Closure. How many times had Amy heard that word in her career? The door to her past would never fully close, but she had made peace with it. She was here to keep her sister and boyfriend happy. She never should have come.
‘Finding out about Lillian . . .’ Amy exhaled a long breath. ‘It hit me hard. But I’m OK, now. I sorted it.’ Amy clearly remembered their last confrontation and the sense of satisfaction she had felt. Lillian’s grim expression when Amy informed her she would be watching her every move. Amy had kept her word. Oh, the irony, she thought. Darren had been hired to protect those around her, and he had probably saved the woman’s life. That’s if she survived this . . .
Her thoughts evaporated as she watched Lillian’s eyelids twitch. A part of Amy didn’t want to see life there. But Lillian would fight a visit from death, despite bringing it to so many prematurely. Her eyelids stilled, and Amy stiffened as Lillian took a sudden, shuddering breath. Springing from her chair, Sally-Ann spoke in soothing tones as she slipped into nurse mode. ‘You’re in the hospital,’ she said, with warmth Lillian did not deserve. ‘It’s OK. You’ve had an operation. Don’t try to talk.’
Lillian’s eyes roamed around the room until they landed on Amy. ‘Drink,’ she signalled to Sally-Ann. But as Sally-Ann lifted the jug to tip it into a tumbler, Lillian croaked, ‘Not that muck . . . fresh water.’
Amy’s eyebrow rose a notch. Given she’d spent the best part of her life in prison, she must be used to taking what she got. But as always, Sally-Ann did as her mother instructed, giving Amy an apologetic gaze before she left. Amy’s spirits fell. Lillian would recover, more was the pity. She sat in silence, hoping her sister would not take long.
‘Later.’ Lillian spoke in response to a question nobody had asked.
Amy stared at the floor, feeling the heat of her mother’s gaze. ‘What’s later?’ she said, her curiosity getting the better of her. She may hate her biological mother, but Lillian had provided valuable snippets of information in the past.
‘I wasn’t born evil.’ Lillian paused to clear her throat. ‘It came later . . . and I tested the church. I didn’t combust.’
So, she had been listening. Amy cursed the plume of guilt that arose.
Lillian raised a pointed finger, emitting a dark chuckle. ‘You can’t kill a bad thing.’
Pushing back her chair, Amy had heard enough. She wasn’t here for Lillian’s amusement. She had nothing to say to this woman. She cursed her weakness in allowing Donovan and Sally-Ann to persuade her to come. What was keeping her sister? She stepped towards the door. Through the glass, she saw her speaking to a doctor in the hall. Amy pressed her hand against the door.
‘You never found out what happened to the baby, did you?’
Amy closed the door before turning to face her biological mother once more. Colour was returning to Lillian’s cheeks.
‘Sally-Ann’s kid.’ Lillian spoke with slow, measured breaths. ‘You haven’t found it yet.’
‘No,’ Amy said, surprised it was on her mind. It was unlike Lillian to think of anyone but herself.
‘And you won’t. There’s something I didn’t tell you.’
Was it the drugs? Amy wondered. Or was Lillian messing with her head? Nevertheless, if she offered information, then Amy would take it because according to Darren, leads were thin on the ground. She stepped closer to the bed.
‘If I’m going to die . . .’
‘You’re not going to die,’ Amy snapped, the words coming before she had time to think them through.
‘I will . . . someday. And I won’t leave this world owing my family a debt.’
Amy snorted. Her hypocrisy was sickening. ‘And this debt is?’
‘The kid. There’s something you don’t know.’
‘All right then,’ Amy said. ‘Tell me where he is.’
‘It’s not he. I never said she had a son; she presumed.’
Jesus, Amy thought. Even from her hospital bed, Lillian could shock her. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘She saw the cord between his legs. Thought it was a boy. I never set her straight. Figured the kid was better off without her. But it’s time . . . time to lay one last ghost to rest.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Molly gazed at her iPhone screen, reading another of Matty’s texts. A small part of her wanted to keep them to herself. Matty was an outcast, and she had warmed to him. Slowly, she was gaining his trust. Today he’d texted to say he had just got up. She knew that getting up at lunchtime meant he had been awake most of the night. Did those kids roam the streets, or was it far worse than that? Judging by their pallor, they saw little of the sun. Since spending time in Clacton, Molly’s freckles were in full bloom. What sort of a start did Matty have in life? She had tried to conjure a mental picture of his face, hoping she could catch his image in a sketch. It would give her a starting point as she trawled through hundreds of photos of missing kids. Unlike some of the kids reported, Matty was not missed by a set of loving parents. None of his gang were. Her shoulders slouched as she stared at his text, wondering how to respond. U there? he’d said.
I’m on a curfew, Molly replied. My dad caught me nicking money from his wallet. He’s a pain in the arse when he’s sober. Watches every little thing. She needed Matty to trust her. She might be wasting precious time, but Amy Winter had always spoken about the power of intuition, and she had a hunch that could not be ignored. Right now, there were a million small taskings on the system, left by DCI Winter before she went to London to tie up a ‘few loose ends’. Donovan was in a meeting, and a scowl graced Paddy’s face as he typed with two fingers, inputting a report.
I didn’t know my dad,
