The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(51)

There are four phials in this package.

One is poisoned. Three are safe.

Drink one for me to notify police about Toby’s location.

Risk your life for the one you love – a choice not afforded to me.

Luka

Stuart’s whole world crumbled as he absorbed the words. His boy. Someone had his boy. But Toby needed special care – and without his medication he would fall ill. With a rising sense of dread, Stuart realised that his worst nightmare had come true. A sudden buzzing vibration returned his attention to the package in his hand. Pushing back the sponge, he slid out a mobile phone. The words Answer me flashed up on the screen, and Stuart’s blood ran cold.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

‘I needed that,’ Amy said as she joined her mother in the kitchen. Despite the pain in her fingers, her early-morning punchbag session had done the trick. Sleep had surprised her after all, granting a full eight hours of rest. The feeling of being refreshed was a novel one, and she felt ready for whatever was thrown in her direction. She did not have long to wait. ‘Have you taken Dotty out?’ she said, frowning as she noticed the lead missing from the hook in the hall.

‘Yes. I . . . I went to get the paper,’ Flora replied.

Amy’s eyes trailed to the morning edition of the London Echo on the kitchen table. It was unusual for her mother to be fully dressed at this early hour, let alone to have taken Dotty for her morning walk.

‘What’s so interesting that you couldn’t wait for the paperboy to deliver it?’ Amy asked, switching on the kettle and taking down a cup. ‘Would you like a cup of . . .’ She stalled, catching the forlorn expression on her mother’s face. ‘What’s wrong?’

The words had barely left her lips before her mobile phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.

‘Don’t answer it!’ Flora’s words were brittle as they sliced through the air.

‘Of course I’m going to answer it. What if it’s work?’

‘Don’t!’ Flora snatched it from the counter, jabbing at the button to reject the call. No sooner had it stopped than the landline rang. Amy swivelled from the phone back to her mother. ‘What’s going on?’

Pressing her finger to her lips, Flora picked up the home phone. ‘Yes? Hello, Patrick.’ She paused, pleading with her eyes as Amy advanced to take the call. It was Paddy, but such were her mother’s old-fashioned ways that she addressed him by his full name. ‘She’s out with the dog . . . Yes, she’s aware. I’ll get her to call you when she comes back . . . No . . . no trouble at all. Thank you. Bye.’

‘You’re scaring me now.’ Amy paled at the prospect of what lay ahead. Her mother was not an assertive woman. There had to be a good reason behind her behaviour today.

‘I wanted to be the one to tell you,’ she said, sliding the newspaper across the kitchen table. Unfolding it, she exposed the front page for Amy to read.

MET COP DAUGHTER OF BRENTWOOD BEAST, the headlines screamed, stealing Amy’s breath. Her gaze fell on the reporter’s name. Adam Rossi. He had done it. He had betrayed her in the worst possible way.

‘I can’t believe he did that,’ Flora said, her face soured in disgust.

Amy scanned the page, her heart plummeting as she absorbed the damning words. Here was the passion he was known for, the flair that had been lacking in his piece about Dr Curtis. It spoke of Lillian Grimes as if she were the victim. How the police officer handling the case had adopted her daughter and how details of Lillian’s case were later leaked to the press. In another paragraph, it spoke of evidence being planted at the scene, of Lillian’s appeal, her claims of innocence and her dreams of being free. It told how her daughter, DI Amy Winter, had turned against her, despite Lillian’s recent cooperation in the case of the missing children brutally murdered all those years ago by Lillian’s husband, Jack Grimes. ‘I was terrified to leave him,’ Lillian stated in the interview. ‘He raped and abused me, then threatened to kill my children if I went to the police. I never imagined that I would end up in prison for something my husband did.’ Amy’s stomach churned as the past reared its ugly head all over again.

‘Here.’ Placing a cup of tea before her, Flora tilted her head. ‘Why don’t you call in sick? Let things die down a bit before you go back to work.’

Work. The thought hit her like a punch to the stomach. What would her colleagues think of her now? Inhaling a deep breath, Amy pushed the paper away. ‘How did you know about this?’

‘Winifred rang. Her son runs the newsagent’s around the corner. He let me in early so I could have a copy.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Amy said, painfully aware of the gossip this would generate. ‘The tittle-tattle will die down in a few days.’

‘It’s a bit more than tittle-tattle – what about your job?’

‘Don’t worry about me. All the important people already know.’ Dotty whimpered at her feet, picking up on her unease. Amy bent down, giving her a quick cuddle before casting an eye over the clock on the wall. ‘It’s time I headed off. What’s it like outside? Will I need my hood?’ She would cycle to work; the journey would give her time to think.

‘It’s frosty, no rain forecast for today.’ Flora looked at her quizzically. ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’