The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(50)

‘See that big piece of green Lego?’ he said, nodding to the pile on the floor. ‘Can you give it to me?’ It was a long, narrow piece of rigid plastic with sharp corners. Lego might not be a weapon, but he knew that it hurt enough for Daddy to swear when he stepped on one in his bare feet. He thought of all the Home Alone movies they had watched together. Toby clenched the piece of Lego tightly in his hand. If the man was out to hurt them, then he would fight for all he was worth.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Head bowed, Stuart scrubbed the inside of the cooking pot until his own warped reflection stared back at him. Dousing it in the water, he set it aside on the draining board. The kitchen was uncomfortably warm, and he dried his hands on his apron before swiping the sweat from his brow.

‘The dishwasher’s on the blink, so we need this lot done by hand,’ his supervisor shouted, stacking food-encrusted pots and pans on the kitchen worktop next to him. Despite the new hearing aids lodged in his ears, George delivered every word at the top of his voice. At the age of fifty-four, his hearing had been restored, but Stuart supposed that old habits were hard to break. Responding with a nod, he got to work. At least he would be left alone, given time to contemplate things. He had seen the way Deborah McCauley had looked at him: as if he was shit on her shoe. She would have had a right laugh if she’d known he worked in the kitchens of the restaurant she’d brought him to. He’d almost cancelled their lunch date, scared his colleagues would show him up. In fact, nobody had recognised him. His charity-shop suit had thrown them off the scent. Back here, in the bowels of the kitchen, nobody was interested in what he looked like, only that he got the job done. It had been the same when he worked for Dr Curtis. The man was so wrapped up in what he was doing to those poor kids that he never gave him or Christina a second thought. Had Deborah kept tabs on them to ensure they kept their silence? He would have spoken up in a heartbeat, had he not been implicated himself.

He watched the dirty water swirl down the plughole as he prepared to fill it with fresh suds and start again. If only it was so easy to make the past evaporate. He thought about Jodie, his girlfriend. She was looking after his son today. As single parents, they stuck together, helping each other out when they could. But now their relationship had progressed to a new level. He had been squirrelling away some savings and had just enough money to buy her a ring. All he wanted for his family was a brighter future. Was it too much to ask?

He squeezed the washing-up liquid bottle, his thoughts on autopilot as he worked. It was a catch-22. He wanted to stay at home more to keep Toby safe, but he had to work extended hours to pay for the taxi to take him to and from school. He couldn’t win. Toby had been through so much in his short lifetime. His degenerative disease had proved too much for his mother, Kim, to handle and she had given him up. Only recently had he agreed to use his wheelchair. In a way, guilt had crippled Kim too. She hadn’t known she was pregnant until long after their one-night stand. By then, the damage was already done. She had tried to get clean too late.

He remembered the day the social came knocking on his door. The day he found out he had a three-year-old son. Discovering that Toby had been dumped by his mother had broken Stuart’s heart. He had barely known his own father. He would not have the same thing happen to his son. With the help of social care, they made his high-rise flat into a place fit enough to bring up a kid. Out went the cigarettes and the booze. In came the full-time job. His son had given him a reason to get out of bed. Despite all his problems, Toby had saved him. His son was fuelled with a spirit and determination that put Stuart to shame. Now a monster from the past threatened to blow it all apart.

Methodically, he worked through the pile of pots and pans, raking over his worries until everything was cleared away.

‘Oi! Stuart!’ George shouted from a couple of feet away. ‘You finished yet?’

‘Yeah, all done,’ he answered, checking his watch. Toby should be home. He’d give it five more minutes and then he’d ring Jodie to check everything was OK.

‘Get yourself down to the car park. A courier’s asking for you,’ George said. ‘In future, have your deliveries sent to your home address.’ He scratched a pimple breaking out on his chin before turning and walking away.

Stuart scowled. He hadn’t ordered anything to be delivered to work . . . Then a wave of fear threatened to engulf him as he undid his apron and hung it on the wall. Had something happened to Toby? The ride down in the lift felt like an eternity and his heart was in his mouth by the time he reached the ground floor.

‘What’s this?’ he said, when the package was thrust into his hands. Wearing a tinted visor, the courier was a leather-clad brick shithouse. Stuart waited for him to produce an electronic device for him to sign. But instead, he retrieved his motorbike keys from his pocket and headed back to his bike. Now Stuart was scared. Tearing open the packaging, he could barely breathe as a ghost of the past raised its ugly head. Encased in black sponge within the cardboard box were four phials. The same as the ones used in Dr Curtis’s early tests. ‘Who are you?’ Stuart asked, advancing on the courier. He didn’t care how big he was. ‘If you’ve hurt my son . . .’ But his words were drowned out by the roar of the motorbike engine as the courier took off.

Hands shaking, Stuart plucked a black envelope from within the box and scanned the words on the card inside.