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

by Caroline Mitchell

  Grabbing a handful of Viv’s bleached-blonde hair, Mummy woke her in an instant, a loud yelp emitting from between Viv’s lips.

  ‘You bitch. I told you not to come back!’ Lillian yelled, dragging the young woman off the sofa.

  Still yelping loudly, Viv tried to find her feet as Lillian released her hold. ‘Where’s Jack?’ she said breathlessly, buttoning up her blouse.

  ‘Don’t worry about him,’ Lillian shouted. ‘What are you doing in my home?’

  ‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ Viv sneered, rubbing her head as Lillian released her grip. ‘He invited me. Said you weren’t due back until tomorrow.’

  ‘It is tomorrow, you silly bitch. And this is my house. Now get the fuck out and don’t come back.’

  ‘Jack!’ Viv shouted in a high-pitched squeal. ‘Come and sort out your missus!’

  Biting her lip, Poppy ignored the fact that she was desperate for a wee. She curled herself even tighter into a ball, her fists clenched. She knew that her father’s good moods did not last, and things were going to get bad. She wished she could leave, but no one knew she was here. She had no choice but to stay and watch.

  ‘What’s all the fuss?’ Jack said, rubbing his head as he walked in. His expression changed as he caught sight of Viv, who was pulling on her mini skirt. ‘What are you doing here? I thought I told you to go home?’

  ‘I fell back asleep,’ she said, but her words sounded weak, and the pinkness of her cheeks told Poppy she was lying.

  ‘Why is she here in the first place?’ Lillian jabbed a finger in Jack’s direction. ‘You know the rules, no fun without me.’

  ‘I didn’t invite her,’ Jack said. But his words were met with dismay.

  ‘Yes, you did!’ Viv shouted, tugging the zip on her skirt. ‘Come on, Jack, tell her the truth.’ She turned to Lillian. ‘We love each other. He don’t want you no more.’

  Poppy was wide awake now. This was bad. Really bad. Like a temperature gauge, the redness rose from her mother’s chest up to her throat. She looked as if she were going to explode.

  But instead of shouting and screaming, her mother simply turned to Jack. ‘You go back to bed. Me and Viv here are gonna have a little chat.’

  Jack shuffled in the doorway, his shirttail hanging out of his trousers as he looked from one woman to the other. ‘Lils, there’s no need for—’

  ‘What?’ Lillian cocked an eyebrow. ‘You want to stay here and argue it out? Cos I’m up for that an’ all!’

  Jack raised his hands to his temples as if fending off a swarm of bees instead of his wife’s high-pitched commands. ‘All right, all right! Just keep the noise down.’ Without looking back, he turned and went upstairs to bed.

  ‘Jack. Where are you going? Jack!’ Viv called, her mouth dropping open in dismay.

  Baring her teeth in a chilling smile, Lillian turned and locked the door.

  Poppy bunched up her fists into the sleeves of her nightdress. Her insides felt all twisted in knots, too. She did not want to be here anymore. She could try to sneak out, but the door was locked, and her mum would see her leave. Mum might be short, but she was strong, and when she was mad, you kept out of her way.

  The muscles in Lillian’s face tensed as she spoke. ‘You should have left when I gave you the chance.’

  ‘He don’t love you.’ As she groped for her belongings, Viv’s confidence seemed to fade. ‘You . . . You don’t scare me.’

  ‘Well, I should.’ Lillian advanced towards her, the veins in her neck protruding like cables ready to snap.

  Viv retreated until the back of her knees hit the sofa with a muffled thud. ‘Lay one finger on me and I’m calling the social. I’ll tell them exactly what goes on.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ Lillian said, temporarily stalled.

  A smile broadened on Viv’s face as her bravado was restored. ‘Yeah, well, I meant every word. And you can say goodbye to your husband. He’ll be following me soon enough.’

  ‘I wish you hadn’t said that,’ Lillian replied, making no move to get out of her way.

  ‘The truth hurts,’ Viv said, slipping her feet into her kitten heel shoes.

  ‘No . . .’ Lillian smirked. ‘I mean I can’t be bothered to clean up the mess.’

  ‘What mess . . .’

  A loud cracking sound was followed by a violent spurt of blood as Lillian head-butted her on the nose. With both hands outstretched, she pushed Viv hard until she hit the carpeted floor with a thud. ‘My naagh!’ Viv gurgled, cupping her nose with both hands. Gasping, she fought for breath as blood travelled back up her nose.

  Her eyes alight with terror, Poppy watched as her mother kicked Viv in the stomach, each blow coinciding with a swearword on her lips. Panting, she blew her fringe from her forehead, before dropping to straddle Viv’s chest. Splattered across their red carpet, Viv’s blood merged with the fibres and broken crisps. Rigid with fear, Poppy prayed for the violence to end.

  Viv was weak now, her movements limp as a dull moan drizzled from her lips, but Lillian did not stop there. Sweat glistened on her forehead as she pinched Viv’s bloodied nose and clamped her left hand over her mouth. ‘You think you can come in here and threaten me,’ Lillian muttered as Viv bucked beneath her weight.

  Viv’s eyes bulged with disbelief as Lillian pressed down hard, cutting off her air supply. It seemed to take forever until, devoid of strength, her limbs flopped like dying fish.

  Wincing, Poppy pushed her face into her knees, which were drawn tightly up to her chest. Her own breath was coming faster now. If Mummy heard, she would silence her for good. As the movements subsided, Lillian rose, complaining about the carpet stains as she unlocked the door. Tentatively, Poppy peeped at the aftermath, her heart still clacking like a wind-up toy. Arms outstretched, Viv stared unblinkingly in her direction. In strange wonderment, Poppy watched the Christmas tree fairy lights blink on and off as they reflected in her eyes. She knew that no breath passed Viv’s lips because her mummy had taken it away.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  ‘Hello, Daughter dear, I thought you would have been in to see me today.’

  Usually the sound of Lillian’s voice made Amy’s skin crawl, but today she had awoken with a new understanding. Overnight, another horrifying piece of her memory had slotted into place.

  ‘Why would I visit you?’ Amy said. ‘I’ve spoken to your solicitor. According to him, you don’t have a clue where Hermione Parker is.’

  ‘Is that any way to speak to your mother?’ Lillian tutted down the phone. ‘I had no choice but to use her as a bargaining chip. If I didn’t, you’d have left me here to rot.’

  ‘Ever the victim,’ Amy said. ‘But you’re wasting your time with me. I know what you did.’ As the line fell silent, Amy could almost hear the cogs in Lillian’s brain whirr.

  ‘What’s this? Something Robert told you when you were a child?’ Sly and mocking, Lillian’s voice greased the line. ‘The bent copper twists the knife from the grave. Put yourself in my shoes. That man took my kids, my dignity and my freedom. It’s only natural I’d fight back.’

  ‘I could never put myself in your shoes,’ Amy said, unable to conceal her disgust.

  ‘You already are. You’re part of me.’ She paused for breath. ‘Those people who took you in . . . they’re not your parents. You’re mine, mine and your father’s. You have my skin, his smile. Our blood runs through your veins.’

  Her voice was dark, almost hypnotic as it lured her in. Amy stiffened in her chair. She had given this woman far too much of herself already. ‘Let me tell you something. I am my thoughts, my words and, most of all, my actions – which means I have nothing to do with you.’ A wave of disgust rolled over her as she recalled her memory from the night before. ‘That’s why I could never put myself in your shoes – because I know what you did to Viv Holden. I was there.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Lillian spat. ‘You were barely four years old. Whatever you think you remember is wrong.’

  ‘I
remember seeing Jack and Viv on the sofa, cuddling up when you weren’t there. You didn’t like that, did you? The fact he saw her alone.’

  ‘It’s a fake memory,’ Lillian said, temper rattling her words. ‘Where do you think I was that day? Trying to find us a new home away from him.’ She exhaled an exasperated breath. ‘I’m not asking for much, just the truth to be told.’

  ‘Then why don’t you let me tell it?’ It was Amy’s turn to mock. She was sure this time. Regardless of her mix-up with the doll, the memory of Viv’s murder was too lucid to be anything but real. Gripping the bannisters as she crept downstairs on New Year’s Eve. The warmth invading her stomach as she tipped a mouthful of spirits down her throat, mistaking it for apple juice.

  ‘God, when I think of it now, the way we were brought up,’ Amy thought aloud. ‘People look after their dogs better than you cared for us.’

  ‘How would you know?’ Lillian said indignantly. ‘You’re not a mother. You don’t know how tough it is.’

  But Amy deflected the comment. ‘I know how to treat another human being, especially one as small and vulnerable as a child. I remember falling asleep that night, wrapped up in those awful red, floor-length curtains I used to hide behind. It was dark when you came home, and none of us heard you slip in. Were you trying to catch them out?’

  ‘Lies, it’s all lies.’

  ‘Well, somebody killed her, and it sure wasn’t Jack. That’s why you hated her. It wasn’t the fact she wouldn’t let you join in, but because he wanted her around without you. That look on Viv’s face when Jack turned and left you both to it. She was terrified when you locked the door.’

  ‘Terrified my arse, she was hard as nails that one,’ Lillian said, forgetting her earlier claim that their meeting never took place.

  ‘She wanted to leave but you wouldn’t let her,’ Amy replied. ‘Even as a child, I knew you’d kill her because you had killed before. You orchestrated everything. You were the driving force behind it all.’ Amy knew that there were more memories that had not yet been revealed. Ones which would appear in time, when she was strong enough to cope with them. She bowed her head, her elbows on her desk as she held the phone to her ear. For now, this dreadful knowing was enough.

  ‘Maybe I did want to catch them out because I knew something was going on,’ Lillian replied. ‘We had a row, I slapped her around, but I didn’t kill her, I swear.’

  ‘It was real,’ Amy said. ‘I know how I felt.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt you were there, sticking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted, yet again. But it wasn’t me that throttled Viv. I went to bed after our argument. I don’t know what happened to her after that. All I know is that I never saw her again. That night, Jack was digging in the garden . . .’

  Amy raised her hand to her temple. The sound of a shovel slicing through soil echoed in her mind. ‘I never said she was throttled,’ she said flatly.

  ‘What?’ Lillian replied.

  ‘I never said you choked her. And it didn’t show up on the autopsy because all they found were bones.’

  Lillian fell silent.

  Amy felt the familiar sense of satisfaction she had gained during suspect interviews in the past. She had led her suspect to the scene but omitted the crucial damning detail, winding Lillian up enough to get her to blurt it out herself. There was an audible click as she switched off the device recording their conversation. It was her last tool in the battle to keep the woman imprisoned. She could not allow Dougie’s death to be for nothing, and she knew that somewhere far away, her father would be proud.

  ‘Thank you for the confession,’ Amy said, tiredness seeping into her bones. ‘Don’t call me again unless it’s with Hermione’s address.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  With a sharp inhalation of breath, Hemmy awoke, her forehead slick with sweat. Sleep was becoming her enemy, making her vulnerable and unable to fight. Silently it had crept through the cracks in the timber carrying on the air like a ghost. The gas mask wasn’t just for concealing her kidnapper’s identity. Just the same, there was something familiar about him. Something she had seen before.

  She had seen the indecision in his eyes after Purdy escaped. Knew it would be easier for them to get rid of her rather than move her again. Her face was bound to be all over the newspapers and on TV. The risk of getting caught was very real. Yet something was holding him back, strong enough to transfer her from that awful boat to the dank, oppressive space she now found herself in. Running the length of the walls, piping was stripped bare and hot to the touch. In the distance, a constant trickle of water provided a backdrop to her sobs. She had no memory of being transported to this windowless space, but the bruises on her knees and arms told her she had not been handled with care.

  Apart from the whiff that still hung on her clothes, the stench of fish had all but evaporated. But there was no bed to lie on this time, no bucket for a toilet. No food to eat. She tugged at her ankle, the rattle of her chains echoing down the long hollow space. The pipe the padlock was attached to hissed with steam and water dripped endlessly down the slimy walls.

  Vaguely, she recalled a mask being pressed upon her face and holding her breath until her lungs burned. Maybe I’m in hell, she thought listlessly. Maybe I’m already dead.

  Something told her that life after death did not come with shackles, and the pain she felt seemed very real. She rubbed her ankle, torn and tender from where the chain bit into her skin. ‘Help!’ she cried listlessly, the word taunting her as it echoed around the room. ‘Please, someone help me—’ Her voice broke as she choked back a cough. The splinter wound on her hand was now a full-blown infection, and it felt like molten lava was flooding through the veins in her palm. Sweat trickled down her back as the world swam in and out of focus, blurred through red-rimmed eyes.

  As she lay on her side, she felt the dig of the rusted screw poke into her hip. She had hidden it in her knickers. It provided small reassurance that her captor had not sexually assaulted her while she had been unconscious. There was no way her captor would allow her to conceal a weapon of any kind. Had the police found the letters she had gouged into the wood of the boat? At least she had tried. But now she had lost all sense of time and felt so very alone.

  Tears pricked her eyelids and she winced as she shifted on the floor. Still bruised and puffy, her skin was painful to the touch, but at least she could see through both eyes now. She gazed at the roof, so high above her head, and the network of cables and pipes above. A rumbling sound vibrated through the building. At first, it sounded like the bass and drum of a stereo system playing too loud as it delivered a thump, thump, thump. It occurred with such regularity that it could be the same song on loop. She had settled on the idea of it being an industrial dryer before realising nothing that big could make the floor vibrate beneath her feet. Grateful for something to take her mind off her fears, she counted the seconds between each rumble. Of course. A frisson of hope sparked in her weary brain. Only a tube train could come with such regularity as it negotiated the underground network. She was still in London, maybe not even that far from home. The thought warmed her as her eyelids grew heavy and the darkness closed in.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  ‘I waited outside the gym.’ Amy tried to sound nonchalant. She already guessed their training sessions had come to an end. Given Pike’s motives, it was no significant loss, but she was not letting her DCI off the hook that easily. She wanted to hear her say the words aloud.

  ‘I’m cutting the gym out for now,’ Pike said, diverting her gaze as she answered the phone in her office.

  Amy knew it was a lie. Pike’s new gym partner would soon be selected, someone she could manipulate for her own needs. With Robert dead and Amy tarnished, there was little chance Pike would want to meet socially again. ‘The smiling assassin’, Paddy had once called her, and Amy was beginning to see why.

  Amy used to believe that, no matter what life threw at her, she was in control. It was only now that she ac
cepted that she was fallible like everyone else. All the timekeeping and scheduling in the world couldn’t stop her messing up every now and again. But strength lay in facing her challenges head on.

  ‘Was there anything else?’ Pike said, ending her call.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to Malcolm about the evidence seized from the boat. The results have come back on the contents of those gas canisters. It’s some kind of sedative . . .’

  ‘I’m well aware,’ Pike replied. ‘And we’ve got details of the person leasing the fishing boat.’

  ‘Really?’ A smile formed on Amy’s face. ‘That’s excellent. Anyone we know?’

  ‘It’s your brother. Which is why you’re no longer running this case.’

  The announcement rooted Amy to the floor. ‘There’s got to be some mistake. Craig hasn’t leased any boat.’ She had guessed Pike was referring to Damien, but mentioned Craig to make her point. She hated how Pike continually referred to the Grimeses as her family.

  ‘I was talking about Damien.’ Pike arched an eyebrow, as if to say she knew what Amy was up to. ‘And I’d appreciate it if you don’t put officers in an awkward position by asking them about the investigation. I’ll tell them you’ve got a lot on due to your recent bereavement and I’m just helping you out.’

  Amy shook her head. It wasn’t the fact her DCI was jumping in to take the credit that irked her: Pike’s behaviour bordered on bullying. ‘His alibi is solid. He was working the day Hermione was kidnapped.’ The information had been confirmed in a follow-up to the intelligence package she had tasked DC Molly Baxter with.

  ‘There were gaps.’ Pike paused to take an apple from her drawer and placed it on her desk. ‘Enough time for him to have left and come back.’