was neatly trimmed, his sky-blue eyes intense in their gaze. Walking ahead of Amy and Molly, he led them past a spiral staircase into the living room. Plaques and family photos were dotted across the walls, and the delicate scent of Dr Vranjes Ginger Lime infusers permeated the room. When she’d visited Harrods with Sally-Ann the week before, Amy had lingered over them with an intent to buy – until she saw the price tag attached. But judging by the furnishings in their household, the seventy-five-pound diffusers were the cheapest items in the room.

As Amy took a seat across from the doctor, her attention was drawn to his wife. Aged thirty-eight, Nicole Curtis was twenty-seven years her husband’s junior, and wife number three. Her wavy brunette hair was scooped up into a high ponytail, her slim build accentuated by her fitted black dress. Wringing her hands, she sat next to Dr Curtis, her eyes darting from his face to Amy’s as they spoke in turn. The antithesis of her husband, this woman was clearly accustomed to taking a back seat.

Amy’s cool grey eyes were sharp and focused as she pinned Mrs Curtis with her gaze. ‘Why haven’t you reported Ellen missing? I’ve read your statements, but I’ve yet to find any explanation as to why you didn’t make the call.’