Truth and Lies (A DI Amy Winter Thriller Book 1)

by Caroline Mitchell

  ‘It’s nothing I can’t handle, honestly. If I have any problems, I’ll come to you, but he’s just a bit over-friendly.’

  Amy frowned as she tried to read between the lines. ‘Has he touched you inappropriately?’

  ‘No,’ Molly said, her eyes dropping to her lap. ‘At least, not on purpose.’ She swallowed. ‘He might have brushed up against me a couple of times.’

  Amy’s nostrils flared as she inhaled a sudden breath. The last thing she wanted was a predator on her team. ‘Are you willing to make a complaint?’

  A flicker of fear crossed Molly’s face. ‘Please, ma’am, I don’t want to make a big thing of this. He probably hasn’t a clue that he’s done anything wrong.’

  ‘Oh, he knows all right,’ Amy replied, her lips thinning. ‘And I’ll be marking his card.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ Molly said, her features crumpling. ‘I mean, I’m a right flirt at the best of times. Mum’s always telling me off for giving people the wrong idea. If it comes out that I’ve complained about sexual harassment, nobody will want to work with me again.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Amy replied. ‘If we don’t stand up against it, how are we going to make it stop? The old fool. He’s old enough to be your dad.’

  But Molly was vehement. ‘I appreciate you looking out for me but, honestly, there’s nothing to report. He’s just keen to fit in. It can’t be easy coming to a new team after being demoted. One minute you’re an inspector and the next you’re a DC.’

  ‘That was of his own doing. He’s privileged to be in this team, and he needs to make an effort to integrate in the right way. I’ll speak to him when the time is right, but I won’t mention you by name.’

  Molly exhaled in relief. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘Less of the ma’am. It makes me feel old.’ Amy smiled. ‘Just remember, my door is always open if you need to talk.’ It was hard having time to chat when they worked in such a demanding role, but her father had always managed it, and it was essential to Amy that she did, too.

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Molly said. Her phone pinged in her pocket, bringing a blush to her cheeks as she read her texts. Her mouth moved silently, a glint of mischief in her eyes. ‘It’s a dating app. Guess I won’t be needing the hot-water bottle tonight.’

  Amy smiled as she left. Not all officers would be quite so candid about their personal lives. But like Amy, Molly’s father was a police officer, and she was relaxed around the higher ranks. She could tell by Molly’s behaviour that Steve had crossed boundaries, and a few sexual innuendos did not make her a flirt. She also knew that Steve was going to feel ridiculous when he found out Molly was gay.

  ‘Office politics.’ She spoke her thoughts aloud before heaving a sigh. Standing by her window she glared at Steve, knowing he could feel the intensity of her stare. Yeah, roll your eyes, she thought as she caught the movement. You might find a brain back there. She would speak to Paddy about it later and keep an eye on them both. As her desk phone rang, she tore her gaze away. Right now, all she wanted was a strong coffee and time to sort out the planner on her desk. Her heart faltered as DCI Pike’s name flashed up on the screen.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Amy said respectfully. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Pike replied. ‘I’ve just had a fascinating conversation with Lillian Grimes.’

  Amy froze as she gripped the phone. This afternoon’s meeting with Damien had not gone well. Had Lillian been angered because she didn’t welcome him with open arms? Had she called Pike to inform her of Amy’s true identity? She formed her words carefully, making every effort to disguise her concerns. ‘You spoke to Lillian? Why?’

  ‘I asked myself the same thing when I accepted the call. She wants us to organise another drive. She’s giving you Wendy Thompson’s burial site. Well done. Your meeting with her son must have been a productive one.’

  The enthusiasm in Pike’s voice told Amy all was well. She presumed they had met in a cafe. Amy did not tell her otherwise.

  ‘It was odd,’ Amy said truthfully. ‘He wanted to talk about organising an appeal for Lillian. I told him there was little chance of that. I’m glad she’s agreed to give us Wendy’s whereabouts.’

  ‘That can’t have been easy,’ Pike replied. ‘That whole family must be deranged.’

  Amy stiffened. ‘I still don’t understand why she called you.’

  ‘She said she knew Wendy’s mother was on her “last legs” as she put it, and every second counted. We’re making arrangements with the prison so you can take her out today.’

  ‘So soon?’ Amy’s stomach churned at the thought of seeing Lillian again. Could she face two family members in the same day? ‘I’ve got a meeting with a specialist officer, DI Victoria Summer. She’s handled high-profile missing person cases and had some good results.’

  ‘Reschedule. Hermione’s case is in good hands.’ Pike’s words were firm as she switched into leadership mode. ‘I’ve had to pull in a lot of favours to get Lillian released today, and she insisted you be the one to accompany her.’

  I bet she did, Amy thought bitterly. She could never resist twisting the knife. ‘Yes ma’am,’ Amy replied. She could have mentioned her concerns regarding Damien’s comments about truth and lies, but she did not know if they carried any substance yet. She smoothed a hand over her diary, crossed out her scheduled meeting with Victoria, and wrote Lillian’s name beneath.

  ‘What time am I leaving for the prison?’ Amy asked, her pen poised. ‘Have we got a driver? Backup?’

  ‘It’s all arranged,’ Pike replied. ‘You leave in an hour. But there’s someone very important I need you to see first.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Gladys Thompson said, looking frail and washed out as she pressed the button to lift her recliner bed. She was not in a hospital as Amy had presumed, but at home receiving specialist care. By her side, her son John catered to her every need. He was younger than Amy, with a full beard and short brown hair. Amy could not imagine what it must have felt like, to grow up in the shadow of such grief.

  ‘I know you’re a busy woman, but I wanted to see you . . .’ Gladys’s words drifted as she paused for breath. She blinked, the strain of the action clear to see. ‘To thank you for everything you’ve done. Your father was such a kind man. He promised to bring my Wendy home. Of all the people to find her . . . I’m glad it’s you.’ She reached out her hand, and tentatively, Amy took it.

  Usually, she kept contact to a minimum, but today was different. She could not think of her real parentage now. She would not taint the visit with such evil. She smiled gently at the woman. It was important to say what was needed. She could not deprive Gladys of the precious time she had left. The sitting room was on the ground floor and had been converted to a bedroom for easy access. With soft carpeting and a large bay window, the scent of fresh blooms lingered in the air. Alongside the vase of flowers was a framed photograph of a twelve-year-old Wendy. With her cheeky smile and soft blonde curls, her innocence was enough to make Amy weep.

  ‘I’m just glad we’re making progress at last,’ Amy said, clearing her throat. ‘I have no doubt that we’ll bring her home.’

  ‘I haven’t got long, dear,’ Gladys said, her eyes full of knowing. ‘I’ve tried to hang on as long as I can.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Amy said quietly. For once, she was at a loss for what to say.

  ‘It would bring me peace to know that Wendy’s body can be put to rest. Perhaps when I die, I’ll see her again.’

  ‘How are your family coping?’ Amy said as John excused himself from the room, not before Amy caught the tears forming in his eyes.

  ‘Good.’ Gladys smiled. ‘I’ve been blessed to see my grandchildren today. I told my daughter I want my headstone to offer free Wi-Fi, so they’ll come and visit me more often.’

  Amy’s soft chuckle brought some light into the room.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely smile,’ Gladys said. ‘A young woman
like you, going out and dealing with all these terrible people. I don’t know how you do it.’

  The truth was that Amy had been drawn to it, but now her fascination with serial killers frightened her. Takes one to know one. Her smile faded. She patted Gladys’s hand, the network of veins revealed beneath the thin, almost transparent skin. ‘As soon as I hear anything, I’ll let you know. We’re travelling to Essex. There’s a woodland graveyard in Ingrave, a beautiful place, with flowers and a meadow. There’s every chance that’s where Wendy has been laid.’ Her research uncovered that Jack had worked in Ingrave for a few months, but she prayed she wasn’t setting Gladys up for a fall.

  ‘I hope so,’ Gladys said, her voice growing weary. ‘She loved the countryside. That’s where she was going the day she ran away. She was always flouncing off, but she’d be back again the same day. It was like a game she used to play.’

  ‘I know,’ Amy said, watching Gladys’s strength fade as her eyelids drooped shut. ‘Why don’t you get some rest, so you’ll be at full strength when I call. I promise I’ll do everything I can to bring her home.’

  ‘If anything happens . . . I want my little girl to be buried with me, so she’ll never be alone again.’

  Amy nodded, a lump rising in her throat. She swallowed it back down, giving Gladys’s hand a final squeeze before letting go.

  Her breath shallow, Gladys seemed to fade before her very eyes. Amy leaned into her ear to whisper a promise her father had made years ago. ‘I’ll bring her back to you.’ But the words felt hollow. For the first time in her career she made a promise she might be unable to keep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  1986

  Mummy had been right about the social. They were bad people, and now they were tearing her home apart. The drum of heavy boots hitting their basement steps made Poppy feel scared. Mummy had tried to lock the door when they first rapped for her to answer, but they had forced their way in. Damien and Mandy had already gone with the social to their car, but Poppy had wriggled free and run back inside.

  As police officers searched the basement, all hell seemed to break loose. Police radios buzzed into life as officers spoke about remains being found. Daddy, pale-faced and silent, raised his wrists as police clamped handcuffs on. They weren’t the handcuffs Mummy and Daddy had used in the basement either. These were proper ones. What did that mean, Daddy was under a rest? And why was he leaving without saying a word?

  Her heart fluttering like a caged bird, Poppy ran up the stairs into the bedroom she had once shared with Sally-Ann. Pulling back the candlewick bedspread, she grabbed the Raggedy Ann doll beneath. She traced her finger over the embroidered heart stitched into the body of the toy. The last link to her sister, it was something to cling on to as her mother’s screams rose from below. Pressing her nose against the fabric, Poppy closed her eyes before inhaling deeply. She could still smell traces of her sister if she tried really hard. But not today. Today all she could smell was fear and the sick, rotting stench of what lay beneath their home. She wanted to cry, but Sally-Ann’s last words rang true. Not a sound. Don’t cry. Or you’ll be a goner for sure. They were jumbled now. She could not remember the exact order of her warning but the meaning was clear just the same. Crying was bad. But still, tears edged forward. She could feel them, beneath the brim of her eyelids, and her chin wobbled as she tried to push them down. Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallowed them back. Mummy wasn’t crying today. Mummy was angry. Really angry. Perhaps she should be like Mummy instead. Holding her doll, she tiptoed down the stairs. As a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, Poppy looked into the eyes of the woman who was to blame. The social.

  ‘Sweetheart, you shouldn’t run off like that.’ Marjorie held out her hand. ‘There’s no need to be afraid, I’m going to bring you somewhere safe.’

  Poppy narrowed her grey eyes. She had changed her mind. She was somewhere safe. She was home. Heat grew in her belly as sorrow was replaced by flaring anger. A sudden hatred rose for the woman before her. ‘Fuck off,’ she shouted, the words sounding alien as they left her lips. ‘Sod off, bitch. I ain’t going nowhere with you!’

  A sharp, shrill cackle ensued, which made Poppy jump. It was her mother in the doorway, still wrestling with police officers as they tried to drag her out. ‘You tell ’em, Poppy! You tell them fuckers what for!’

  Poppy’s eyes widened. Despite growing up hearing what Sally-Ann had called ‘bad language’, Poppy had rarely used it because Sally-Ann did not approve. She felt tall, like she had gained a set of armour, the wide-eyed expression of the woman from ‘the social’ relaying that her words had hit home. But Mummy approved. And Mummy had been right about them so far. Swearing blindly, Poppy recounted every bad word she had ever heard. Arms flailing and legs kicking, she screamed at the top of her lungs as Marjorie tried to hold onto her.

  ‘Hey, hey, little girl, you’re going to knock your dolly’s head off if you keep that up.’ The words were soft and gentle and Poppy stared into the warm hazel eyes of the man before her. She drew in her Raggedy Ann, checking she was still intact. Pausing for breath, Poppy stilled, taking in the policeman’s form. He was different to the others, his skin dark, and his hair much bigger than any she had ever seen.

  ‘My name’s Dougie,’ he said softly, kneeling down to her level. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘P . . . P . . . Poppy,’ she said, shaking his hand as it was offered. She looked over his shoulder to see that Mummy and Daddy were now gone. There was nobody left from her family but her, and Sally-Ann who was buried somewhere nearby.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Poppy,’ Dougie said. ‘Have you had breakfast yet? Because Marjorie here makes some lovely hot buttered toast. If you’re really good, she’ll get you a glass of fresh orange juice, too.’

  Right on cue, Poppy’s stomach grumbled. But there was one thing holding her back. Her sister. She could not leave her alone. ‘Sa . . . Sa . . . Sally-Ann,’ Poppy stuttered, her speech impediment dictated by her stress levels, which were now through the roof.

  Dougie rested his hand on Poppy’s shoulders. ‘We’ll look after her. I promise. I won’t leave here until she does, and I’ll be there every step of the way.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘She can’t stay here, sweetheart. She deserves better. And so do you.’

  Poppy nodded, absorbing his kindness. He understood. She turned to face Marjorie, slipping her hand through hers. A pang of guilt enveloped her as she saw the scratches she had made on the woman’s hands. She had not stuttered once during her outburst. Just the same, she had been bad. Mummy and Daddy had been bad, too. That’s why the police were taking them away. Giving one last sad glance towards Dougie, she allowed Marjorie to lead her back to the car. But what would happen to her? Mandy and Damien had already been driven away. Silently, she hugged her doll close to her chest. She would rename her Sally-Ann. Mummy had warned her not to speak to the social, told her she would never see her family again. But the nice policeman with the big hair had said what she needed to hear. She watched through the car window as more police cars parked up outside her home. The neighbours were standing on the pavement now, being told to move back by police as they taped off the road. Sally-Ann would be found, and Mummy and Daddy would not be able to hurt anyone else. But what would happen to her?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Amy tried to keep a lid on her emotions, but her anger was eating her up inside. As before, she stared straight ahead, trying not to inhale Lillian’s sickeningly sweet deodorant as they sat in the back of the unmarked police car. Today was a day filled with contrasts. Seeing Lillian on the same day as Gladys had only served to fuel her disgust and guilt. It had been hard enough coming to terms with Damien’s visit. Their reunion served to unlock another memory from the past – being taken away by social care as the police raided her home. Damien’s unwavering belief in his mother had made Amy wonder if Lillian’s story held a seed of truth. It had warranted further investigation. A quick phone call to prison liaison told her what she
had suspected all along. Lillian had lied to Damien about taking classes in prison, just as she had lied about being in touch with a women’s refuge before social services became involved. The original investigating officers had been thorough when investigating Lillian’s claims. Staff at the refuge she had mentioned confirmed no such call had been made – but Damien would not have known that. What other lies had she spun him? And for what cause?

  Lillian and Jack had made for a dangerous pairing, two psychopaths wired differently to the outside world. They had taken what they wanted without a thought for their victims. Despite her protests of innocence, Amy knew without doubt that Lillian felt no empathy for the families involved. She tilted her head to the window, still watching Lillian from the corner of her eye. Roadside trees merged into a blur of green and brown as they sped through Essex. They only had a few hours of daylight left, but more than the night was closing in: death was beating a path to Gladys Thompson’s door. Amy had memorised the route to the Ingrave cemetery. It was why her heart plummeted when Lillian gave directions that took them the other way.

  ‘I thought we were going to Ingrave?’ Amy said, remembering her promise to Gladys earlier that day.

  ‘Where did you get that idea?’ Lillian replied, her voice alight with amusement. ‘Did your detective skills lead you down the wrong path?’

  Amy’s lips thinned as she tried to conceal her disappointment. ‘Why did you do it?’ she said, unable to keep her questions at bay. ‘Wendy was twelve, just a child. Why did you take her? I need to know.’

  ‘That was Jack’s doing,’ Lillian said, her expression blank. ‘He was a monster. I told you before. You can’t pin that on me.’ She leaned forward, giving further directions to the officer before sitting back in her seat. An Essex Police detective constable, he had been offered up by DI Donovan as they were unable to spare Molly to conduct the drive.