Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller)

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘We had it covered.’ Donovan finally met her gaze.

  ‘Any updates on George Shaw?’

  ‘The autopsy was rushed through this morning. Not much in the way of forensics but there’s a puncture mark in his side.’

  ‘That’s great!’ Amy said, itching to read the report. ‘Well, when I say great . . .’

  ‘I was surprised to hear about Molly going undercover,’ Donovan interrupted. ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  Shit, Amy thought. She had forgotten all about it. ‘I meant to tell you but with everything going on . . . Where is Molly?’

  ‘Doctor’s appointment.’ Donovan’s face grew stony as he fixed Amy with a gaze. ‘You said you were going straight. No more playing games.’

  ‘I did. I mean, I am.’ Amy’s annoyance spiked. She was barely in the door and she was under attack. ‘I’ve not taken any chances, although I’ve had plenty of opportunities to do it.’

  ‘Oh no, you didn’t take any chances, you got Molly to do it for you. Anything could have happened to her. Do you realise how reckless you’ve been?’

  ‘Me, reckless?’ Amy stood. She could not believe what she was hearing. She hadn’t known about Molly’s undercover work until later on. ‘I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but you’ve got this all wrong.’

  ‘So, you didn’t tell her to go out on her own at all hours hunting for the suspect?’ But Donovan did not wait for a reply. ‘That’s exactly what happened to Carla. If she had told someone where she was going, she might not have ended up dead.’ But there was an edge to his words. Something else was bothering him.

  ‘Look,’ Amy said, ‘there’s obviously more to this than Molly. How about you tell me so I can get on with my day?’

  Pushing back his chair, Donovan rose from his desk, his face thunderous.

  ‘What is it?’ Amy said. ‘What’s the real reason for your bad mood?’

  But Donovan was having trouble looking at Amy, let alone communicating with her. He had been angry with her plenty of times in the past, but he’d never had trouble getting his words out. At least, not when it was work-related . . .

  A thought blossomed. ‘This isn’t about work at all, is it?’

  As his eyes flicked towards hers, Amy knew she had hit home. But when it came to their personal lives, she had not stepped out of line. ‘I don’t get it. What have I done?’

  ‘You should have been clear from the start.’ Donovan gave her a sideways glance.

  ‘Clear about what?’

  ‘What you wanted from this relationship. We should have kept things professional.’

  Amy racked her brains for an answer. She might not be quite ready for domestic bliss, but she was still committed to him. Or was it because she hadn’t told him she loved him? Did he want more than she could give?

  Donovan stared at her blank expression. ‘You really don’t know, do you?’

  Amy didn’t. But now she was on the defensive. Their case had taken a serious turn. She didn’t have time to be trifling with their personal lives. ‘I made you no promises when I met you. I told you I wasn’t ready for anything heavy, and you said that was fine.’ She recalled the conversation they’d had in her father’s cellar, the day of their first kiss. ‘I don’t know what you want from me. If you’re after Bicks’s life, then you need to look elsewhere.’ But her words were hollow. She didn’t want to lose him.

  ‘Except I’m not the one looking elsewhere, am I?’ Donovan’s voice was a low rumble. ‘You are. And maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I thought we had something special.’

  Amy threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘For the love of God, will you tell me what you’re on about? Because I have no clue.’

  ‘Darren, his name is, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ Pressing her hand against her mouth, Amy stemmed her abrupt laughter as a group of officers walked past the door.

  ‘It’s not funny, Amy,’ Donovan snapped. ‘I’m monogamous, as old-fashioned as it sounds. And if I’m not enough for you . . .’

  ‘There’s nobody else, there never has been.’

  ‘I heard you flirting with him on the phone. Telling him to keep work and your personal life separate.’

  ‘When did you hear that?’ Amy said, remembering standing in the hall on Monday evening. There had been nobody in the corridor at the time.

  ‘On the stairwell. I couldn’t help but hear you, laughing your head off. And then the pair of you meeting up in London. Where did you sleep, Amy? Did you even see Lillian while you were there?’

  The only laugh had been an awkward one as Darren mentioned them meeting up. Amy couldn’t believe her normally placid Donovan was acting so childishly. Had his common sense gone out the window?

  ‘I wasn’t laughing my head off, as you put it. Darren’s a private detective. I hired him to keep tabs on Lillian. I didn’t mention it because I knew you’d only tell me to let it go.’

  ‘Oh,’ Donovan said, instant regret on his face.

  ‘Darren was the one who found Lillian. We met in London for a debrief.’ She omitted the part about Sally-Ann. Her news reflected on Paddy, and it was private as far as Amy was concerned. ‘And hang on a minute’ – she raised a finger in the air – ‘how did you know I was with him?’

  Now it was Donovan’s turn to look shamefaced. ‘Your Facebook page.’

  ‘I’m not on Facebook,’ Amy said. Was this just an excuse? Had he somehow followed her? She thought about where they met, if she had seen anyone she knew.

  ‘It’s a fan page,’ Donovan said, digging his phone from his trouser pocket. ‘Someone had a sighting of you. I didn’t tell you about it as I knew you’d freak out.’ He tapped at the screen of his phone, drawing up a Facebook page. Amy stared at it in disbelief as he scrolled through posts of reported sightings of her. A photo in the coffee shop. One of her walking down the street. Bit by bit, she was being stripped of her privacy and she was revulsed by the thought. ‘It’s bad enough these’ – her face flushed, Amy searched for the right word – ‘weirdos are keeping tabs on me, without you using it too.’

  ‘Only to keep you safe. And you’re right, there are some right nuts on social media, tracking your every move. But I wasn’t spying on you. Look at what happened to Lillian . . .’

  ‘Don’t compare me to that woman. I can take care of myself. What worries me more is the fact that you don’t trust me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

  ‘Why should I have to?’ Amy’s chin jutted defiantly. ‘Do you need to know every movement of my day? You’re meant to trust me, Donovan. You know what Adam did to me. And I know how your wife treated you. Do you really think I’d cheat?’

  He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. But it was too late for platitudes.

  ‘You’re right,’ Amy said. ‘We should have kept things professional.’

  CHAPTER FORTY

  As Donovan stared out to sea, he basked in the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves crashing against the sand. It was true what people said: the air was better near the sea. Free from big city pollutants, it carried a salt crispness that rejuvenated him with every breath he took. The town was buzzing since the discovery of another body and he had yet to face the latest press release with regards to George Shaw. Someone was feeding the media, but that was the least of his troubles right now.

  Technically, he was too busy to walk to the seafront. But it was precisely because he was under pressure that he needed to get away. He used to do this when he worked in Clacton: escape the hustle and bustle of the office to clear his thoughts. And he’d had plenty to think about: this was a complex case. Two witnesses had come forward, providing a description of a teenager arguing with a man in Martello Bay late on Monday night. The artist’s sketches were an uncanny match for April and George Shaw, and Donovan’s heart had sunk as he’d read Molly’s latest report. But Molly had not seen April’s injuries. They needed to be verified. If she was acting in self-defence .
. . Donovan sighed as he recalled the needle prick found on each of the victim’s bodies. A sure sign of premeditated murder.

  He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of it all. It was easy to get lost in the maze of victims, witnesses and leads. A few deep breaths of sea air brought clarity to his thoughts. He turned back for the station, feeling human again. But his peace was broken by the ring of his mobile phone.

  He slipped his hand into his pocket. It wasn’t work, as he’d expected; it was April’s mum. He hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering. ‘DCI Donovan,’ he said, picking up pace as a sob rang out from the other end of the line.

  ‘You’ve got to help her,’ Tasha cried, gulping for breath. ‘Please! My . . . baby’s . . . in . . . trouble. She’s . . . hu . . . hurt!’

  ‘Tasha, take a few deep breaths.’ She was in the midst of a panic attack. From long experience, Donovan recognised the signs. ‘Nice and slow.’ He talked her through it. ‘Hold it for a few seconds . . . that’s right . . . now release.’ He checked for traffic before crossing the road. The sun was beating down on him, and the press conference was due today. But as Tasha sobbed down the line, he knew the journalists would have to wait.

  ‘What’s happened?’ he said, as Tasha gained control.

  ‘It’s April. She called me. But she didn’t sound like my April. I didn’t believe it was her.’ Tasha drew a shuddering breath. ‘So, she FaceTimed me. And she . . . and she . . .’

  ‘Deep breaths, Tasha, c’mon, you can do this.’ Donovan took the pedestrian crossing as the station came into view.

  ‘Some bastard’s beaten her to within an inch of her life. Her eyes were black, her nose smashed. You’ve got to get to her before they finish her off!’

  ‘Who’s they?’ Donovan bowed his head as he strained to hear the call against the rumble of background traffic. It seemed that Molly’s informant had told her the truth.

  ‘She . . . she wouldn’t say. But they’re moving them on in the morning. They’re watching her like a hawk.’

  ‘We’ve got a team searching local derelict buildings, but I need details.’ Donovan’s words were tinged with frustration. What was the point in April calling if she didn’t give her an address?

  ‘She was going to tell me, I’m sure of it.’ Tasha’s sobs were finally subsiding. ‘But someone grabbed the phone from her.’

  ‘Did you get a look at them?’

  ‘No.’ Tasha sniffed. ‘But I’m coming to Clacton. If you lot can’t find her then I bleeding well will!’

  Tasha’s sharpness was understandable, and Donovan was not going to dissuade her. ‘Keep your mobile switched on and come straight to the station when you get here.’ The last thing he needed was Tasha charging off on her own.

  As their call came to an end, his earlier calm was replaced with simmering fury. He’s moving them on in the morning, Donovan thought. Whoever has April must have beaten her up. Had George Shaw’s death sparked a recrimination? What excuse for a human being would break a young girl’s nose? April was barely five feet tall, no more than seven stone. Donovan’s features tightened as he pulled his security tag from his pocket. A predator who hides behind children, that’s who.

  ‘I’m coming for you, you sick bastard,’ Donovan muttered beneath his breath. He would put a rocket under their search team. Search every derelict building they could find. He’d kick down the doors himself if he had to. As for Molly . . . he knew she’d struck up a friendship with one of the teenagers they were interested in. It was time to give her a little free rein.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Molly stared at her reflection in the mirror, feeling as if she were about to ride a roller coaster. The stomach-churning anticipation must be similar to how she was feeling now. Not that she had ever been on a fairground ride. Gary had promised to take her to the pier, and she would hold him to that. They had grown close over the months, too close on one particular occasion, but they had got through it. At least he hadn’t told anyone about their drunken one-night stand.

  ‘Does this mean I’ve turned you?’ he’d said, referring to her sexuality. She had snorted, picking at the kebab sauce on her shirt.

  ‘A leg-over in the club toilets does not constitute turning.’

  She’d been curious, that was all. If anything, her time with Gary had left her surer than ever that she was happier being gay. They had laughed about it afterwards, and the awkwardness between them had been replaced by a deepening friendship. She only hoped their drunken one-nighter wasn’t the reason why he was having problems with his girlfriend. She did not want it getting out, not to anyone. But women could sense these things, couldn’t they? It was not one of her finer moments, sleeping with someone’s boyfriend. Her mum would have been delighted. She had always wanted grandchildren. Molly never came out and said she was gay, but she didn’t have to. They knew. Some things were said without words. Molly smoothed back her hair. If her mother had her way, she would be pregnant and married by the time she was twenty-eight. No, actually . . . She paused her train of thought. She wouldn’t want Molly to have kids. It would be too much of a risk. She might pass it on. Do these things pass through your genes? Molly was not so sure . . . Right now, she had more important things on her mind. Today had been manically busy, and the hour she’d had off in the afternoon had left her running behind. Now, night might have fallen but things didn’t end here.

  A team of officers were waiting for her, keeping watch near the pier. All they needed was for her to identify the group. This was the night she would betray Matty. Excitement and guilt bloomed: a strange combination of emotions. The highs and lows of working on the high-priority team. The constant worry that it was all going to be taken away. She inhaled a deep breath. Checked her reflection one last time. Should she wear her cap backwards? No, that was trying too hard. She wished she could have infiltrated the gang. But instead, they were going to be brought in. Arrested, if necessary. Then they could be processed and eventually handed over to children’s social care. That’s if none of them admitted to being involved in the murders first.

  Molly didn’t want to think about where April had been, or the path laid out for Matty as he took one for the team. The imagery made bile rise in her throat. She tugged on her denim jacket, the one that was frayed and worn. A knock on the door told her that they were ready to go. Another jolt in her stomach. Another flutter of nerves. If her mother could see her now.

  ‘Coming!’ Molly said, taking one last look around the room. The next time she came back here, it would be done. She only hoped that nobody would get hurt.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Thursday 29 July

  Molly stared at the cracks in the pavement as she walked into town. She had passed her DCI, deep in conversation with someone over the phone.

  She should have been happy. The sun was warming her back. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. But inside, she was fighting a rising tide of gloom. Last night had been a washout. None of the kids had appeared. In fact, she had not heard from Matty since their FaceTime yesterday, and he wasn’t answering her calls. DI Winter said it wasn’t her fault, but something had spooked them.

  Molly had quickly popped out for tea club supplies and to get away. The weekend was coming all too quickly, and their case had grown in momentum. The press were forceful with their questions about the latest death. It wasn’t as if Molly could put an ad out in Sex Offenders Weekly to warn any potential predators planning a trip to the seaside. Her lips thinned at the thought. She was more concerned with helping Matty and his friends before they were moved on. All their leads pointed to them being sold for sex. Matty obviously had no parents to speak of, and here was she, feeling stifled because her anxiety-ridden mother monitored her every move.

  In Clacton, she had tasted a life without limitations. When she returned to London, she would look for a flat share. Her wages would stretch to cover rental accommodation, and she had some money saved. She dug her hands into her jacket pockets.
That’s if she had a job by then. But the thought quickly evaporated as a figure jumped out from a side alleyway.

  ‘Jeez, you frightened the crap out of me.’ Molly planted a hand on her chest as Tina appeared.

  She appeared bruised and battered, the look on her face murderous. She had figured out her identity. Molly was forced to step back as Tina pushed her with both hands on the chest.

  ‘What have you done with him, you filthy copper? Seventeen, my backside.’ Tina’s words were laced with spittle, her jaw set tight.

  Molly drew breath. ‘Who? Are you talking about? Matty?’

  But Tina was still ranting. ‘Don’t try and deny it. I know who you are.’ There was fear behind her bravado. Tina was scared.

  Molly pointed to the station from where she had come. ‘Come back with me. I can help.’

  ‘You what?’ Tina delivered a bitter laugh. ‘You really think I’m going to speak to your lot now? It’s because of you that Matty’s missing. I told him not to talk to you, but would he listen? Nah! And now he’s gone!’

  Molly hadn’t taken her radio, so couldn’t call for backup. But Tina needed to come in. ‘What about April? She needs to see a doctor. You can’t fix this on your own.’

  But Tina’s eyes were darting from left to right, her expression dark with mistrust.

  ‘We’ll look for Matty,’ Molly continued. ‘But we need to know more. What are you involved in? Who’s in charge? We can safeguard you.’

  Tina stuffed her hand in her pocket and raised it a couple of inches in the air. ‘You take one more step towards me, and I’ll cut you, you hear?’ She narrowed her eyes at Molly as if daring her to take another step. ‘I’m taking a chance just being here. But Matty’s in danger. Real danger, and it’s all your fault. So, get your piggy arse back into the station and find him.’

  ‘He’s in danger? From who?’