The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(6)

The esteemed Dr Hugh Curtis, Deborah thought, rolling her eyes. If only people knew. She’d been in her early twenties when they first worked together, and now, decades later, he was incapable of shocking her. It was a quality yet to be afforded to his third wife.

Deborah’s blonde hair was now streaked with silver and her health had taken a nosedive. But her memories of her time at the Curtis Institute were still as sharp as a blade. She took a breath, preparing to issue the comfort that Dr Curtis was incapable of providing. ‘I told you before, Luka’s dead. He can’t hurt you.’

‘But he can hurt Ellen. Who else would have taken her? It’s got to be him.’ An anguished moan escaped Nicole’s lips. ‘Hugh said we should hang tight and wait for the kidnapper to call. But what if Ellen’s hurt . . . or worse?’

‘Just . . .’ Deborah frowned, trying to make sense of it all. ‘Just start from the beginning. When was the last time you saw her?’

Nicole repeated her account of events.

‘How?’ Deborah replied. ‘How did he take her without being seen?’

‘The side door had been jemmied open. The police think he used the fire as a diversion to slip away. He’s alive, Deborah. All this time, I’ve been trying to tell you . . . do you believe me now?’

It was true, Nicole had warned them, but her concerns were never reported to the police. Starting five years ago, Nicole and Hugh had received a bunch of flowers at their home on the same date each year. The message that accompanied them was particularly chilling . . . and now he had carried out his threat.

Deborah knew better than to ask why Ellen hadn’t screamed. Her reactions were different to those of ordinary children, but that was down to her upbringing more than anything else. Deborah’s thoughts wandered briefly to Luka and a pang of guilt hit home. ‘I thought you had CCTV?’ she said, reining in her emotions.

Nicole sniffed, her sobs finally subsiding. ‘It doesn’t record. You can check it live on the app, but it doesn’t keep anything.’

‘Of course it bloody doesn’t.’ Deborah stared down at her cup of coffee, which was now turning cold. Behind her, the washing machine began the rhythm of a spin cycle. Listening to Nicole, her stomach was beginning to feel the same way. Luka was damaged, there was no doubting that – and it was hardly surprising after what they had put him through. She bowed her head as Nicole’s anguished cries bored into her brain. ‘Are you sure Ellen didn’t get scared of the fire and run? You can’t expect her to react like other children. She has no concept of danger.’

Nicole’s response was instant, set in another high-pitched tone. ‘Don’t you think I know that? I’m her mother. You don’t need to tell me what my daughter is and isn’t aware of. I told Hugh this would happen. How’s she going to fend for herself? She’s only four.’

‘Hey, you called me, remember? There’s no need to snap my head off.’

‘Sorry,’ Nicole replied in a quiet voice.

That’s better, Deborah thought, having put her back in her box. Hugh’s voice rang clear in her memory: The parents of test subjects need to be controlled. Oh, the irony. How did he feel now he was the one being scrutinised? Another thought sent a dart of worry. It was only a matter of time before the authorities turned their attention towards her. Deborah rubbed her forehead, now coated in a light sheen of sweat. ‘And you haven’t mentioned Luka to the police? You know what will happen if they start digging . . .’

‘But why shouldn’t we tell them if it helps bring Ellen home? He’s back. I don’t know how, but he’s alive and he’s taken my little girl . . .’ An exhalation of breath ruffled the phone line. ‘You knew him better than anyone. What should I do?’

‘Listen to me. Luka’s dead. The police are aware. Just sit tight for now.’ Deborah clutched the telephone handset, staring into space. ‘There’s no point digging into the past. Tell them as little as possible, or we’ll all be facing jail.’

She ended the call. Why Hugh had to confide in Nicole, of all people, she did not know.

Deborah’s Apple Watch raised an alert that her heart was beating far too fast. Like a tangled web, past and present were weaving themselves around her, making it difficult to breathe.

The receiver still warm in her hand, she attempted to make a group call to her old colleagues – Stuart and Christina were no doubt panicking. The ties of the past kept them tightly bound together, even though she had not seen them in years. The four of them had stayed true to their word. But for how much longer? If their secret came out . . . Her hold on the receiver tightened.

It would mean the end of her.





CHAPTER FIVE

The bruise was yellow and the size of a small buttercup on Ellen’s skin. Her kidnapper frowned. He had forgotten how delicate children were. Spending time in their presence gave him the creeps.

‘I want my mummy.’ Snatching back her wrist, Ellen petulantly folded her arms. The tracksuit was a size too big and he’d had to bribe her with a Mars bar to put it on.

‘Here,’ he said, picking up the plastic shopping bag and rummaging for another bar of chocolate. ‘Try this. It’ll make you feel better.’ A hint of a Russian accent coloured his words.

‘Mummy says chocolate is bad for my teef,’ Ellen said, clearly unaccustomed to the joys of a Mars bar. The thought of breaking her meticulously planned diet made the man smile. Compromises needed to be made with a child in captivity. It was something he understood only too well.