Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  Despite the time that had passed, his old office had not changed much, and Donovan could still sense Carla’s presence there. He half-expected her to walk in the door, saying it had all been a crazy mistake. The numbness he had experienced since her death had been replaced with quiet fury. How dare they take one of his own. His protective nature applied to everyone he worked with, and his meeting with Carla’s husband served to increase his determination tenfold. The man was completely bewildered by her sudden death. Donovan paused to stare at the intelligence posters on the wall. The posters featured mug shots of men who were wanted for serious crimes. He willed a spark of intuition. So far, he had nothing. No clue why tourists’ bodies were being pulled from the sea and why Carla’s life had ended in a similar way. Usually, Donovan was pragmatic when it came to handling serious crime. Was he too personally involved?

  His old friendship with Carla was not something he had brought up with Superintendent Jones. He had said nothing about the voicemail, saving it for when he was cleared to investigate, even though it went against his better judgement to withhold evidence. Amy was the one who took chances. She embedded herself in the thick of things, meeting victims’ families, speaking to their friends and overseeing the interviews. Donovan was the steady, guiding influence who ensured things moved like clockwork behind the scenes. But not today. He had made a silent promise to Carla when he got here. He would not rest until her killer was behind bars.

  He clenched and unclenched his fists, his thoughts too urgent for him to stay still for very long. He walked around the desks at the end of the office, ready for his team’s arrival. It didn’t matter that the drawers didn’t work as they should, or that the swivel chairs wheezed when you sat down. In this station, it was a luxury just to have a desk to yourself. They weren’t in London now. It felt surreal, merging his new team with his old one. The office might be frozen in time, but life had changed considerably since he’d worked in Clacton. He was a sergeant when he last rolled up his sleeves in this building, and now he was a DCI. If ever he had something to prove, it was now.

  Then there was Amy. A five foot two powerhouse who took no prisoners. Even after Carla’s death, he was unable to get her out of his mind. They had packed so much into the short space of time since they’d met. He had never known a woman like her, and he doubted he would again. Everyone else paled in comparison. It was like comparing an indoor light bulb to the burning heat of the summer sun. Checking his phone, he waited for her text. After his divorce, he never thought he would feel so strongly about anyone again.

  ‘Boss?’

  Donovan was suddenly aware that someone was talking to him. He looked up to see DS Bickerstaff standing there.

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ Donovan pocketed his phone. ‘I was a million miles away. And since when did you start calling me boss?’

  Bicks broke into a smile, the gap between his front teeth on show. ‘Just trying it out for size. You’ve done well, you jammy git.’

  ‘Ah, there’s the old Bicks I know and tolerate.’ Originally from Liverpool, Sergeant Bickerstaff was a bit of a wheeler-dealer, but never got involved in anything that would compromise his career. Despite being a few inches shorter than Donovan, he had a strong presence when he entered a room. He had narrowly beaten Carla to the role of sergeant when Donovan left, ending up as her supervisor. But there were no hard feelings between them and they’d rubbed along well enough. Every now and again, Carla would drop Donovan an email or make a phone call to catch up. But in the last few years, their correspondence had dried up. Memories of their time together filtered in, compounding Donovan’s sense of loss. Carla was old school. When she gave evidence in court, she used to order her full dress uniform and had worn it with pride. It looked good on her, the polished buttons and stiff white shirt. It was much better than the clingy black lycra tops and baggy zip-up fleeces uniformed officers wore these days.

  ‘We’re not here to step on any toes.’ Donovan spoke his thoughts aloud as he glanced around the room. He could see the frustration etched on each officer’s face. With high workloads and multiple cases on the go, they did not have enough time to focus on Carla’s death.

  Bicks shrugged, his smile fading. ‘I won’t lie. Your presence has ruffled a few feathers. We’re already under pressure for quick results. Especially now we’ve got teams like yours: supercops, making the rest of us look inferior.’ His teasing carried an edge. ‘Most of us believe Carla did herself in. Having you here is going to generate a lot of publicity we could do without.’

  Donovan’s attention was drawn to a sharply dressed young man walking towards them. ‘Sorry, gov, I just wanted to say how much I admire your work.’ Donovan shook his hand as it was offered, encasing it in a firm grip. Judging by the man’s smile, it seemed Bicks had not spoken for every member of his team.

  ‘This is DC Aberra,’ Bicks said proudly. ‘My protégé.’

  ‘Call me Denny,’ he piped up, before apologising for the interruption, his smile dissolving as he spoke. ‘We’re all shocked by Carla’s death.’

  ‘Suicide,’ Bicks added. ‘As far as we’re aware.’

  ‘I’ve got something to share that will change your mind.’ Donovan held up his phone. ‘Carla left me a voicemail the night before she died.’

  ‘You never mentioned any voicemail,’ Bicks said.

  Heads turned in their direction at the advent of news.

  ‘I was waiting for the team to get here.’ The office came to a standstill as he spoke. ‘Carla didn’t kill herself, and there’s no way she could have fallen off the pier . . .’ His thoughts were interrupted by a text notification on his phone. ‘I’ll upload it to the system,’ he said, ‘so everyone can hear.’

  As Denny returned to his desk, Bicks peeped through the office blinds. ‘The posse’s here.’

  Donovan was about to ask how he knew, until he remembered the documentary. ‘I’ll show them in,’ he said, casting one last glance around the room before leaving to meet his team.

  Donovan felt rejuvenated as he led his colleagues inside. Bicks’s team would get over themselves soon enough. ‘I’ve got your tags sorted,’ he said, about the security passes they needed to access the building. ‘We’re sharing an office, but we’re right at the end so we have our own space.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Amy held the door open for Paddy, Gary and Molly as they were guided through reception. In future, they could come through the back entrance with their security tags. It was the smarter, safer option for her team, now so many people knew who they were.

  ‘You can’t get lost in this building,’ Donovan explained. ‘It goes around in a circle, so if you keep walking, you’ll end up back where you started.’ It spanned several floors, with custody on the lower end and the higher-ranking officers on top, like layers of a cake. Donovan and his team were on the ground floor with CID. Bicks was still standing by the window, hands deep in his trouser pockets, waiting for an introduction. They would be working together over the coming weeks and Donovan needed everyone to get along. He watched Amy give Bicks a firm handshake as she was introduced.

  She turned to Paddy. ‘This is DS Patrick Byrne, and Gary Wilkes and Molly Baxter, DCs on my team.’ Each one shook his hand in turn, smiling as they were introduced for the first time. The rest of the team acknowledged them with a nod as brief introductions were made.

  Donovan’s gaze fell on Amy. She was no stranger to risk-taking, and Carla’s death had hammered her vulnerability home.

  ‘Where’s Steve?’ she said, oblivious to the effect she was having on him.

  ‘In the property office, across from the car park. I’ll show you around once you’ve settled in.’

  ‘Have you had any breakfast?’ Bicks said. ‘There’s a rec room, microwave and kettle if you need it. Lots of coffee shops and caffs in town. Donovan knows where everything is.’

  ‘I’d like to go over the case with you first, if you can spare the time.’ Amy’s grey eyes roved over the whiteboard Donovan h
ad prepared for his team.

  Donovan wanted Amy to have free rein. She was the brains of the operation, and he was looking forward to seeing her at work now her personal life had settled down. This is where she would come into her own. This time, he was the one with a personal investment in the case. He followed Amy’s gaze to the picture of Carla hanging on the whiteboard.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Amy spoke with genuine sympathy. ‘How are you all holding up?’

  ‘It’s been tough.’ Bicks exhaled a long breath. ‘Carla was . . . Well, she was something to everyone. Speak to anyone in the station and they’ll have an anecdote to tell.’

  ‘I’ll need to see your updates on the case.’ Amy shot a glance at Gary and Molly, who were arguing over a desk. Her glare was enough to silence them, and Donovan bit back his smile.

  ‘That’s all taken care of,’ Bicks replied. ‘You’ll have access to the system soon.’ He paused as a tannoy requested his presence for a visitor at the front desk. ‘I’m being summoned. Give us a shout when you’re all settled in.’

  Donovan glanced at his team, who were hovering around their computers. He had sorted out their logins on to the police system, but after travelling down from London, they looked beat.

  ‘Put your jackets back on, I’m taking you out.’

  ‘Where?’ Amy frowned.

  Donovan could see she was chomping at the bit to get their side of the investigation underway. But a team couldn’t run on an empty stomach.

  ‘Sustenance.’ He raised a hand to stem any interruption. ‘You can’t log in yet anyway. We’ll go downtown, grab a bite and by the time we come back we can log in.’ It was a lie, but the best way of persuading Amy that her team needed a break.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ Paddy pulled his vape from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m parched.’

  ‘And I can get some supplies in.’ Molly smiled. ‘Run the tea club from here.’

  ‘I’ve not eaten,’ Gary said.

  Steve joined them, holding reams of printer paper in his hands. ‘Did someone mention grub?’

  After one longing look at the whiteboard, Amy gave in. Just as well, Donovan thought. They had a long day ahead of them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Amy gave Donovan the side-eye as they walked into town. Sustenance was important, but she would have preferred to send for a sandwich run rather than dragging them all out. But as she glanced at her colleagues, Amy realised she was the only one being dragged. Molly was clearly in her element as she took in the sights and sounds. While some people had a resting bitch face, Molly’s was the opposite and she was rarely without a smile. Paddy was busy telling Donovan all about his new motor, and Gary and Steve seemed animated, as if they were on a sightseeing trip. A pang of guilt hit home. Perhaps she should give them a break. Their last big case had tested all their limitations. Not one of them had complained when their rest days were cancelled, and they always showed up for work on time. Besides, Donovan would argue that they needed to know their way around. Even if this was Clacton, not Las Vegas, and their phones were equipped with GPS.

  Donovan caught her attention. He had become adept at reading her expressions, speaking her thoughts before she voiced them. It felt good to be with someone in tune with her emotions. Someone who cared. He pointed across the street. ‘If you want, we can nip into Greggs for a bite to eat. It won’t take long.’

  ‘Can’t we just grab something to take back . . . ?’ Amy looked left and right as they crossed the road. Try as she might, she could not escape the urge to dive into the case.

  But Donovan was ready with an answer. ‘What say we get some breakfast, then I can show you Carla’s route. The pier isn’t far. We can eat on the way.’ He rifled in his pocket for his wallet as they walked into the bakery. ‘What can I get you? Croissant? Bacon bap?’

  ‘A pastry and a bottle of water, thanks,’ Amy said, as Paddy picked up two packs of doughnuts.

  ‘Blimey.’ Molly reached for a chocolate muffin. ‘You feeding the whole office?’

  ‘For later,’ Paddy said, his lips curled in a guilty smile. ‘You can’t live a full life on an empty stomach.’

  The jingly tunes and flashing lights of Clacton’s amusement arcades brought a sense of déjà vu as Amy strolled past with her team. Outside, a teenager manoeuvred the grabber machine as his girlfriend asked him to win one of the teddies housed there. Holidaymakers fed coins into the penny arcades within, and the roar of the old horse-racing machine was accompanied by children’s excited tones as they cheered on their steeds. Amy paused as a flash of a memory invaded the present day: Jack, shouting at the plastic horse to hurry up and win. Lillian whispering something in his ear and both breaking into a dirty laugh. Looks were always furtive. Laughs were dirty, and innuendos were commonplace. There was nothing normal about the family Amy wished she could forget. She had been almost five when she was adopted, but memories still returned in horrific multicoloured glory. They were so at odds with the life she led today. Would she ever be delivered from her past?

  Picking up her pace, she tuned back into Donovan’s deep, rich tones as he described the areas where CCTV was located. At least Clacton was well covered with cameras, and the local council cooperative with police.

  The road leading to the pier was of colourful paved brick with red and yellow machines to either side. Flashing lights accompanied the soundtracks of jingles designed to lure holidaymakers in. On they went, past the Wetherspoons and down the sloping paved hill beneath the bridge to the pier. Flashing screens dominated the frontage and the soft golden sands came into view.

  ‘Carla came from this direction.’ Donovan pointed to the left. ‘Then headed towards the pier. That’s the last we saw of her on CCTV.’

  ‘I don’t get it. Why isn’t there any footage of her on the pier?’ Amy said. ‘Surely with the amount of tourists . . .’

  ‘There are cameras, but they were spray-painted the night she died. The entrance was jemmied open too.’

  ‘Yet Bicks still thinks she killed herself?’

  ‘There are two popular theories,’ Donovan replied. ‘One is suicide, and the other is that she was pushed. There were some teenagers hanging around that night, causing trouble. There’s recent graffiti and CCTV of a gang of them in town. They could have broken into the pier to vandalise it that night.’

  ‘Carla could have caught up with them,’ Amy agreed. ‘Then been pushed over the edge.’ It was an unpleasant thought, but more believable than her killing herself on the same night the place was broken into.

  ‘Carla’s goodbye text muddied the waters,’ Donovan replied. ‘But anyone could have sent that. Her voicemail changes everything. They’ll come around.’

  ‘They’ll have to,’ Amy replied. ‘And we’ll need to gather any available CCTV.’ They had yet to establish a link between Carla’s death and the spate of seaside suicides, but they could not rule out a connection at this early stage.

  The jingle of a bell stopped them in their tracks as the white and blue tourist train cut in front of them. Amy waited for it to rattle past, wishing she had brought her sunglasses as the temperature rose. She shielded her eyes as she glanced at the entrance to the pier.

  ‘They jemmied their way in here,’ Donovan replied, showing her the point of entry. Holidaymakers and tourists bustled past, more interested in entertaining their children than with what had occurred days before. Police had been under pressure to release the scene quickly and had done a stellar job. As the boards creaked underfoot, Amy forgot that Paddy, Molly, Gary and Steve were trailing in her wake. Looking beyond the crowds, she imagined the pier quiet and still. In her mind, the music was silenced, the air carrying nothing but the crash of waves and Carla’s footsteps.

  ‘She told her husband she was meeting a teenager,’ Donovan said, as he relayed what they knew so far. ‘But why lie about having backup?’

  ‘To stop him worrying about her,’ Amy said, familiar with the motivations of a lone wolf. She step
ped aside as a group of excited children raced towards the bumper cars. The tantalising smell of candyfloss lingered. Amy cast her gaze over the queue outside the ticket booth as the speakers blared novelty tunes on a loop. When Carla was here, these machines would have been silent, the moon illuminating her path.

  As Amy walked past the hot dog and doughnut stands, she was met with a bracing wind rolling across the North Sea. She imagined the sting of the breeze as Carla continued to the end of the pier. Was she walking or running? Hesitant or forthright? Who was the teenager she had agreed to meet? The case was a jigsaw puzzle missing too many pieces to provide answers just yet.

  They weaved past tourists, remaining silent as they processed the scene. The wind was stronger down the end of the pier and the flock of tourists had thinned. Amy clamped a hand on her hair to stop it flying into her face as they approached the railing. The sea was vast and murky, with wind turbines breaking the skyline.

  Donovan pointed to a building in the distance, resting his other hand on the fence. ‘See that brick building? It’s a block of flats. One of the tenants was looking through a telescope when he saw Carla bobbing about in the water.’

  Amy frowned. ‘What was he using a telescope for at that hour of the night?’

  ‘Said he couldn’t sleep,’ Donovan replied. ‘At first, he thought she was a seal. When he realised otherwise, he called it in.’

  ‘Did he see anyone else?’

  Donovan shook his head. ‘But to be fair, he wasn’t looking. As soon as he saw Carla was in trouble, he called the coastguards.’

  Amy looked out at the sea, sensing Carla’s vulnerability as she edged towards the railing. Donovan had already told her that Carla wasn’t the best of swimmers. Her clothes would have weighed her down. She could imagine the pounding of her heart as she was forced to the edge. Had she cried out? Fought for her life?