The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(85)

‘She was pretty green around the gills when she heard Luka was mown down.’ Just as Amy had feared, Pike had panicked during the operation, instructing officers to move in.

‘If only she’d waited a few more seconds.’ Amy paused to swig her tea. It was missing sugar but it didn’t matter, it tasted like nectar right now.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve had any updates on Luka?’

‘He’s the same – serious but stable. They think he’ll pull through but it’s too early to tell if he has brain damage.’ Amy turned her chair to face her old friend. ‘What am I doing here? I should be on the ground, visiting scrapyards, looking for the missing kids like everyone else.’ Luka’s clothes had been searched. There was no identification on his person, nothing except a set of keys, which were seized by police.

‘We’ve got plenty of boots on the ground. Your time is best spent here.’

Frustrated tears built up behind Amy’s eyes and she swallowed them down. ‘For all the good I’m doing.’

‘Boss, give yourself a break. You haven’t stopped all day.’

Amy sucked the salt stinging her fingers before turning back to her desk. ‘There are answers here somewhere . . . I can feel it. His mother is at the heart of this. And the way he was clutching his forehead. He suffers from migraines, I can tell. Do you think Zitalin caused them, from when he was drugged as a child?’

‘It’s a bit extreme, isn’t it? Almost committing murder to get rid of a headache?’

‘Migraines are nothing like headaches. If you’d had one, you’d know.’ Casting the chip wrapper aside, Amy looked through the paperwork on her desk. ‘They are a painful reminder of Luka’s past. A constant drumming beat that won’t let him move on. Besides, there was someone else in the background. He wasn’t working alone.’ Her eyes fell on an update that had come in earlier that evening. ‘Ahh . . . bingo!’

‘What is it?’ Paddy said, craning his neck to look.

‘Every time Luka spoke about Sasha, he referred to her as Mama. But when he talked about present day, he used the term “Mother”. Don’t you see?’

Paddy frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’

‘Remember the ultimatum Stuart was given? To risk his life for the one he loved. Luka wanted them to know how it felt.’

‘Riiiight . . .’ Paddy said, which basically meant he was in the dark.

‘Luka was saved from the fire but his mother was left to burn.’ She pointed at the copy of the police statement taken earlier that day. ‘It’s written here in black and white. Stuart said he found Sasha dead in her room – but not Luka. That’s when he was beaten back by the flames.’

‘And you believe him? What’s that got to do with Luka’s ultimatum?’

‘Stuart and Nicole were given the chance to risk their lives for the one they loved – something not afforded to Luka. Luka was deprived of the chance to save Sasha from the fire.’

Amy tapped her chin, feeling answers drawing near. ‘Someone’s been helping him. Someone who knows who he is.’

Paddy pointed at the custody photo sitting among the paperwork. ‘The courier. Jamie Richmond.’

‘Yes, but there’s someone else, right under our noses.’ Shifting the papers on her table, she fanned them out like a deck of cards. She had printed off everything she could about the people involved in the case – their financial information, plans of their houses, details about their family, friends, closest relatives – as well as witness reports, a list of police who had investigated the fire at the institute and newspaper reports. ‘Dr Curtis was so proud of his achievements.’ She pointed at a newspaper piece about his latest accolade.

‘Proud enough to commit murder?’

‘Pride can be a terrible thing.’ Amy’s eyes narrowed as a memory surfaced. Dr Curtis’s home and all the framed plaques and photos on the wall. Then Stuart Coughlan’s humble accommodation, family photos littered across the mantelpiece along with some tatty ornaments. Inhaling sharply, Amy drew her hand to her mouth.

‘What is it?’ Paddy said.

‘It might be nothing.’ But Amy’s pulse had picked up speed. ‘Let me see . . .’ She searched through the paperwork and found Gary’s report. George Barber, the funeral director, had dementia, and his words were disjointed and made little sense. But Amy had insisted that Gary made a note of every single one. ‘Who is he?’ she said, tapping her finger against the paperwork.

‘The funeral director,’ Paddy replied.

‘No. Who is he? And who is he talking about here?’ Colour rose to her cheeks as she reread the report. She picked up the phone.

‘Who are you ringing?’

‘Intelligence. I need something more in-depth.’ She turned to Paddy. ‘Do me a favour, will you? Those keys we seized from Luka. Book them out and bring them to me.’

‘For what?’

‘We’re going on a trip. If I’m right, we may be able to save Toby and Ellen after all.’





CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

‘Are you sure about this?’ Paddy said, exiting the car as they parked outside the address.

‘No. Which is why I haven’t called it in.’ Amy shook the bunch of keys loose from her jacket pocket, her shoulders hunched against the speckle of hailstones falling from the sky. They were the keys that had been taken from Luka, booked out of the system for her use.