The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(52)

‘Absolutely. And if anyone rings you up for a quote, tell them to mind their own business. As for Adam . . .’

‘Don’t you worry, love, he’s burned his bridges with me. You stick with that nice Donovan chap.’ She paused, as if listening to an incoming thought. ‘He knows, doesn’t he? You’ve told him?’

Amy forced a smile. ‘Of course.’ But the words were hollow as they left her lips. How would he react when he found out? Why would anyone want to date the daughter of a serial killer?

‘What about Craig?’ Flora asked as Amy headed for the door.

Amy sighed. It was a small blessing that her detective inspector brother had taken a week off work. From the day Amy was adopted, he had made her feel like part of the family, even if their competitive natures sometimes got in the way. ‘Can you speak to him? I’ve got to get to work.’

‘I’ll order a taxi. Tell him in person,’ Flora said, with a swift nod of the head. ‘I’ll bring Dotty too.’

If it weren’t for the subject matter, Amy would have been amused to hear of her mother turning up at Craig’s door at this early hour. She wondered who Flora would catch him in bed with today. Their mother never refused an opportunity to snoop, and Craig’s life was a closed book. ‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

‘I’m his mother. It’s never too early,’ Flora said, riffling in the drawer for the number of a taxi firm.



Amy’s legs felt weak as she cycled to work. Forging on, she prepared herself mentally for what lay ahead. The rays of morning sun provided little comfort, and she brushed a strand of hair away from her face, realising her helmet was nestled with her bag in the basket on the front of her bike. Was that what things were going to be like now? Her thoughts unfocused, trailing back to her painful past? Shame encompassed her like a black shroud. She felt dirty, at fault. It was illogical to blame herself for what had happened, but she remained painfully aware that her biological parents had sometimes used her as bait to lure their innocent victims in. If only she could go back to being her four-year-old self and scream at those young girls not to get into the car.

Fear had served to gag her. She had seen far too much at such a young age. Squeezing the brakes on her bicycle, she came to a halt at the traffic lights. What if Lillian was right? Was that why she touched the cheeks of the dead when she attended a murder scene? Why her heart beat a little bit faster at the prospect of dealing with a murder case? The only difference between you and me is that you have the law on your side. Lillian’s words taunted her as they replayed on a loop.

The toot of a car horn almost made Amy jump out of her skin. The lights had barely turned green, and she gave the driver a dirty look before continuing on her way. The sight of the police station made her stomach lurch. She had known that this day would come, but now, in the middle of a kidnapping case, the timing could not be worse. DCI Pike already knew of her background, which she had since shared with the command team. Would the rest of her colleagues be as understanding? Or would they view her as part of the killer family they despised?

All of this had come at a time when she needed their focus the most. ‘C’mon, you can do this,’ she mumbled to herself under her breath. But it wasn’t her attitude she was worried about. It was that of her team.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Curtis Institute, December 1984

Slipping out, Luka ran down the hall of the old university, his plimsolls beating against the tiled floor. It was risky, taking off after his music lessons, but Luka could not bear to go through another round of tests. He needed his mama. He needed to go home.

Wincing, he waited for his sight to adjust to the natural light flooding through the expansive windows on either side. A maze of rooms and corridors lay ahead, filled with the chatter of busy students much older than him. He ignored their inquisitive glances, his shoulders hunched, his head hung low. The space was a stark contrast to the fluorescent-lit accommodation in which he spent most of his time. Following the signs to the canteen, his attention was drawn to a large glass counter housing tray upon tray of hot food. The scents of different dishes rose up his nostrils, making him salivate. He thought of the children at home living on the street. Why was it that some people had so much food while others had none?

‘Mama!’ he called, tears pricking his eyes as his sense of panic grew. Soon they would find him. Clamp a hand on his shoulder and force him back. But he did not recognise any of the faces behind the glass counter where they served food. ‘Mama!’ The word pierced the air, more insistent this time. A blonde-haired young woman approached him, touching his shoulder. Flinching, he jumped from the contact.

‘You OK?’ she asked, a gentle curiosity behind her eyes. Her hair peeked out of a white hairnet and she smelled faintly of the spices from the curry listed on the specials board.

‘I want Mama,’ he cried, feeling like a baby as tears accumulated in his eyes. Pointing towards the kitchens, he gave her an imploring look. He swivelled his head from left to right. Any second now, the orderlies could drag him back to that waiting room in time for the next round of tests.

‘You must be Sasha’s boy,’ the lady replied, leading him through to the canteen staff entrance. ‘She told me you were staying in the old dorms.’

Luka caught a faint whiff of crisp, fresh air. Had it not been for Mama, he would have burst through the doors that led into the outside yard. This place had become the worst type of prison, and all he wanted was an escape. But what would happen then? Papa was saving up the money Mama earned and sent home. It would help them through the hard times, for the days Papa was unable to work. Guilt speared Luka’s heart like a physical pain. Such thoughts had ensured his silence, but he couldn’t take it anymore.