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

‘Not necessarily,’ DI Winter said, her eyes flicking to the sky as she thought. ‘In fact, I may have an idea. A way to make those kids trust you even more. You approach them, but then we’ll come along and scoop you up too.’

But Molly was not convinced. ‘If we bring them in for questioning, they’ll clam up. We don’t even have any grounds.’

‘We’re well entitled to ask a few questions,’ Amy said. ‘And those kids should be in care.’

Molly couldn’t argue there. If they were making money, it wasn’t being spent on them. As they approached the station, Molly set her phone to vibrate.

‘Leave it with me.’ Amy pressed her security tag against the panel next to the door. ‘I’ve got a meeting with a social worker. She might be able to shed some light on things.’

But Molly was not so sure. She was beginning to regret confiding in her DI. If Donovan was brought into the equation, he would never allow Molly to go it alone. All she wanted was to find out what they had seen – before anyone else got to them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Amy squinted against the sunshine. It was a blessed relief to escape the office. She enjoyed working with her team, but lately, she felt like a rubber ball being bounced off many walls. Things had changed since the limelight had been thrust upon her. Expectations were through the roof, and she was in constant demand. She loved her job but wished she could blend back into obscurity. She had gone from being Superintendent Winter’s daughter to living in the shadow of the ‘Beasts of Brentwood’. Life changed, whether she liked it or not. She just had to suck it up.

She scanned the coffee shop for someone who looked like a social worker. In the corner there was a cluster of mothers with pushchairs. An elderly man with a newspaper sat next to the window, and a gothy-looking young woman nearby sipped a latte. Beneath her black cut-off jeans she wore a pair of mismatched Harry Potter socks. Amy was about to walk past when she spoke up.

‘Detective Inspector Winter?’

She appeared to be in her twenties, with curly dark hair and pillar-box red lipstick that highlighted the whiteness of her teeth. Her thick black eyeliner looked expertly applied in true Cleopatra style. As Amy glanced at the young woman, she could see that Rachel was a tad unconventional. Her ears were adorned with several silver studs and she wore a small silver cross around her neck. By the look of recognition on her face, Amy guessed she had seen her on TV.

‘Please, call me Winter,’ Amy said. She had become so accustomed to being called by her surname at work, it felt more like a first name these days. But there was another reason she preferred it. Winter was her adoptive parents’ surname. It made her feel grounded. Reminded her that as dark as her bloodlines ran, she was still part of something good. ‘You’re Rachel, I take it?’

‘The one and only.’ Rachel’s tongue piercing flashed as she spoke. Amy liked it. The look suited her, and she was all for the unconventional these days.

‘So, you’re working out of Clacton?’ Amy said after her coffee was ordered and placed in front of her. She had already performed an identity check but wanted to hear Rachel’s response.

‘I’m freelance,’ Rachel replied, which confirmed the information Amy had been given. ‘There’s a shortage of qualified social workers, so I get to pick and choose where I go.’

‘And you chose Clacton?’ Amy said. ‘Any particular reason?’

Rachel bowed her head to sip her coffee. ‘The money’s good. I know Clacton. I’ve worked here before. It’s satisfying when you make progress.’

‘And you’ve been following this case?’

‘Yep, and I think I know the kids you’re looking for. They’re vulnerable – and they need your help.’

Amy gripped her mug a bit tighter. ‘Are you working with them?’

Rachel snorted. ‘Stalking them, more like. I’ve been drafted in to follow them about and offer help.’

But Amy was not convinced. ‘I know how big your workloads are. There must be more to it than a concern for welfare if they’ve brought you to Clacton to track them down.’

‘Social workers in Brighton and Blackpool have raised red flags . . .’ Rachel paused as a thought seemed to enter her mind. ‘I know about the suicides.’ She delivered a crooked smile. ‘I’m a bit of an armchair detective. Addicted to true-crime documentaries on TV.’

‘Ah.’ Amy stalled as their conversation took a sudden turn. ‘So, you’ve seen my team in action, I take it?’ She wondered if this was the real reason Rachel wanted to meet her in person. If it helped to progress the case, then she was obliged to go along with it.

‘Yeah, I did.’ Rachel flushed. ‘But don’t worry, I’m not fangirling you, I genuinely need your help.’

‘Then you’ve got it,’ Amy replied. But her time was valuable, and she needed Rachel to get to the point. ‘What can you tell me?’ she said, her words drowned by a sudden wail erupting in the corner, setting the rest of the babies off one by one. Much hushing and shushing followed by their mothers in a vain effort to quieten them. Amy watched as the elderly man in the corner shook his head in disapproval before getting up to leave. Good, Amy thought, glad of the privacy. She returned her gaze to Rachel, who was watching her closely.

‘They’re currently of no fixed abode,’ Rachel said, picking up the thread of their conversation as the babies quietened down. ‘One boy and five girls. Word is that they stay in squats and do some shoplifting and pickpocketing during the day. But it’s what happens to them at night that concerns us. Plus . . .’ Her voice lowered as she made a circular motion with her finger. ‘I think they’re involved in all of this.’

‘All of this?’ Amy repeated. ‘You mean the