A sense of dread swelled up inside Mo. She knew it would not stop there.
‘It’s now or never,’ Jen said, nodding towards him. ‘Are you his girlfriend or not?’
Mo threw Wes an uncertain smile before leaning in to whisper to Jen. ‘But what if I tell him my real age? He won’t expect that if he knows I’m just thirteen, will he?’ The background music began to slur as the batteries in the stereo ran out.
‘Go ahead,’ Jen replied. ‘Tell him. Then watch him drop you like a bag of shit. I won’t be able to see you no more. None of us will. Do you want to go back to being Puddles? Is that what you want?’
The thought of being laughed at in the classroom drove a shudder through Mo’s very core. And it wasn’t just school. People were already saying things about her. Jen said she was the talk of the estate. But she was protected from being picked on because of who she associated with. She couldn’t imagine life without her new friends. She had to do what Wes wanted, no, expected of her.
Mo nodded, her eyes wide. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. But even the words felt dirty on her tongue. After a quick pep-talk from Jen, Wes was by her side. Taking her hand, he led her up the stairs.
As Mo came out of her session, her mind was filled with resolve. If only she could rewind time. Go back and stop this before it completely fucked her up. She remembered something Wes said to her. Five words that filled her with anger and hate. ‘You’ll get to like it.’ It was something she had said to her own victims each time she killed. But of course, they didn’t. Not even one. But she did. She liked killing them very much indeed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Donovan threw an arm over Amy’s shoulder, enjoying their time alone. They were out of sight of Bicks’s house now, and safe enough to stroll unnoticed along the Frinton greensward. His belly was full, his spirits lifted after a night of good food and even better company. Sighing in contentment, he took in the sight of the shimmering sea as it reflected the moonlight above. Donovan could see why so many people chose to retire here. Frinton had a regal elegance about it, a slower pace that was a million miles away from the hustle and bustle of city life.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ he said, giving Amy’s shoulder a squeeze.
‘They’re a nice family,’ she replied, staring out to sea as they slowly ambled down the green.
‘You bypassed the answer,’ came Donovan’s reply. He had sensed an initial discomfort, but after a couple of glasses of wine, she’d seemed to relax. He followed her gaze to a ship in the far distance; its twinkling lights seemed to mesmerise her.
‘That story about the little boy . . . What’s the deal with that?’
Amy’s sudden change of subject was an unwelcome one. ‘I’m not with you,’ Donovan replied. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not when the night had gone so well.
‘I think you are,’ Amy persisted. ‘And it’s not just you being modest. What happened?’
‘It’s in the past.’ Donovan stared at his feet, watching them move, one in front of the other, as they walked. It was how he had got through what happened that day. One step at a time. He wished Bicks had never brought the bloody thing up. There had been no heroics that day. He was a fraud. He had let everybody down.
But Amy was not one to be put off. Grabbing him by the arm, she stilled his movements, her grey eyes questioning as she searched his face. ‘Please. You know all about me. Even the stuff I struggle to accept.’
She had a point. Donovan sighed, steering them over towards some wooden steps that led down to the beach. At this hour of the night, they were the only people here. He shrugged off his coat, warmed by the nightcap he had enjoyed in Bicks’s home. Placing his jacket on the steps, he patted it for Amy to sit down. The swish of waves was hypnotic as they drew away from the sand. Inhaling a soft breath, Donovan tried to assemble his words. It was a painful subject, one he could barely bring himself to speak of. But he was in safe territory here.
Amy would not judge him or turn the other way.
As the two of them sat, squeezed on to the step, he found comfort from the warmth of her body as she slid an arm around his waist. He had barely spoken to a living soul about that night, and it pained him to bring it up. He could hardly blame her. He had pushed to know the truth about her background. It wasn’t born out of a wish to hurt her; it was a gentle opening of the doors into her past life. Everybody knew the image Amy presented to the world, but it took trust to be allowed through those doors. She had shared her darkest of secrets, and now it was time for him to do the same. He took a deep breath, prepared to revisit an incident that had shaped his life.
He described the shock of the cold as he instinctively ran into the sea. The mouthfuls of saltwater he had swallowed when his feet could no longer touch the bottom. How he had swum towards the submerging car, his wet clothing dragging him down. The piercing cries of seagulls as they circled the vehicle overhead. The almighty crash of waves against steel.
‘I was in uniform back then,’ he said. ‘Too sure of myself, without the experience to back it up. I’d just got news of my promotion when we nicked Noel Rix over a domestic with his ex.’ Donovan stared out to sea, his thoughts in the past. ‘I was impatient to get out. I didn’t want to spend my evening doing paperwork. Rix had been stalking his girlfriend for weeks, even turning up at her place of work. She was scared, but I didn’t want to see it. Back then, I hated domestics. All I could think of was the paperwork it generated. I couldn’t see beyond it.’
‘I can’t imagine you ever being like that,’ Amy said.
Donovan knew he had a reputation for being conscientious. He had pulled Amy up on her paperwork enough times. ‘I used to be a bit of a scally. I’d been in trouble a few times. Then one night I was given some advice by a copper whose name I wish I could remember. He said I was heading one of two ways. To prison, or to making something of myself. He said I had the potential for either and that it was my choice which road I went down.’
‘Sensible advice,’ Amy said.
‘It was. So, the next day I went down my local station to talk about recruitment. They made it sound exciting, and I was always hunting that next buzz. I kept that in my head for years after joining. Police work was meant to be exciting. Anyone who preferred to stay in doing paperwork was a numpty.’ Donovan shook his head. ‘So instead of keeping Rix in overnight, I persuaded my sergeant to give him one last chance and had him bailed for court.’
‘Oh,’ Amy said.
‘Oh, indeed. If my judgement wasn’t clouded . . . He should never have been let out of the nick.’
‘But it ended up OK in the end,’ Amy said softly.
Donovan finally met her gaze. He watched her face fall as she took in his broken expression, still haunted by the memory of that day. He remembered when the call came in: Carla was in the passenger seat and he was at the wheel. She had offered them both up to respond. It was a bitterly cold day, a week before Christmas. Rain lashed against their car windscreen, making it difficult to see. ‘It was the weekend,’ Donovan said, clearing his throat. ‘Dix’s ex had been out Christmas shopping. She’d stopped to get some petrol when Dix stole her car.’
‘She left her child and her car keys inside?’
Donovan nodded. ‘I wish she hadn’t. The whole sorry incident was a culmination of everything coming together. But I had a part to play too.’
‘So, you and Carla answered the call?’
The warm glow that Donovan had experienced earlier had now melted away. He remembered with painful clarity as the call came in. ‘Dix was acting like a maniac. He drove on to the seafront at the esplanade and just kept going. He was as high as a kite. A man possessed.’ Donovan recalled the sharp spikes of rain hitting his face as he leapt from the police car. Then the dread-inducing sight of Dix’s rear brake lights blurring as they submerged in the water. The sense of surreality. Taking a deep breath, he forced down his growing discomfort as he recalled that awful night.
‘Carla was screaming at me
to wait for backup. But I couldn’t. Not when there was a child strapped into the back seat.’ Before he knew it, he was tugging off his boots and throwing his utility belt aside. ‘I told Carla to stay and wait for paramedics. I pulled a rope from the car. She told me afterwards she was too scared to go in. By then, Dix was getting out of the water. She had her hands full with him.’
‘And you?’ Amy said, laying her hands on his. Donovan hadn’t realised how tightly knotted his fingers were until then.
‘I ran into the water with the rope slung over my shoulder from the boot of the car. All I could think about was getting the child out. But the car was almost submerged. Control told me to wait, that the coastguards were on their way. But if there was a chance – no matter how small it was – I had to try.’
Donovan closed his eyes as he recalled how the cold water had shocked his system. How he had gasped for breath as his lungs burnt for air. The sound of Carla’s shrill cries as she called after him. Then the rush of water in his ears which matched the thundering beat of his heart. On and on the tide pushed against him as he battled with forces of nature much more powerful than him. ‘The car was submerged by the time I got to it, all I could see was the roof. I kept diving into the water, knowing that it was too late. The doors wouldn’t open, and I had to keep going up for air. I could see the beam of a helicopter light and hear the coastguards in the distance. Any other night, they would have been there, but yet another set of circumstances had kept them away.’
Amy nodded in understanding.
Taking another breath, Donovan continued. ‘I went in through the driver’s window, where Dix had escaped from. The force of the sea had jammed the car doors shut. I remember squeezing myself through the gap between the driver and passenger seat, my lungs burning with the need for air. Then I saw him, the baby . . .’ Donovan blinked as he swallowed the lump in his throat. ‘I pulled at the buckle of his car seat to get him out . . .’ His voice faded. He closed his eyes, trying to blink the memory away. He could not bear to vocalise another word.
Amy squeezed his hand. ‘And did you?’
Donovan remembered the commotion above him as he pulled the baby out from the car. Carla was splashing in the water, panicking as she struggled to stay afloat. ‘I got him out,’ Donovan replied. ‘But not in time. Carla had jumped in to help me, but then got into trouble herself. I managed to drag both of them ashore . . . God knows how.’ He remembered the feeling of relief as he touched solid ground. His legs trembling from the adrenalin rush. Of dragging Carla as far as he could before his arms gave way. The feel of the baby in his arms, waterlogged and lifeless as he handed him over to the paramedics who were waiting on the shore. ‘He was escorted by air ambulance to the hospital, but they couldn’t bring him around.’ He blinked away the tears which had formed in his eyes. ‘It was my fault, Amy. The lot of it. If I’d kept Dix in as I should have, none of it would have happened.’
‘And if the little boy’s mother hadn’t left him in the car then Dix wouldn’t have been able to drive off.’ A beat passed between them. ‘If’ was the most painful word of all. ‘Don’t let it torture you. It’s in the past. I know what I’m talking about.’
But Amy’s words fell away as long-buried guilt came to the fore. ‘Don’t you see? I took shortcuts. Made decisions for myself rather than what was best for everyone. If I’d played things by the book, that little boy would be alive today . . .’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘But I do. Dix’s ex would have got the help she needed, and her son would have been safe. Why do you think I’m always drumming up the importance of playing things by the book? I learnt the hard way. I would never wish that on you.’
‘We all have our demons to battle,’ Amy said, staring out to sea. ‘We’ve all done things we regret. It’s part of being human. We either learn from our mistakes or let them consume us.’ Silence passed as they sat, watching the ship carry on with its voyage across the sea. Amy was right. And it had felt good to unburden himself. Bicks had lied to his wife to spare her the truth of the awful outcome of that day, but there was no way Donovan could have Amy thinking he was some kind of hero.
‘Carla put me on a pedestal . . .’ he finally said. ‘That’s why Shaun was so annoyed when he gave me her diary.’ He remembered the hurt in his eyes as he passed the diary over. Carla’s words must have stung. The writing had been tiny; jotted notes throughout the day. I can’t believe how good D looks. I miss working with him. As the diary evolved, it was obvious who ‘D’ was.
Seeing D on TV has helped me remember what a great team we were. I’d give anything to work with him again. He owns the room. Commands people’s respect. Imagine being with someone like that? Donovan’s discomfort had grown with each page he read, until he came to a section of notes that made him sit up. He took the diary from his pocket and pointed them out to Amy.
‘You might find these interesting,’ he said. ‘I’m not having people gossiping, and it isn’t fair on her family. You know how these things slip to the press.’ Over the last year, the press had got hold of case updates before they were officially released. His team was high profile, and he couldn’t stand to see Carla’s words on the printed page. Amy’s lips moved silently as she read through the passages, squinting in the dim light. At first, Donovan had thought the mention of April had meant something was coming up that month. But as he’d read on, it became apparent that it was a girl’s name.
April. Will do as much digging as poss. If I could return her to her family, it might earn me a comm. She had meant a commendation, something highly prized in the police. Next year, with a few cases under my belt, I’ll apply for a transfer. D might have me on his team. Find out as much about W as possible. Need to keep her on side.
‘She’s talking about me here.’ Amy pointed at the page.
Donovan frowned. Carla’s words were almost childlike in nature, and he didn’t want Amy to think of her like that. ‘She would have been a good asset to the team,’ he said. ‘She reminds me of you in some ways . . .’
‘Really?’ Amy snickered, her smile dropping when she caught the expression on his face. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t judge. I didn’t know her. But she certainly wanted to work with you.’
Taking the diary from Amy’s hands, he flicked forward to a dog-eared page. ‘Read this.’
April’s coming back to Clacton. This is my chance. I’ve got to win Tina’s trust. Their graffiti tags are a cry for help, I’m sure of it. Amy’s mouth fell open at the revelation. ‘She’s talking about the teenagers. And they’ve been here before.’ She stared at Donovan as she expressed her surprise. ‘What did she mean, a cry for help? This is important. Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because I’m going to deal with it myself.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s a reason Carla kept this to herself. She’d want me to follow up on it. So leave it to me.’ Amy took a breath to speak but he silenced her with a gaze. ‘I mean it, Amy. I don’t want anyone knowing about this. Not yet. If I come up with anything concrete, I’ll let you know.’ He took the diary from Amy’s hands, pocketing it with care. To see Carla’s words on the page had strengthened his grief even more. He stared out to sea, trying to keep it together. Carla had been more than a work colleague. She was a good friend. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, feeling suddenly weary.
‘Why don’t you come back to my room tonight?’ Amy replied. ‘We’ll sneak you out in the morning. Nobody needs to know.’
‘I’d like that,’ Donovan said, drawing her in for a kiss. This was why he loved her, because she understood how he was feeling at any given time. At that moment, he had never been so grateful for her company.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tuesday 27 July
Amy blinked as the sun filtered in through the hotel room window. Donovan was up and showered and was now tiptoeing around the room. Their night together had been perfect, and she was pleased that he had confided in her. His l
oyalty to Carla was admirable, and at least now she knew why he could not bear to look at his commendations. She did not need to pry any further. The truth was clear to see. He did not believe he deserved them. Amy thought differently. What police officer wouldn’t love the gift of hindsight? An extra layer of trust had grown between them, and she smiled as he approached.
‘Don’t kiss me.’ She blocked her mouth with her hand. ‘Morning breath.’
‘Yours or mine?’ He pressed his lips to her forehead, his shoes in his hand. ‘Stay in bed,’ he continued, his voice low. ‘You’re not due in for another hour yet.’
‘Mmm.’ Amy stretched, her muscles stiff. ‘I need to get back to the gym. There’s one around the corner from here . . . Gym Fit. Fancy joining me?’
‘I’ve had enough exercise for today, thanks,’ he laughed, heading towards the door. ‘See you at work.’
‘I didn’t mean now!’ she called after him as he left. Then she winced, remembering where she was. She should keep her voice down. Today was set to be busy, and she didn’t want precious work time being taken up by her colleagues gossiping about their relationship. Her thoughts returned to Carla’s diary.
Who was the ‘April’ she had written about? Were the group on some kind of rotation, moving from one resort to another so they weren’t found out? She trusted Donovan when he said he’d look into it. It was obvious he felt that he owed it to Carla. One last investigation for them to crack. She checked her watch. Six thirty. Enough time to get ready before making an urgent call. Last night Donovan had slept like a baby, but her mind had wandered to the case, as it did every night without fail. Her mental checklist, forever waiting for her attention. That’s when she came up with Mama Danielle. The group could be drug mules, or used to pickpocket and shoplift, but Amy had a disturbing feeling there was more to it than that.
When it came to the world of sex for sale, Mama Danielle was just the person to call. Amy was building up a network of contacts: an underground army of helpers – off-the-grid intelligence sources who were proving to be invaluable. Having showered and dressed, she was ready to make the call. Mama Danielle was a statuesque woman, originating from Philadelphia but living in the UK. She managed some high-class escorts and had good connections in the business. Amy had been lucky enough to build up a rapport with her and sometimes met up for a drink to chew the cud. It was an unusual friendship but one that worked to their mutual benefit. Danielle filled Amy in on any gossip surrounding the world of sex, and Amy provided advice on how to keep her girls safe. Particularly when it came to unsavoury punters. Every little helped, as they say. Which was why she had no qualms in dialling Mama Danielle’s number this morning. It was half seven, early for a phone call, but her hotel room was the only place she could guarantee not to be overheard.
Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) Page 12
