‘No news on Hermione Parker?’ she said. ‘I don’t suppose that’s making things any easier.’
‘How did you know we’re handling her case?’ Paddy said, his fingers tensing around his knife and fork. He tried not to get drawn into pillow talk. The rules were clear, particularly with high-profile cases. He was forbidden to discuss work with anyone other than his colleagues.
Elaine placed the plate before him. On the table was a fresh bouquet of flowers, a small gesture of thanks for everything she did. Pulling out a chair, she joined him. She had once said there was something satisfying about looking after your other half. She was being kind. The truth was, he was a terrible cook, so he tried to spoil her in other ways. Which is why he found it hard not to answer her questions while she was plying him with food.
‘You work in the high-profile team. It’s kind of obvious it’s your case . . . isn’t it?’ She leaned her chin on her palm as she watched him pile roast beef onto his fork. ‘I take it you’ve no clues where she is then?’
‘Lovely grub,’ Paddy said, chewing the somewhat tough beef. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as seconds passed between them.
Elaine took a breath, her blue eyes twinkling in amusement. ‘If you’d rather change the subject then you only have to say. My patients don’t exactly provide scintillating conversation, but if you’d rather talk about bed baths and farting, then I’m game.’ Her part-time job in the private hospital helped pay the bills and was another example of her caring nature.
‘Sorry.’ Paddy grinned. ‘I don’t deserve you. And you didn’t have to cook. I could have grabbed us some fish and chips on the way home.’
‘It’s no trouble. I finished at three. Cooking gives me something to do. Is it too late for some apple crumble?’ she asked, casting an eye over to the clock on the wall.
‘It’s never too late for that,’ Paddy replied, despite the late hour. ‘And no, nothing on Hermione so far.’ It felt only fair to provide her with an answer, given all the trouble she had gone to for him. ‘We’ve gone through witness statements, CCTV, re-enactments and appeals. Do you know how many positive leads we’ve turned up?’
Elaine raised an eyebrow. ‘Enlighten me.’
‘None. At least, nothing concrete. We recovered a fingerprint on a light switch two doors down. It ties in with a necklace that was left at the scene. One of the neighbours heard screaming and saw a van driving away, but after that . . . nothing. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air.’
‘Leave that, love, it looks as tough as old boots,’ Elaine said, watching him prod the meat on his plate. Within seconds of the microwave pinging, a bowl of hot crumble and homemade custard was placed under his nose. Plucking a second dessert spoon from the drawer, Elaine shared the generous portion. ‘That poor girl, her mum must be in bits. It’s all over the papers, you know. If they’re not reporting on her, they’re fixated on Lillian Grimes. I don’t know how you do it. Gives me the shudders thinking about it.’
‘This is good, thanks,’ Paddy said, pointing at the dessert with his spoon.
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t keep you awake,’ Elaine replied, taking the hint that the topic of work had come to an end.
Paddy smiled softly before tucking in. There were far worse things than apple crumble keeping him awake at night. Tomorrow, he was due to go back to Geraldine. His throat felt tight as he swallowed. He had fallen into this double life and knew that it was wrong. He had succumbed to the whirlwind romance all too quickly. It was hard to believe he had only known Elaine for a year. Paddy took another bite, savouring the dessert that was made with love. He had been selfish, but most of all he was a coward. It was his fault his marriage to Geraldine disintegrated. His fault that their beloved daughter had died. Would Elaine still want him if she knew what sort of man he was? Without her, life would not be worth living. Perhaps Geraldine sensed he was gearing up to leave. Up until now, guilt and shame had kept him there. She had agoraphobia. How could he leave her alone? Yet there was a bigger, uglier truth. For the last few years, his wife had been beating him, and the violence was getting worse. In reality, he was scared. And he didn’t know where to turn.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Amy picked up the teaspoon, rubbed it on the leg of her suit trousers, and laid it back on the table. It was gleaming, as was the rest of the cutlery, yet something was amiss. Seeing Damien again felt wrong. It was more than their shared history that was making her uneasy. Flora’s comment about her siblings being too ‘damaged’ to adopt had been playing on a loop in Amy’s brain. It intermingled with Lillian’s words about going to any lengths to keep her family together. Why was it so important to bring them together? Just what was Lillian’s end game? Her comments about wanting to impress probation rang true, but a growing sense of foreboding warned her there was something more at stake.
Last night sleep had evaded her again, and she had struggled to concentrate at work this morning. As Lillian had predicted, DCI Pike had been only too happy to grant permission for the meeting, as long as it was related to the case. She was beaming in the aftermath of the positive publicity, but the pressure was on to find the last burial site. When it came to Hemmy, it was a different story. More detectives had been drafted in to help with the case, and Amy had a meeting with specialist officers later today. Thirty minutes had been scheduled in for this lunchtime with Damien. She hoped it would be worth the inevitable discomfort they were both bound to feel.
The past is over. It can’t hurt you anymore, she reminded herself. But what if Damien doesn’t feel the same? A small spike of irritation grew as she checked her watch. He was seven minutes late. The echo of a memory emerged: Lillian musing he would be late for his own funeral one day. The letters from his teachers, complaining that Damien was the last person to arrive to class and always the first to leave.
At four, Amy had been desperate to follow her siblings to school. Instead, she was forced to stay in her room. More than once she had played at the window with her Raggedy Ann doll to the backdrop of her father slicing a shovel through soil.
Lost in the memory, Amy tried to fix the kink in her hair, smoothing the mahogany strands by sliding them between her fingers as if her hands were straightening irons. It immediately sprang back up. A sudden rap on the door made her jump, and she cast an eye over the spread she had prepared before leaving the room.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, her face neutral, her posture straight. She felt a pang of recognition as Damien stood before her, shoulders slouched. He gazed at her as if she was a stranger and shuffled awkwardly on the step before she told him to come inside. His curly brown hair was cut short, a few days of beard growth on his face. He was of slim build and lacked his father’s definition, but his features carried a chilling similarity to Jack’s. He was taller than Amy, but gangly with it, and dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans.
‘Come in.’ Amy smiled. There was no need for introductions. ‘Happy birthday, by the way. I’ve made us some tea.’
Following her into the kitchen, Damien rolled his dark eyes from left to right as he took in every inch of the house. The air was filled with the aroma of percolating coffee, alongside scones bought from a nearby bakery. Notting Hill was filled with up-market bakeries, delis and coffee shops, so they hadn’t been hard to find. A jug of fresh orange juice sat on the table next to saucers, clotted cream and jam.
Pulling out the chair, he waited for her to sit before taking a seat.
‘Do you drink coffee?’ Amy said, unaccustomed to feeling so nervous. ‘I can make tea if you prefer.’
‘Have you anything stronger?’ Damien replied, his expression taut.
‘Sorry,’ Amy lied. She had hidden away the spirits before he came. Perhaps a bit of Dutch courage was what he was after, but she wanted their conversation short, sober and to the point.
‘Coffee is fine,’ he said flatly.
As she poured the beverage, Amy’s eyes flicked up, catching his mistrustful gaze. She ha
d a habit of finding people out when their guard was down. Averting his eyes, Damien placed a scone on his plate, scooping jam then cream onto the cake before taking a bite. Amy waited until he was finished, picking at her own. There was no point in small talk in such bizarre circumstances and Damien was obviously not a talker. She figured she might as well get straight to the point. ‘Why did you ask to meet me here?’ The question had burned on her lips ever since the request.
Damien shrugged, swallowing down the scone he had eaten in three bites. ‘Why not? It’s your home, isn’t it?’
‘It’s where I currently live. My flat’s being sub-let. Mum doesn’t know about any of this. I’d rather keep it that way.’ She had persuaded Flora to go to the hairdressers for an hour or two. Dotty, her pug, was sleeping in her room. Amy did not want any part of her old life to collide with her new one, and she was sure Dotty would disapprove of her new guest.
Damien slurped his coffee before giving Amy a quizzical look. ‘It was her idea, wasn’t it?’ Her brother was only a few years older than her, but his weathered skin held the expression of someone fated to a hard life.
‘No, I mean my adoptive mum,’ Amy replied. ‘My dad died recently. She’s been through the wringer. I don’t want to upset her any more.’
Tilting his head slightly, Damien regarded her. ‘You’re ashamed of us.’
Now Amy knew she had not imagined the earlier disdain in his voice. He was annoyed when he had come here. The heat of his aggression rose as he took a sandwich from the pile of food and slammed it onto his plate.
Quickly, she orchestrated a reply. The last thing she wanted was to argue. ‘Everything’s happened so fast. I’ve not had a chance to explain things to her yet.’ She topped up her coffee and stirred it with a silver spoon. ‘Help yourself to more food. I know I’ve made too much.’ The smile slid from her face as her glance met his.
‘Very fancy,’ he said, taking a bite of the sandwich and swallowing after a couple of chews.
Amy sighed, having lost an appetite that was barely there to begin with. The clock on the mantelpiece loudly ticked away the seconds and she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. ‘I don’t know what to say. You’re obviously pissed off at me, but I don’t know what I’ve done.’
Damien wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his face flushed. ‘I heard all about your private schooling and high-paying job. You’ve forgotten your roots. No wonder you don’t want to hear from the likes of us.’
‘Sounds like someone’s been stirring the pot,’ Amy said, wondering how Lillian found out about her education. ‘I’m not going to apologise for who I am. We’ve all had to learn to put the pieces back together again.’
‘Only some of us have had it easier than others.’
‘But you don’t know me, do you? Therefore, you’re in no position to judge.’
A bitter laugh left Damien’s lips. ‘You’re only seeing me because you were forced to.’
‘Nobody forces me into anything. I’m trying to undo some of the damage our family has caused.’ Amy could feel her temper rising as the stress of the last few weeks took its toll. ‘If you’re angry about your life then focus on the person whose job it was to keep us safe.’ She waited for a response, but none came. ‘I watched Jack murder our sister before my eyes.’ Amy took a breath, gaining her composure. ‘But I don’t wear my scars as a badge of honour. I’m grateful to the people who raised me and proud to be in a job that makes a difference to people’s lives.’
Damien regarded her silently. Taking the coffee pot, he filled his cup, the tinkle of spoon against china reverberating throughout the room. ‘That’s some speech.’ He paused to take a sip. ‘But you had two sisters and a brother. You could have tried to get in touch. The problem is, you only care about yourself.’
‘I was four when the police took me away. Blocking everything out was the only way I could carry on. Besides, it wasn’t just a matter of picking up the phone or finding your address.’
‘You knew where Mum was,’ Damien said, his lip arched into a sneer. ‘Oh, and I mean our real mum. The one you put behind bars.’
Amy shook her head in disbelief. Damien was blinkered. It was like talking to a brick wall. He had gathered up all his hate and resentment and was directing it towards her. The trouble was, he was blaming a four-year-old child. It was evident that Lillian had been pouring poison into his ear. As the atmosphere thickened, Amy fought the urge to leave the room.
‘I get it. You’re angry because I was placed with Flora and Robert.’ She sighed. ‘I wish they could have taken all three of us. Perhaps things would have been different then.’
Damien’s features creased in a frown. ‘I’m angry because you turned your back on our mum. Do you know how long she worked on that letter before she sent it? She’s been taking English lessons so you wouldn’t be ashamed. All she ever does is talk about you. She said she was scared that you’d knock her back. I told her to try because the Poppy I knew cared about her family. Goes to show I was wrong.’
Amy’s mouth dropped open. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you? You’ve really forgiven her for what she’s done?’
‘Of course I have, she’s my mum. If you listened to her, you’d know none of this was her fault.’
‘She’s a murderer,’ Amy said, heat rising to her face. ‘All those sex parties, the people she invited into our home. Are you saying I imagined it all?’
Damien put his cup to one side, his features earnest as he spoke. ‘It was Dad, all of it. She was scared of him just like us. She shouldn’t be in prison. We need to get her out.’
‘What do you mean, get her out?’ Amy said incredulously. ‘She’s guilty. You can’t argue with the evidence.’
Damien wagged his finger, his fingernail chewed to the quick. ‘You can when she was set up. She was leaving him. She’d sorted it with the women’s refuge. But then you went and blabbed to the social. If you’d have waited just one more week . . .’
‘Ahh, now I get it. This is why she wanted us to meet. To talk about an appeal. It’s all becoming clear now.’ Amy smiled, but there was a fire in her grey eyes. ‘Well, it’s not happening. Not on my watch.’ The thoughts of Lillian being released from prison made her blood run cold.
‘The truth needs to be told,’ Damien said, rising from his chair.
Amy stood, her words firm. ‘You can tell her from me. She’s guilty, and I hope she rots in hell.’
‘Tell her yourself,’ Damien replied. ‘She wants another visit. You won’t want to miss this one.’
‘No more visits,’ Amy replied, walking to the front door to show him out. ‘This was a bad idea. I’ve carried out my side of the deal. She’s not getting any more out of me.’
Damien’s smile was razor sharp, his eyes cold. As Amy raised her hand to the door latch, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed hard. ‘If you value your job, you’ll see her.’
It took all of Amy’s self-restraint not to knee him in the groin. ‘Get your hands off me.’ She pulled back her wrist before opening the door. ‘I want you to leave. Now.’
‘It’s hard to accept the truth, isn’t it? When lies are all you want to hear.’ Damien glared at Amy before throwing open the door. Outside, the clouds had gathered, their bellies pregnant with unshed rain.
Amy stood as if entranced. She had heard his words before.
Her hands shaking, she slipped her mobile phone from her pocket and searched Twitter. The quote she was looking for flashed up the screen.
#FindHermione It’s hard to accept the truth when lies are what you want to hear.
Amy paled. Was Damien connected to Hermione’s disappearance? She stared down the road, but he was gone. She patted her suit jacket for her car keys. It was time to get back to work.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Returning to her office, Amy’s head was filled with conflicting thoughts. What did Damien mean about the next prison visit? Her outburst could have cost her Wendy’s location, but listening to Damien
defend Lillian felt as torturous as needles being pushed under her skin. Just when she thought this was all coming to an end. Her footsteps echoed in the office corridor, her mood as gloomy as the windowless space. In the side rooms, teams of officers worked, their minds on their next case. But it was not so easy for Amy as her personal and work lives merged. What would DCI Pike say if she knew? More to the point, what should she do next? Damien’s comments about truth had left her uneasy. He didn’t seem the type to reel off quotes. Not unless he had looked them up first. Was he connected to Hemmy’s disappearance? But why? What would possess him to do such a thing? A background check was needed, but by conducting one, it would link him to the case. Could she live with what she would find? She took a breath, her thoughts crowding in. She had been blamed for putting her mother in prison. Could she do the same to her brother, too?
Nodding to her colleagues, she joined her team. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of DC Molly Baxter bending down to pick up a sheet of paper. DC Steve Moss was behind her, grinning as he spoke. His words were out of Amy’s range, but when Molly stood, her face was flushed.
‘Molly, can I have a word?’ Amy said, gaining a smidgen of satisfaction as the smile dropped from Steve’s face. She had vowed to give him the benefit of the doubt, but found she liked him less and less every day.
Following Amy inside, Molly instinctively closed the door behind her. She held tightly onto the piece of paper as she sat in the swivel chair.
‘Is everything all right?’ Amy said, taking up position on the other side of the desk. ‘You looked a bit uncomfortable out there. Has Steve been hassling you?’
Molly’s round cheeks were now bright pink, her discomfort evident. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Just a bit of office banter. You know how it is.’
‘I know how it used to be,’ Amy said firmly. ‘But it doesn’t need to be like that anymore.’ Amy’s father had been instrumental in cutting down on workplace sexism. His initiatives in reporting incidents had helped both male and female officers, and new training programmes had made it clear that such behaviour was no longer tolerated in the police. But certain old-school officers, like Steve, were slow to learn.
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