Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘We could try strengthening the link between victims,’ Molly Baxter chipped in. ‘Spread our net, speak to extended family and friends.’ She pulled a bobble from her wrist and tied it around her errant hair. ‘The victims could have been part of some online group. Or maybe they owe money to the same person.’

  ‘But these men come from different social circles,’ Steve said. ‘There’s no evidence to say their paths have crossed. They’re financially independent, with money in the bank. That much we know.’

  ‘What if a killer is targeting random tourists, just because they can?’ DC Gary Wilkes fiddled with his bright pink tie, which clashed with his orange shirt.

  Perhaps it was because they were under scrutiny, but Amy sensed competitiveness emerging in her team. It felt like each officer was going out of their way to outdo the others. Things had changed since their TV appearance, and she wasn’t sure that she liked it.

  ‘We need to work together on this,’ she said. ‘I’ve set a series of tasks on the system. Paddy will liaise with you to get them completed in time.’ As with many of their cases, they were working against the clock. She nodded towards her sergeant, knowing she could trust him to keep on top of it. ‘We need to tread carefully. We don’t want to panic the public, not at this early stage.’ If the pattern was there, the next drowning would be in ten days. Ten days. She tapped her marker against the board. The tap, tap, tap sounded like a timer ticking down.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Amy rubbed her hands beneath the dryer in the ladies’ toilets, her thoughts with the case and how the victims’ families must be suffering. She did not hear the door close as someone came in. A strong hand clamped on to her shoulder, making her gasp. Donovan stood before her, a roguish smile on his face.

  ‘What are you doing in here?’ Her stomach flipped as she turned to face him. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack!’

  ‘Sorry, I . . .’ He paused, pressing his lips upon hers. His kiss was warm and welcome, a hint of salt on his lips. Donovan smiled as they parted for air. ‘I’ve wanted to do that all day.’

  ‘Anyone could have come in.’ Amy rested her hands on his chest. ‘And have you been eating chips?’

  ‘I stole a couple from Paddy. He said the sea air is making him hungry. He polished off the doughnuts too.’ Donovan took a step back. ‘Hey, you won’t blow me out tonight, will you . . . ? Dinner with Bicks,’ he added, registering the confusion on Amy’s face.

  Damn, she thought. She had completely forgotten about it. If it were anyone but Donovan asking, she would have cancelled for sure. ‘Do I have to?’ she said. ‘We’ve got so much on.’

  But Donovan was not quickly put off. ‘Everything’s running like clockwork. Please. I don’t want to go to Bicks’s place alone. It’s been years since we socialised.’ He brushed his knuckles against her cheek. ‘Afterwards we could go for a walk on the beach. I need some alone time with you.’

  ‘All right.’ Amy relented.

  ‘I looked through the diary,’ Donovan said, in no rush to leave. ‘She mentions some teenagers she was talking to but there’s nothing concrete.’

  ‘I’ll have a look at it when you upload it to the system.’ Amy smiled, keen to move Donovan on. But the look on his face told her that he had yet to share what he had found. ‘Donovan . . .’ Amy shook her head. ‘All the times you told me off for not going by the book and now you’re the one withholding information.’

  ‘It’s personal,’ he whispered, ‘and it has little bearing on the case.’ He tutted in mock annoyance. ‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m discovering a whole new side to my DCI. Now go, before anyone sees you . . .’

  ‘You’ve got a visitor in reception.’ He flashed her another smile as he pushed open the door. ‘Grab some fresh air. You look like you need it. I’ve got things covered here.’

  ‘Who?’ Amy called after him. She did not like surprises. Not any more. But he was gone. She fixed her hair in the mirror, frowning at the blush that stained her cheeks.

  She checked her watch as she entered reception, registering surprise to see her sister Sally-Ann standing there.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Her thoughts immediately went to their biological mother, Lillian.

  ‘Nothing.’ Sally-Ann offered a smile. She was holding a tote bag, looking every inch the tourist in her sun visor, capri pants and T-shirt. ‘I had a day off. I came down to surprise Paddy.’

  ‘Oh, do you want me to get him?’ Amy half-turned back towards the door. But Sally-Ann’s expression told her there was more to it than that.

  ‘No, no, I’ll see him after work. Can we have a quick chat?’ Sally-Ann’s eyes twinkled with amusement. ‘I bumped into your hottie, he said he could spare you for ten minutes.’

  ‘Hottie?’

  ‘Donovan.’ Sally-Ann chuckled. ‘Who else?’

  Amy’s eyes darted left and right as her sister mentioned his name. ‘Not here. Walls have ears.’

  ‘What? I was only saying he’s hot, not that you’re slee—’ But Sally-Ann’s words were cut short as Amy yanked her outside by the arm. From the look of triumph on Sally-Ann’s face, Amy realised she had been played. Her sister knew how hard it would be for Amy to leave work, but she could not risk news of her relationship with Donovan getting out.

  ‘How are you enjoying Clacton?’ Sally-Ann threaded her arm through Amy’s as they strolled along the seafront.

  ‘I’ve not had much of a chance to see it yet,’ Amy mumbled. ‘Every spare minute has been taken up with work so far.’

  ‘Yeah, is it true that those seaside suicides are murders? What are you going to call it, the candyfloss killer?’

  ‘Grim, Sally-Ann. Real grim.’ But Amy smiled just the same. It was good that they had reached a point where they could laugh about it. Death was all around them. Some gallows humour was a welcome relief. ‘Is Lillian behaving herself?’ Her serial killer mother had recently been released from prison, much to her frustration. She had been surprised to discover that her sister Mandy had taken Lillian in – particularly given Mandy’s children slept under the same roof.

  ‘If you can call sneaking some bloke back to Mandy’s flat for a bunk-up behaving herself . . .’ Sally-Ann replied. The crowds of holidaymakers had thinned, the sun a burnt orange as it lowered in the sky. But it pained Amy to be outside when there was so much to do. She reached into her breast pocket and slipped her sunglasses on, more to protect her identity than anything else. ‘Lillian has a boyfriend. Are you serious?’

  ‘He was a neighbour.’ Sally-Ann snorted a laugh. ‘Some geriatric Jamaican.’

  ‘Mandy must have blown her top.’ Amy could imagine Mandy’s reaction. The air must have turned blue with expletives.

  ‘That’s an understatement, she found them in her bed! Can you imagine it? She was lucky Mandy’s old man was at the bookies. He would have lost his head!’

  So far, Mandy’s husband had been placated, as Lillian’s rental income funded his trips to the betting shop. But her contributions would soon be thin on the ground when journalists got bored of her. When the money ran out, so would Mandy’s patience. Lillian would be on her own.

  ‘You didn’t come here to see Paddy, did you?’ Amy asked. Since discovering that Sally-Ann had had a secret baby when she was young, she had been waiting for her to open up.

  Sally-Ann sighed. ‘For years, I’ve been trying to track down my son, but I had nothing to go on – until now.’ She threw Amy a regretful glance. Amy knew that the information Sally-Ann sought had come at a high price. Her testimony had been instrumental in Lillian’s appeal.

  ‘Lillian emotionally blackmailed you. She knew exactly which buttons to press.’

  ‘I know. But it feels like more than a coincidence that my son ended up here.’

  Amy arched an eyebrow. ‘Here? As in Clacton?’

  Sally-Ann nodded. ‘According to Lillian.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘I’ve no reas
on not to. She still needs to keep in my good books.’

  It was true. Sally-Ann was the matriarch of their strange family. Lillian needed them more than they needed her.

  ‘So you want me to help you find him?’ Amy said, pre-empting her request.

  Sally-Ann turned to stare out to sea, resting her hands on the metal safety fence. ‘You can access information that I can’t.’

  Amy shook her head tightly. ‘Uh uh, no can do. I promised Donovan, I’m on the straight and narrow now.’ A dog barked in the distance as it splashed at the water’s edge.

  ‘According to Paddy, that’s not how you played it when you dealt with your last case.’

  ‘And it almost ended my career. You’ve got a short memory, sis. It’s not that long ago I asked for your support in keeping Lillian behind bars. You lying to the court was like a slap in the face.’ They stood, watching the ebb and flow of the sea. A few children remained on the beach, watched closely by their parents as the tide came in.

  Sally-Ann turned to her sister. ‘Surely you can see what lengths a mother would go to for their child?’

  ‘We’re not talking about a child though, are we? He must easily be in his thirties. If he had wanted to find you, he would have done so by now.’

  ‘He doesn’t know who I am.’ Sally-Ann’s expression was pained. ‘And even if he did, we’re hardly a family anyone would want any part of.’

  ‘Exactly. So why gatecrash their lives now?’ Amy thought back to her own recent revelation. Discovering her true parentage had knocked her for six.

  ‘You’re angry with me, that’s what it is. Paddy told me not to ask.’

  ‘Will you stop second-guessing me?’ Amy glared at her sister. ‘Look. I’ll be straight with you. I’m done with breaking the rules. I’ve got something special with Donovan, and I can’t jeopardise the team. But give me what you’ve got, and I’ll look into it. I can’t guarantee I’ll find anything, but it’s worth a shot.’ Amy’s concern grew as she wondered what her sister was getting herself into.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Sally-Ann caught her eye.

  ‘This isn’t a kitten from the rescue centre,’ Amy replied. ‘It’s a grown man. What if he looks like Jack? Are you ready for that?’

  A shadow crossed Sally-Ann’s face. ‘I know what you’re thinking. Jack wasn’t the dad.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ Amy murmured, but the possibility of incest had crossed her mind. ‘You’ll tell me who the father is when you’re ready.’

  ‘That’ll be ten minutes past never then,’ Sally-Ann replied. But there was no malice in her words.

  ‘What have you got?’ Amy checked her watch. She was used to working to schedule, but now everything was on its head.

  Sally-Ann rifled in her tote bag before pulling out a small notebook. ‘Everything’s in here. A record of every conversation I’ve had with Lillian about the baby. Every scrap of information I can remember about his birth. I wish I was handing over folders instead of a notebook.’ She paused, her gaze thoughtful. ‘Don’t you regret not having kids, Amy? Being part of something bigger than yourself?’

  But that was a conversation Amy did not want to have. ‘What have you got?’ she repeated, returning the focus to the notebook Sally-Ann had pressed into her palm.

  ‘I don’t have any official documents. The couple Mum sold him to passed him off as their own.’

  ‘Sold?’ Amy sighed. ‘I think you need to start from the beginning.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  As he walked down the station corridor, Donovan contemplated the investigation to date. He was winning his old team around. Since hearing Carla’s voicemail, officers were left with little doubt that events had been orchestrated on the night of her death. Had the scene been preserved, evidence might have been retrieved. But now, fingerprints and DNA would be impossible to validate, given the number of visitors to the pier since. Whoever had vandalised the CCTV must have lured Carla to her death, then sent the goodbye text. He imagined the satisfying sound of metal against skin as he slapped his set of handcuffs on their suspect’s wrists. And they would be arrested. He would make sure of that.

  Some of the world’s most notorious serial killers were caught thanks to minor violations. A parking ticket had helped bring the ‘Son of Sam’ serial killer to justice, while Ted Bundy was stopped twice for traffic offences. In April 1980, killer Peter Sutcliffe was arrested for drunk driving before being found responsible for a string of murders. But were they investigating a serial killer this time around?

  The thought lingered as he approached the side room for his evening appointment. Another family member was waiting to be seen. Sharon Collier was the wife of Chesney Collier, suicide victim number one. She had asked to see Amy, but Donovan had decided to take her place. Amy couldn’t be everywhere at once, no matter how much she tried. Their brief tryst in the toilets had been risky, but worth every second. Up until now, he hadn’t been sure how Amy felt about him. But today he sensed the strength of her emotions in their kiss. Now he was looking forward to their supper date. Bicks may not know about their relationship, but it would be nice to socialise like a real couple.

  He wasn’t going anywhere just yet, though. The press had reported their team’s presence, and the fact that they were looking into the suicides that had taken place. Several family members were travelling to Clacton to speak to Amy, who was at the forefront of the case. Given that Sharon Collier would not wait until tomorrow, Donovan wondered if she had some new information to pass on.

  After a quick word with Elaine in reception, Donovan was directed to the witness interview room. Sharon was already seated, and he briefly introduced himself. The space was similar to their own interview rooms in Notting Hill police station, sparsely furnished but fit for purpose. Donovan caught a flicker of interest in Sharon’s eyes. Perhaps she had watched him on TV. Having made the journey to Clacton, she wore the tired expression of many busy mums balancing work with childcare. A plus-sized woman, her clothes were clean but wrinkled, her brunette hair skimming her shoulders. Donovan noted the lack of a wedding ring as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. At least the interview room was quieter here than in Notting Hill, with only the occasional passing footfall of officers from outside the door.

  Sharon flushed as Donovan caught her looking him up and down. ‘I was wondering if you had any news,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to tell the kids.’ Her expression was troubled, and he knew this couldn’t have been an easy visit for her to make. Which was worse – knowing your husband was murdered or chose to end his own life? As Donovan glanced at the woman before him, he wondered if she was still in shock.

  ‘It’s early stages,’ Donovan said, after expressing his sympathies. ‘Officers are busy viewing CCTV to establish if there’s any link between a number of seaside suicides.’

  Sharon nodded in understanding. Her darkening expression suggested something weighed heavy on her mind. ‘He didn’t have any mental health issues. He . . . he said he was going for a walk.’

  Donovan sat in silence, giving her time to compose her thoughts.

  ‘There’s something else. I didn’t mention it in my statement . . .’ She rubbed the deepening wrinkles in her forehead. Had she been storing this for Amy’s ears alone? Judging by the torment on her face, she had. ‘Our marriage wasn’t as perfect as I made out. We kept it going for the kids’ sake.’ Her fingers found her wedding ring, which was on a chain around her neck. ‘Chesney . . . he was distant. I should have known something was wrong.’

  ‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Donovan said softly.

  Sharon nodded as she cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t drive him to it. He’s the father of my children. I wouldn’t have wished that on him.’

  Donovan believed her. There were no life insurance policies in place and no reports of domestic abuse. If Sharon were to kill her husband, it was unlikely she would choose a method such as this. But still, he needed to ask a question. ‘Why are you wearing
your wedding ring around your neck?’

  ‘This is Chesney’s.’ She sniffled. ‘I lost mine down the plughole when I was washing up.’ Sharon rubbed the area on her finger where her ring should have been. ‘I should have got it replaced,’ she mumbled beneath her breath, shifting position in the hard plastic chair. ‘I should have done a lot of things.’

  ‘The holiday was Chesney’s idea, wasn’t it?’ Donovan had reread her statement before they met. But a write-up in an MG11 statement of a picture-perfect family did not accurately portray Sharon’s life. It seemed that she had been telling them what they expected to hear.

  ‘He sprang it on me at the last minute.’ Sharon stared vacantly at her hands. ‘Said it would do us good.’

  ‘Was he ever violent or abusive?’ Donovan was trying to get an accurate picture of events leading up to Chesney’s death. ‘Were you scared of him?’

  ‘No way.’ Sharon vehemently shook her head. ‘Ask Mum. She minds the kids when I’m at work.’ Sharon was a midwife in her local hospital. It was a demanding job, and Donovan could sense her frustration. ‘What are you not telling me, Sharon? There’s more to it than that.’

  Sharon blinked into the distance, staring but not seeing as she tried to explain. ‘I just felt bad for not telling the truth. We rushed into marriage because we both thought it was the right thing to do. I thought I could make it work.’ She shrugged. ‘But I was wrong. Chesney used to stay up all hours, wouldn’t come to bed until after I was asleep. Then he said my snoring was keeping him awake, so he moved into the computer room.’

  ‘Computer room?’

  ‘It’s a spare room, where we keep the computer and all our junk.’

  ‘And things got worse after that?’ Donovan continued. It didn’t take a genius to work it out.

  Sharon bobbed her head in agreement. ‘We never went out, and I was too tired to cook, so we spent most evenings eating takeaways. I tried to cook healthy stuff for the kids, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Food was the only thing we enjoyed together. Not much of a health professional, am I?’