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

was being stripped of her privacy and she was revulsed by the thought. ‘It’s bad enough these’ – her face flushed, Amy searched for the right word – ‘weirdos are keeping tabs on me, without you using it too.’

‘Only to keep you safe. And you’re right, there are some right nuts on social media, tracking your every move. But I wasn’t spying on you. Look at what happened to Lillian . . .’

‘Don’t compare me to that woman. I can take care of myself. What worries me more is the fact that you don’t trust me.’

‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’

‘Why should I have to?’ Amy’s chin jutted defiantly. ‘Do you need to know every movement of my day? You’re meant to trust me, Donovan. You know what Adam did to me. And I know how your wife treated you. Do you really think I’d cheat?’

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. But it was too late for platitudes.

‘You’re right,’ Amy said. ‘We should have kept things professional.’

CHAPTER FORTY

As Donovan stared out to sea, he basked in the rhythmic ebb and flow of the waves crashing against the sand. It was true what people said: the air was better near the sea. Free from big city pollutants, it carried a salt crispness that rejuvenated him with every breath he took. The town was buzzing since the discovery of another body and he had yet to face the latest press release with regards to George Shaw. Someone was feeding the media, but that was the least of his troubles right now.

Technically, he was too busy to walk to the seafront. But it was precisely because he was under pressure that he needed to get away. He used to do this when he worked in Clacton: escape the hustle and bustle of the office to clear his thoughts. And he’d had plenty to think about: this was a complex case. Two witnesses had come forward, providing a description of a teenager arguing with a man in Martello Bay late on Monday night. The artist’s sketches were an uncanny match for April and George Shaw, and Donovan’s heart had sunk as he’d read Molly’s latest report. But Molly had not seen April’s injuries. They needed to be verified. If she was acting in self-defence . . . Donovan sighed as he recalled the needle prick found on each of the victim’s bodies. A sure sign of premeditated murder.

He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of it all. It was easy to get lost in the maze of victims, witnesses and leads. A few deep breaths of sea air brought clarity to his thoughts. He turned back for the station, feeling human again. But his peace was broken by the ring of his mobile phone.

He slipped his hand into his pocket. It wasn’t work, as he’d expected; it was April’s mum. He hesitated for a couple of seconds before answering. ‘DCI Donovan,’ he said, picking up pace as a sob rang out from the other end of the line.

‘You’ve got to help her,’ Tasha cried, gulping for breath. ‘Please! My . . . baby’s . . . in . . . trouble. She’s . . . hu . . . hurt!’

‘Tasha, take a few deep breaths.’ She was in the midst of a panic attack. From long experience, Donovan recognised the signs. ‘Nice and slow.’ He talked her through it. ‘Hold it for a few seconds . . . that’s right . . . now release.’ He checked for traffic before crossing the road. The sun was beating down on him, and the press conference was due today. But as Tasha sobbed down the line, he knew the journalists would have to wait.

‘What’s happened?’ he said, as Tasha gained control.

‘It’s April. She called me. But she didn’t sound like my April. I didn’t believe it was her.’ Tasha drew a shuddering breath. ‘So, she FaceTimed me. And she . . . and she . . .’

‘Deep breaths, Tasha, c’mon, you can do this.’ Donovan took the pedestrian crossing as the station came into view.

‘Some bastard’s beaten her to within an inch of her life. Her eyes were black, her nose smashed. You’ve got to get to her before they finish her off!’

‘Who’s they?’ Donovan bowed his head as he strained to hear the call against the rumble of background traffic. It seemed that Molly’s informant had told her the truth.

‘She . . . she wouldn’t say. But they’re moving them on in the morning. They’re watching her like a hawk.’

‘We’ve got a team searching local derelict buildings, but I need details.’ Donovan’s words were tinged with frustration. What was the point in April calling if she didn’t give her an address?

‘She was going to tell me, I’m sure of it.’ Tasha’s sobs were finally subsiding. ‘But someone grabbed the phone from her.’

‘Did you get a look at them?’

‘No.’ Tasha sniffed. ‘But I’m coming to Clacton. If you lot can’t find her then I bleeding well will!’

Tasha’s sharpness was understandable, and Donovan was not going to dissuade her. ‘Keep your mobile switched on and come straight to the station when you get here.’ The last thing he needed was Tasha charging off on her own.

As their call came to an end, his earlier calm was replaced with simmering fury. He’s moving them on in the morning, Donovan thought. Whoever has April must have beaten her up. Had George Shaw’s death sparked a recrimination? What excuse for a human being would break a young girl’s nose? April was barely five feet tall, no more than seven stone. Donovan’s features tightened as he pulled his security tag from his pocket. A predator who hides behind children, that’s who.

‘I’m coming for you, you sick bastard,’ Donovan muttered beneath his breath. He would put a rocket under their search team. Search every derelict building they could find. He’d kick down the doors himself if he had to. As for Molly . . . he knew she’d struck up a friendship with one of the teenagers they were interested in. It was time to give her a little free rein.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Molly