The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(69)

‘When I got back, the whole building was alight. The fire doors were jammed and the corridor was pitch black. The windows were all boarded up, so when the strip lighting blew you couldn’t see as far as your hands. I had a torch. I tried to get them out of the building. But I was beaten back by the flames.’ His chin wobbled as he spoke, and he brushed back the tears escaping the corners of his eyes. ‘I remember feeling like I was coughing my lungs up. The smoke stung my eyes so bad that I could barely see.’

‘Sounds like that place was a death trap,’ DC Moss said.

‘It was.’ Stuart took a breath and continued. ‘By the time I got to Sasha’s room I was too late. She was lying face down on the bed. I turned her over and I . . .’ His shoulders shook as a sob escaped his lips. ‘I could see that she was dead. By then I could barely breathe. I made it out just in time.’ He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Luka didn’t stand a chance.’

‘And you’re sure it was Sasha? One hundred per cent?’ Amy asked.

Stuart nodded. ‘I remember shining my torch on her face. None of us was trained in fire safety. We didn’t have drills and the fire doors shouldn’t have been blocked.’ He turned to Jodie, genuine remorse in his eyes. ‘You’re right. I should have said something, but after the fire we were all paid off. Curtis bought our silence. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel guilty for my part in it all.’

‘So why did you meet in the Shard?’ DI Winter’s expression relayed that she had not fully bought into his story. A fresh prickle of sweat broke out on Stuart’s brow.

‘Excuse me.’ DC Moss rose, one hand pressed against his radio earpiece as he walked to the door. A final slamming of a door from the couple upstairs put an end to the argument filtering down.

Stuart rubbed his chin, telling himself the interrogation was almost over. ‘It was Deborah’s idea that we meet up for dinner. She wanted to warn us about Ellen in case the nut that took her came for us.’

‘Anything else?’ Rising from the sofa, DI Winter exchanged a brief glance with DC Moss as he returned to the room. ‘Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ Panic rose in Stuart’s chest as he caught the expression on the detective’s face.

‘It’s not Toby,’ DC Moss said, his lips thin. But whatever it was, the news was not good. ‘It’s Christina Watson.’

‘I rang her,’ Stuart said reluctantly. ‘To tell her about Toby. She has a granddaughter. I wanted to see if she was all right.’ He slid his phone from his pocket. ‘I can give you her number . . .’

‘We won’t be needing it.’ The room grew dark as DC Moss stood in front of the window and blotted out the fading light.

DI Winter met his gaze with a puzzled frown. ‘Why not?’

‘The police are already with her. I’m afraid she’s dead.’





CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Amy sat in her office, quietly fuming. She could not help but lay the blame for Christina’s death at the feet of her team. They should have safeguarded her, guessed she would be running scared. Amy was so busy dancing to Luka’s tune she did not have time to follow up the taskings she had set. Just minutes after getting off the phone to Stuart, Christina had told her husband she was taking a bath. Had she committed suicide to keep her family safe? Stuart had cried when he recalled Christina saying that her family were next. There was no suicide note, just the word ‘sorry’ daubed in blood on the tiled bathroom wall.

‘She was a self-harmer,’ her husband explained when they attended the scene. But he had never expected her to take it so far. Amy knew from experience that a demon manifested from guilt was the most patient of all. Days, months, decades could pass. Guilt did not corrode with time for the tortured soul. For Christina, the burden of her secret had become too heavy to bear.

To top things off, a message on Amy’s answer machine left her in no doubt that Lillian had orchestrated the scrum at the entrance to the police station earlier.

‘You cow,’ Amy grumbled as she listened to her gloating words.

‘I hear you had eggs for lunch,’ Lillian had quipped. ‘Did you enjoy your welcome party when you went back to work?’

Lillian had contacts on the outside, a small band of sick fans happy to do her bidding. Thanks to the power of Facebook, such people were able to form alliances and organise events. Were their own lives so boring they had to worship a serial killer for kicks? How had they manipulated the families of the victims to attend? Could this day get any worse? Slamming down the phone, Amy frowned at the knock on her office door. Her blinds were tightly shut, relaying that she did not want to be disturbed. Couldn’t they give her five minutes’ peace?

‘Come in,’ she said flatly, trying to contain the simmering anger bubbling up inside.

It was Paddy, wearing an apologetic grin. ‘We’re doing a chip-shop run, wondered if you’d like anything?’

Amy’s stomach churned at the thought of food. They were no further on with finding Toby, and the CPS had released Dr Curtis without charge.

‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘Is there anything else?’ She sighed as Paddy took a seat. The last thing she needed was company. She knew if he stayed that she would only end up taking her anger out on him.

‘There is, actually.’ He shifted awkwardly in the swivel chair as he unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. It was ten o’clock at night and his tie had been discarded hours ago. ‘There’s been some mumblings in the camp. I wasn’t going to say anything but then I figured you’d want to know.’