The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(87)
Lashing out with the blade, Deborah forced the officers back. ‘He’s Max. As far as I’m concerned, Luka died in that fire.’
Amy did not have time to argue. The children were her priority and she had an idea where they were. ‘Toby’s in the panic room, isn’t he, along with Ellen?’ The plans of Deborah’s house had made for interesting viewing; Amy had checked out a recent planning permission she had applied for. Not once had Deborah mentioned a panic room when she was safeguarded by police. Her CCTV cameras weren’t there to catch intruders – they were there to watch Luka’s every move.
‘I want to see my son.’ Sidestepping them both, Deborah edged down the hall. She was going to him, just as she had done all those years ago, finding comfort in the depths of despair. The wild look flashing in her eyes told Amy that Deborah had been affected by events of the past too. She wobbled on her feet, walking without the benefit of her cane, which was propped against the wall.
‘Put down the knife.’ Amy advanced, her eyes flicking to Paddy, who was to her right. She watched as he slowly reached beneath his jacket for his baton on the clip of his harness. For once, he was wearing his full set of appointments, and now he had a choice: use CS gas or his baton to subdue the suspect and protect them both. Unlike Amy, he reacted badly to gas, and spraying it at such close contact would temporarily blind them both. Amy’s police radio was nestled beneath her jacket. If she could get to the emergency button, she would be placed on an open mic. GPS would bring backup to her location and Deborah need not know she had called for it.
Her eyes darting from Amy to Paddy, Deborah reached the kitchen door. ‘You were wrong about the children. They’re not in the panic room. They’re at a breaker’s yard in Peckham. I drove the car there myself . . .’
‘No,’ Amy said, dread filling her core. Reaching beneath her blazer, she pressed the emergency button on her airwaves. She had nothing to lose now. But Deborah caught sight of the movement. Still holding the knife, she seized her opportunity and pulled open the door.
‘No you don’t!’ Amy and Paddy bundled forward. Knife or not, they were not about to let her go. With a flick of his wrist, Paddy extended his baton, bringing it down on Deborah’s arm.
‘Ah! My arm!’ Her words were punctuated by the clang of the kitchen knife as it dropped to the tiled floor. ‘You’ve broken it!’ Bending over, Deborah gripped her forearm, her face screwed up in pain.
But their safety came first, and Paddy dragged Deborah’s hands behind her back and snapped cuffs on her wrists. ‘Are you all right?’ Amy asked, as Paddy recited the caution.
‘Go!’ he said, no further explanation needed. She was already halfway out of the room.
‘The suspect states that the children are in a breaker’s yard in Peckham,’ Amy said, updating Control. Left and right she darted through Deborah’s home, until she found the living room. She had memorised the house plans, but now, standing in the room filled with books of every kind, she struggled to find a way in. Where was the door? She thought of Toby, in desperate need of medication, and wondered what state they would find Ellen in. ‘Toby! Ellen!’ she called. ‘It’s the police! Can you hear me?’ Amy said a silent prayer. Please let them be here and not in the breaker’s yard. Her eyes lit on a bookcase filled with medical journals of every kind against the far wall. Grunting, Amy pushed it, exhaling with relief to discover a small white door disguised as a panel in the wall. It opened with a click as she pressed against it, and Amy slid through.
‘Ellen? Toby?’ She scanned every inch of the room. In the corner a wheelchair sat empty. ‘No,’ she said as she cast her eyes over an unmade bed. Three specks of blood dappled the pillowcase. What had Luka done? And then she heard it, the smallest of whimpers, followed by a sob. Dropping to her knees, Amy’s heart did a somersault as she peered under the bed. ‘They’re here,’ she informed Control. ‘They’re safe.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said softly, coaxing the children out. In his hand, Toby clutched a piece of Lego to his chest. He shielded Ellen, who peeped out from over his shoulder like a frightened rabbit in the undergrowth. A lump rose in Amy’s throat as she took in the scene, gesturing for them to come out. ‘It’s all right, I’m a police officer. You’re safe now.’
Ellen’s eyes were wet with tears as she clambered out from under the bed. Dragging himself from beneath it, Toby’s features crumpled too. ‘I want my daddy,’ he sniffed, his chin wobbling as he spoke.
Amy’s heart melted and she opened her arms wide. ‘It’s OK,’ she said, encompassing them in a hug. ‘You’re safe now.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
The Curtis Institute, February 1985
‘Wake up! There’s a fire, we have to go!’ Deborah’s voice grew insistent as she shook Luka’s shoulder hard.
His eyes snapping open, Luka’s heart missed a beat. He had been dreaming of Papa . . . of home. But as he took in his surroundings, he realised he had awoken to a living hell. In the distance, he could hear crackling, feel the stench of burning plastic rising in his nostrils as he rose from his bed. Beneath his door, a thin film of acrid smoke drifted through. ‘Fire? Mama . . . where is Mama?’ He choked on his words.
‘Stuart’s gone to get her. Come now, there’s no time to waste!’ Throwing a blanket around him, Deborah scooped Luka up in her arms. He gazed up at the sprinklers as they negotiated the corridor. Why wasn’t the fire alarm ringing? His eyes streaming, fear gripped his being as the ceiling tiles began to melt. Strip lighting popped and fizzed overhead, plunging them into darkness and sprinkling them with glass.