‘But she must have been proud of you when you joined the police,’ Amy said softly.
Donovan cleared his throat. ‘She would have been if she’d been there to see it.’
Amy cupped his hand. ‘I’m sure she was in spirit.’
‘I moved to Colchester when I was eighteen.’ Donovan stared at the carpeted floor. ‘I didn’t know about the developers who wanted to build a block of flats. Nancy’s cafe was the only thing standing in their way. They made my parents’ life hell in an effort to drive them out.’
‘How?’ Amy asked. It would not be the first time such underhand tactics were used in circumstances like these.
‘They were burgled a couple of times, had their windows smashed. The stress of it made them both ill. They refused deal after deal from the developer, so the pressure kept being piled on.’
‘Couldn’t the police help?’ Amy’s hand tightened over his own.
‘How? There was no proof.’ Donovan shook his head. ‘Bastards . . . If I could get a hold of them now.’
‘Oh, Donovan, I’m so sorry. What happened in the end? Did they sell?’
His sigh was deep and heavy. ‘Dad stopped speaking to me after Mum died of a stroke. He was too wrapped up in his grief. It was only after he died that I found out what was going on.’ He met her gaze. ‘I should have protected them.’
‘Your parents didn’t tell you for a reason. They were trying to protect you.’
‘From what?’ Donovan said.
‘From this. They were good people. OK, I didn’t know them, but from what you’ve said they were. And they wouldn’t want you carrying around this guilt.’ Amy tilted her head to catch his gaze. He saw understanding in her eyes. You didn’t need a tragic childhood to be crippled beneath a lifetime of guilt. They were both adrift in choppy waters, bobbing about in hostile seas.
‘What?’ Donovan said, monitoring Amy’s face as she gave him a wry smile.
‘I was just thinking, it doesn’t matter how good or bad your parents are, they can still fuck you up.’
‘That’s the quote of the day.’ Donovan returned her grin. ‘Remember the first time we met? When I turned up to help you escort Lillian to those graves?’
‘How could I forget?’ Amy said, a twinkle in her eyes. ‘The first time you touched me was to stop me punching her in the face.’
‘We all wanted a pop at her that day.’ Donovan laughed. ‘I was more concerned about you keeping your job. It’s mad, isn’t it? How things turned out.’ At least they could joke about it now. ‘But, Amy, there is nothing more powerful than showing grace to someone who doesn’t deserve it. Go and say goodbye. Or tell her to go to hell. Or just be there for your sisters. At least if she dies, you can put that side of your life to rest.’
‘Your mum would have been proud of you,’ Amy replied.
‘She’d tell me I’ve pulled a right little cracker and I should be grateful for what I have.’ He paused to check his watch. ‘I reckon we can get you on the next train to Liverpool Street.’
‘But I can’t. The investigation . . .’
‘Is under control,’ Donovan interrupted. ‘Every box has been ticked twice over. April’s details have been put on the system and uniform are out looking out for her. George’s autopsy is in the morning. There’s nothing more we can do tonight.’
Sighing, Amy agreed, although begrudgingly. Sometimes you had to fight a battle more than once to win it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Wednesday morning 28 July
As she sat next to Lillian’s hospital bed, Amy felt a sense of impending doom. A serial killer was on the loose and she was stuck here, next to Lillian. George Shaw’s death changed everything. This time, there was no clear pattern. No two-week window. Who knew when another body would turn up – or where?
‘Do you think she can hear us?’ Sally-Ann’s voice broke into Amy’s thoughts. Her sister was perched on the edge of her chair on the other side of Lillian’s bed. Her knees were pressed tightly together, her hands clasped on her lap. Lillian had yet to emerge from her post-operative haze, and for that, Amy was grateful.
‘I dealt with a victim once,’ Amy said. ‘She was in an induced coma after a car crash. Turned out she could hear everything being said.’
‘I take it she recovered.’ Sally-Ann smiled at her sister, accustomed to work anecdotes.
‘Enough to tell us who had fiddled with the brakes of her car. Her brother and sister-in-law were arguing about it in her room.’ Amy stole a glance at Lillian. This figure of evil could not hurt her any more. Perhaps it was a defence mechanism, but she’d noticed Sally-Ann’s gaze had been firmly on Amy since they entered the room late last night. The hours had ticked by quietly, shattered only by the clink of crockery on trolleys when the breakfast rounds were made. When in her mother’s company, Sally-Ann had a demeanour that Amy had come to recognise. Like a dog who had been beaten by its owner but was still desperate for their love. While Amy had hired a private detective to watch Lillian, Sally-Ann had forked out for private healthcare insurance, which had gained her mother her own room. Given Lillian’s reputation, it was just as well.
‘Blimey! Nice family,’ Sally-Ann said.
‘No worse than ours,’ Amy retorted. It was a relief that Mandy had left to take care of her brood. There was only so much scowling Amy could take. Instead of being grateful that Darren had called for an ambulance, her sister was peeved Amy had hired him in the first place.
Amy’s attention wandered to Lillian. Her breathing was soft but steady, and the surgeon said her operation to repair the tear in her bowel had been a success. She would remain scarred from her many stab wounds, but was fortunate none of them had hit the mark. They should have aimed for the heart, Amy thought. That’s if she has one. She imagined the organ, black and shrivelled in Lillian’s chest. She closed her eyes in an effort to dispel the thought. Being in her mother’s presence took her to places she did not wish to frequent. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here,’ she said, as the realisation hit her.
‘You’re here for me,’ Sally-Ann said. ‘And I’m grateful for it.’
Amy watched Sally-Ann’s gaze creep to her mother. Lillian was lying motionless. Her bedsheets were crisp linen, her hands either side of her body, still as the grave. ‘It’s strange to see her so silent, isn’t it?’ Lillian’s face was rested. Her eyes closed; her features slack. ‘She almost looks peaceful.’ Amy watched her with morbid curiosity. Were her dreams filled with the screams of those she had terrorised? Your father liked to push the boundaries, her mother’s voice whispered in Amy’s mind. ‘I wonder what the nurses think of her being here?’
‘They just get on with it,’ Sally-Ann said with authority. ‘Nurses aren’t here to judge her, just to keep her clean, warm and dry.’ Sally-Ann worked for a private hospital, but today she had been granted leave.
‘And don’t forget the drugs.’ Amy smiled. ‘She’s probably high as a kite.’ She paused as a dark thought slipped in. ‘At least while she’s like this, she’s not hurting anyone. It would be better all round if she . . .’
‘Don’t.’ Sally-Ann raised a hand. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘Why not? We both know it’s true. The world would be a better place without her. The relatives of her victims would get some comfort, and at least she couldn’t hurt anyone else.’
‘You really think she’d want to?’
Amy had little doubt there. ‘It’s a compulsion. She should never have been freed.’
Silence fell. Sally-Ann’s assisting with Lillian’s appeal was a bone of contention that would take time to resolve.
‘She wants a Catholic funeral when she goes,’ Sally Ann said. ‘Mandy told me. She’s got her funeral plan all worked out.’
Her words brought an eruption of laughter. ‘Her, in a church!’ Amy replied. ‘She’d burst into flames!’ She reined in her laughter as she caught the expression on her sister’s face. In the corridor, voices came and went as staff carried on w
ith their day. The sound reminded Amy that she should be back at work. ‘Why did you ask me to come? And don’t say it’s to help find your son.’
Sally-Ann threw her sister a knowing look. ‘There’s a wing of our hospital used solely for therapy. Sometimes I hear clients talking in the corridor. “Closure”, they say. It’s all about closure. And if you don’t get it now, you never will.’
Closure. How many times had Amy heard that word in her career? The door to her past would never fully close, but she had made peace with it. She was here to keep her sister and boyfriend happy. She never should have come.
‘Finding out about Lillian . . .’ Amy exhaled a long breath. ‘It hit me hard. But I’m OK, now. I sorted it.’ Amy clearly remembered their last confrontation and the sense of satisfaction she had felt. Lillian’s grim expression when Amy informed her she would be watching her every move. Amy had kept her word. Oh, the irony, she thought. Darren had been hired to protect those around her, and he had probably saved the woman’s life. That’s if she survived this . . .
Her thoughts evaporated as she watched Lillian’s eyelids twitch. A part of Amy didn’t want to see life there. But Lillian would fight a visit from death, despite bringing it to so many prematurely. Her eyelids stilled, and Amy stiffened as Lillian took a sudden, shuddering breath. Springing from her chair, Sally-Ann spoke in soothing tones as she slipped into nurse mode. ‘You’re in the hospital,’ she said, with warmth Lillian did not deserve. ‘It’s OK. You’ve had an operation. Don’t try to talk.’
Lillian’s eyes roamed around the room until they landed on Amy. ‘Drink,’ she signalled to Sally-Ann. But as Sally-Ann lifted the jug to tip it into a tumbler, Lillian croaked, ‘Not that muck . . . fresh water.’
Amy’s eyebrow rose a notch. Given she’d spent the best part of her life in prison, she must be used to taking what she got. But as always, Sally-Ann did as her mother instructed, giving Amy an apologetic gaze before she left. Amy’s spirits fell. Lillian would recover, more was the pity. She sat in silence, hoping her sister would not take long.
‘Later.’ Lillian spoke in response to a question nobody had asked.
Amy stared at the floor, feeling the heat of her mother’s gaze. ‘What’s later?’ she said, her curiosity getting the better of her. She may hate her biological mother, but Lillian had provided valuable snippets of information in the past.
‘I wasn’t born evil.’ Lillian paused to clear her throat. ‘It came later . . . and I tested the church. I didn’t combust.’
So, she had been listening. Amy cursed the plume of guilt that arose.
Lillian raised a pointed finger, emitting a dark chuckle. ‘You can’t kill a bad thing.’
Pushing back her chair, Amy had heard enough. She wasn’t here for Lillian’s amusement. She had nothing to say to this woman. She cursed her weakness in allowing Donovan and Sally-Ann to persuade her to come. What was keeping her sister? She stepped towards the door. Through the glass, she saw her speaking to a doctor in the hall. Amy pressed her hand against the door.
‘You never found out what happened to the baby, did you?’
Amy closed the door before turning to face her biological mother once more. Colour was returning to Lillian’s cheeks.
‘Sally-Ann’s kid.’ Lillian spoke with slow, measured breaths. ‘You haven’t found it yet.’
‘No,’ Amy said, surprised it was on her mind. It was unlike Lillian to think of anyone but herself.
‘And you won’t. There’s something I didn’t tell you.’
Was it the drugs? Amy wondered. Or was Lillian messing with her head? Nevertheless, if she offered information, then Amy would take it because according to Darren, leads were thin on the ground. She stepped closer to the bed.
‘If I’m going to die . . .’
‘You’re not going to die,’ Amy snapped, the words coming before she had time to think them through.
‘I will . . . someday. And I won’t leave this world owing my family a debt.’
Amy snorted. Her hypocrisy was sickening. ‘And this debt is?’
‘The kid. There’s something you don’t know.’
‘All right then,’ Amy said. ‘Tell me where he is.’
‘It’s not he. I never said she had a son; she presumed.’
Jesus, Amy thought. Even from her hospital bed, Lillian could shock her. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘She saw the cord between his legs. Thought it was a boy. I never set her straight. Figured the kid was better off without her. But it’s time . . . time to lay one last ghost to rest.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Molly gazed at her iPhone screen, reading another of Matty’s texts. A small part of her wanted to keep them to herself. Matty was an outcast, and she had warmed to him. Slowly, she was gaining his trust. Today he’d texted to say he had just got up. She knew that getting up at lunchtime meant he had been awake most of the night. Did those kids roam the streets, or was it far worse than that? Judging by their pallor, they saw little of the sun. Since spending time in Clacton, Molly’s freckles were in full bloom. What sort of a start did Matty have in life? She had tried to conjure a mental picture of his face, hoping she could catch his image in a sketch. It would give her a starting point as she trawled through hundreds of photos of missing kids. Unlike some of the kids reported, Matty was not missed by a set of loving parents. None of his gang were. Her shoulders slouched as she stared at his text, wondering how to respond. U there? he’d said.
I’m on a curfew, Molly replied. My dad caught me nicking money from his wallet. He’s a pain in the arse when he’s sober. Watches every little thing. She needed Matty to trust her. She might be wasting precious time, but Amy Winter had always spoken about the power of intuition, and she had a hunch that could not be ignored. Right now, there were a million small taskings on the system, left by DCI Winter before she went to London to tie up a ‘few loose ends’. Donovan was in a meeting, and a scowl graced Paddy’s face as he typed with two fingers, inputting a report.
I didn’t know my dad, Matty texted. But I reckon he was an arsehole too.
A sad smile wavered on Molly’s lips as conflicting emotions arose. Matty needed someone to talk to outside his own social circle, but she felt guilty for tricking him. She was happy to oblige, but if he had witnessed a crime, then she needed to get to him. But texting was hardly the quickest way to get Matty to open up. She needed to find a safe space where they could talk without interruption. The toilets were in constant use, and there was too much background noise in the office. She texted with her thumbs. FaceTime? It was a good conversation opener if Matty could spare the time. She had no idea where he was staying, but she might be able to glean some clues, as long as she didn’t give anything away her end.
Now Paddy was at the photocopier, swearing under his breath as he tried to work it out. Anything with a digital interface was bound to bamboozle him.
‘Sarge,’ she said, as she watched him try but fail to print his report. ‘I’ll do all your photocopying for a week if you make sure no one disturbs me for the next five minutes.’ She looked at him imploringly as she pointed towards a room that was little more than a cubbyhole. The windowless room was used for storing box files and had a dank, wet dog smell.
‘What?’ Paddy looked at her, completely mystified.
‘I’m going to FaceTime a possible witness. But he doesn’t know I’m a cop.’ She sighed as she took in Paddy’s confused expression. ‘I’ll explain later. Can you make sure nobody comes in?’
‘Sure enough,’ Paddy said. ‘I’ll stick a sign on it.’
Giving him the thumbs up, Molly grabbed a pack of wipes from her handbag and began to scrub the make-up from her face. Matty’s response had come through. He was happy to FaceTime. She texted a reply: OK, gimme two secs. She wished she hadn’t worn a shirt. It made her look far too official. She spotted Steve’s gym bag. It was never far away. The thought of putting on one of his sweaty T-shirts was enough to make her gag, but
needs must . . . Paddy watched with interest as she rifled through Steve’s bag. Thankfully Steve wasn’t there to see her pilfering.
‘That’ll do,’ she said, pulling out a cap and T-shirt. ‘I won’t be long.’
Wiping off the last of her make-up, she strode into the cloakroom and sat on a stack of paper reams. It took her only a second to change into Steve’s T-shirt, grimacing as the scent of Lynx deodorant almost overcame her. Quickly, she messed up her hair before pulling the cap on. Earrings . . . she thought, plucking them out of her ears just as her phone rang. She looked around the space – not perfect, but it would have to do. She took a couple of deep breaths before responding to the video call.
‘Sorry, I was trying to find somewhere we could chat,’ she said, catching her flushed expression as it was reflected back at her on the screen. ‘God, look at the state of me. I’m a mess.’
But Matty’s expression was solemn as he peered into the phone. He was sitting on a grubby leather sofa. Molly guessed that it had once been cream, although it was hard to tell. Wallpaper hung limply from the wall behind him. She tried not to make it obvious that she was staring, but he was doing the same. ‘I’m in the cupboard under the stairs.’ She grinned, looking behind her. Cardboard boxes were piled on shelves, but the camera was tight to her face, so she was not giving too much away.
‘Who are ya, Harry Potter?’
‘Yeah.’ Molly laughed. ‘I got me invite to Hogwarts, but they said there’s no booze, so I told them to fuck off.’ She wondered if Paddy was at the door. Her muscles tensed as she prayed nobody would come bumbling in. ‘What about you?’ she said. ‘You live with your mum?’
Matty responded with a tight shake of the head. ‘Nah, she cut loose years ago. Tina looks after us now.’
‘Cool,’ Molly replied, trying to sound suitably impressed. ‘Are you all right?’ Matty looked as if he was about to cry.
‘It’s April.’ Matty leaned into the phone. ‘Something happened to her last night, but nobody’s telling me nuthin.’
‘Who’s April?’ A flutter of excitement grew as Molly recognised the name.
Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) Page 19
