Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) by Caroline Mitchell (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

were young? No day trips?’ Even she had been brought to the seaside as a child, and her early years were abysmal.

Molly shook her head. ‘Dad was always too busy with work, and, erm . . . Mum didn’t drive.’

Amy had only been in Clacton seconds, but she had already learnt something new about Molly. Her father was a high-ranking police officer in Scotland Yard, who was obviously devoted to his job. Still, she thought, you’d think he could have found the time . . . Clacton was no distance from London via public transport and the train station was only a couple of minutes’ walk from the seafront. ‘Hopefully you’ll find some time to enjoy the sights while you’re here,’ Amy said, making a mental note to get to know them all a little better.

There was no shortage of places to eat in Clacton, as well as the usual amusements you’d expect in a seaside resort. But the once-prosperous area had gone downhill when the Butlin’s holiday camp left in the early eighties. It brought on a decline that had been felt for many years. Nowadays, Clacton still had some battles with drug use and homelessness. But there was another side to the area: one with a thriving sense of community. A location with the best weather in the country and stretches of sandy coastline to rival any Spanish beach. A neighbourhood policing team who had vowed to bring real change. There was regeneration, but the publicity from the recent deaths would not be welcome.

Amy couldn’t wait to get her teeth into the finer details of the case and texted Donovan to alert him as Paddy locked the car. Shading her eyes with her hand, she stared at Clacton police station. The building was round, with unusual architecture and porthole windows, which carried a nautical theme. She liked the look of it already and hoped its occupants would welcome her team. She followed Paddy across the road towards the entrance. They would find out soon enough.

CHAPTER SIX

Donovan quietly paced the office, trying not to disturb the officers at work. Since arriving in Clacton CID, his presence had been greeted with begrudging acceptance by his old team. The order had come from the top. His officers would work alongside Carla’s colleagues and be given full privileges while they were there. If he said jump, the team jumped. But they didn’t have to like it. This branch of CID was small, with just over half a dozen detective constables on each shift. Donovan’s team would work their own hours, also liaising with officers in the other seaside resorts where alleged suicides had been reported. It was their job to pull everything together into one investigation to ascertain if there had been foul play. It felt good to be of some use. Having spoken to Bicks, it seemed they had been ready to write off Carla’s death as another suicide.

Despite the time that had passed, his old office had not changed much, and Donovan could still sense Carla’s presence there. He half-expected her to walk in the door, saying it had all been a crazy mistake. The numbness he had experienced since her death had been replaced with quiet fury. How dare they take one of his own. His protective nature applied to everyone he worked with, and his meeting with Carla’s husband served to increase his determination tenfold. The man was completely bewildered by her sudden death. Donovan paused to stare at the intelligence posters on the wall. The posters featured mug shots of men who were wanted for serious crimes. He willed a spark of intuition. So far, he had nothing. No clue why tourists’ bodies were being pulled from the sea and why Carla’s life had ended in a similar way. Usually, Donovan was pragmatic when it came to handling serious crime. Was he too personally involved?

His old friendship with Carla was not something he had brought up with Superintendent Jones. He had said nothing about the voicemail, saving it for when he was cleared to investigate, even though it went against his better judgement to withhold evidence. Amy was the one who took chances. She embedded herself in the thick of things, meeting victims’ families, speaking to their friends and overseeing the interviews. Donovan was the steady, guiding influence who ensured things moved like clockwork behind the scenes. But not today. He had made a silent promise to Carla when he got here. He would not rest until her killer was behind bars.

He clenched and unclenched his fists, his thoughts too urgent for him to stay still for very long. He walked around the desks at the end of the office, ready for his team’s arrival. It didn’t matter that the drawers didn’t work as they should, or that the swivel chairs wheezed when you sat down. In this station, it was a luxury just to have a desk to yourself. They weren’t in London now. It felt surreal, merging his new team with his old one. The office might be frozen in time, but life had changed considerably since he’d worked in Clacton. He was a sergeant when he last rolled up his sleeves in this building, and now he was a DCI. If ever he had something to prove, it was now.

Then there was Amy. A five foot two powerhouse who took no prisoners. Even after Carla’s death, he was unable to get her out of his mind. They had packed so much into the short space of time since they’d met. He had never known a woman like her, and he doubted he would again. Everyone else paled in comparison. It was like comparing an indoor light bulb to the burning heat of the summer sun. Checking his phone, he waited for her text. After his divorce, he never thought he would feel so strongly about anyone again.

‘Boss?’

Donovan was suddenly aware that someone was talking to him. He looked up to see DS Bickerstaff standing there.

‘Sorry,