The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(86)

Amy’s hand rose to the Yale lock and the first silver key slotted in with ease.

‘Shitting hell,’ Paddy whispered as he met Amy’s triumphant gaze. ‘So Luka’s been living here all along?’ He touched her arm as she pressed forward. ‘We should wait, call it in. This needs to be handled properly.’

‘Like they handled Luka properly?’ Amy shook her head. ‘We’re doing this my way.’ Time was running out for Toby and Ellen, and they had every right to enter the property to save the children if their suspicion was strong enough.

A sharp nod of the head relayed that Paddy had her covered.

‘We don’t have long until she gets back,’ Amy whispered as they entered the hall. She had already rung the homeowner and asked to meet her at the station, but she was sure to return home when she discovered Amy was not there.

But footsteps on the upstairs landing told them she was still home. Raising her finger to her lips, Amy instructed Paddy to step to one side as the woman descended the stairs.

‘Going somewhere?’ Amy said, nodding towards the suitcase in Deborah’s hand.

Open-mouthed, Deborah looked from Paddy to Amy, the colour draining from her face. ‘I thought you were at the station. What are you doing in my house?’

Opening her palm, Amy showed her the set of keys. ‘Courtesy of Luka. Or should I say Max?’ Amy rattled off a police caution, informing her she was under arrest before signalling to Paddy to search the house. Amy’s gaze was on Deborah’s left hand, which was hidden behind her back. As she took another step forward, she could see why. Deborah was holding a knife.

‘Get back from the door,’ said Deborah, dropping her suitcase on the steps and raising the knife to chest height.

‘You don’t think we’re going to let you leave, do you?’ Amy replied. ‘We’ve spoken to your dad in the care home. We know about Luka – his key fits your door.’ Amy’s call to the intelligence team had borne fruit, confirming Deborah’s family connection with the undertaker.

Deborah’s features twisted as she realised she was cornered. ‘I should have known my father couldn’t let things go.’ Their family spat was most likely why Deborah had taken her mother’s maiden name. True, the funeral director’s words were rambling but, as quite often with dementia, memories of the past were sharper than the present day. It was when he had mentioned the name Max that everything fell into place.

‘She was only fourteen . . .’ he’d said. ‘We didn’t even know . . . When the baby was born it was too late. There was only one thing to do . . .’ That was when Amy had pieced it together. A secret child. Deborah had given birth at the age of fourteen and the little boy was stillborn. Using his undertaking business, Deborah’s father had disposed of the body to spare the family shame. But the deed had come back to haunt him. Had Deborah used their guilty secret to claim another favour? There was so much yet to uncover. What about the other children in Curtis’s care? Deborah had been young when she began working for the doctor. How had she coped with what she found there?

Luka had fulfilled a long-buried need that had been eating away inside Deborah since the age of fourteen. He was also the same age as her child, Max, would have been, had he lived.

‘You took him,’ Amy said. ‘You saved Luka from the fire and raised him as your own.’

Mother. The word had played on Luka’s lips. Yet he always called Sasha ‘Mama’.

He had been referring to Deborah. She was his mother now. Had she forged a birth certificate? Given him the name Max, the little boy that never was?

‘Why all this?’ Amy said, watching Deborah intently for any sudden moves. ‘You could have stayed as you were. Nobody would have known.’ Deborah had lied about her son having a university degree and a black belt in karate. For someone so proud of her child, there was not one photo of him to be seen. No graduation pictures, no martial-arts trophies – no evidence he had ever existed. She had home-schooled her son, kept him prisoner all these years. He was a living ghost. By the time he was given his freedom, he was no longer able to cope.

‘You think I don’t know that?’ Deborah gesticulated with the knife. ‘Max . . . Luka needed closure. He bought the flowers online and sent them every year. Even now, Luka is a part of him, right down to the marrow of his bones.’

Amy understood. Poppy Grimes would never leave her. The best she could do was live with the shadows of her past. Some were fleeting, some were dark, but they could not hurt her anymore.

‘Where’s Toby and Ellen? Luka said they were at a scrapyard.’ Paddy loomed over Deborah, his voice firm.

Amy’s eyes stayed trained on Deborah’s knife. ‘They’re not in any scrapyard, are they? You couldn’t kill those kids, any more than you could kill Luka all those years ago.’ The pieces were finally slotting into place. Luka had started by threatening Dr Curtis and the others, while Deborah tried to protect him from the police. But living in isolation had left Luka severely disturbed and she had been unable to keep a lid on it all.

‘I thought if I helped him I could make him see sense, but his migraines have affected his thinking. He’s not well.’

Amy took a cautious step forward, her hand extended, palm up. ‘And you probably counselled him yourself, because you couldn’t risk anyone finding out that he was Luka, not Max. It’s time to finish this, Deborah. Give me the knife.’