Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) by Caroline Mitchell (simple ebook reader .TXT) 📕

‘Well, they took advantage of her. They knew when she was out of it, they could do what they liked. It nearly broke me when I found out. She left my house with her whole life ahead of her and came back a shadow of herself. That bastard . . .’ Her jaw set firm. ‘And the worst thing is, she wouldn’t tell me who it was.’ Tasha swiped at the tears tumbling down her face. She was crumbling before him. Donovan wanted to give her hand a squeeze, but Tasha was as vulnerable as her daughter, and contact was inappropriate.

‘I went around to her dad’s.’ Tasha sniffed. ‘Smashed every window of his precious car.’ A sour smile twisted her features. ‘He didn’t call the cops. He didn’t want them to know why.’

‘There’s no record of April having made a complaint of sexual assault,’ Donovan said softly. He had checked their history after their phone call.

‘Because she never made one. I was so ill back then. I tried to persuade her, but she blocked me out. That’s when she ran away. She had a friend. Her name was Tina. That’s all I know.’ Tasha glanced in Donovan’s direction, a sob catching in her throat. ‘She loved the kiddies . . . She babysat most of them around here. She wanted to be an au pair.’ Her chin wobbled as she continued. ‘We had our struggles, but so have most of the single mums on this street. How come my daughter’s the one who disappeared?’

‘Because she was vulnerable,’ Donovan replied truthfully. ‘Predators target kids going through a tough time, especially those who have been abused before. They offer them a safe haven. They pretend to understand. They spend money on them, so they feel indebted, then turn them against their families so they think there’s no way back.’ This was nothing new to Donovan. He’d seen it all before. What would start as them giving a ‘massage to a friend’ would soon end up with full-blown sex. ‘Where do you think April is now?’

‘Every few months she’ll ring me from a payphone. She doesn’t know, but I check the number every time. She’ll say that she’s fine, but I can hear it in her voice – deep down, she wants to come home. But she’s scared to come off the drugs.’

Or maybe she’s scared of who she’s with, Donovan thought. As Tasha continued to blame herself, he could see she was being torn apart. ‘When was the last time you heard from Carla?’

‘About a week before she died. I told her April was back in Clacton, after she rang me to say she was OK.’ Tasha heaved a sigh. ‘It’s always the same. As soon as I ask to see her, she hangs up.’

Or someone hangs up for her, Donovan thought. Perhaps the calls to home were carefully orchestrated to keep the police off their backs. A missing child who gave regular updates was less likely to be looked for than one who failed to keep in touch. ‘What makes you think she’s in trouble?’

‘Because she won’t tell me where she is.’ Tasha looked at Donovan in earnest. ‘Can you find her? Bring my girl home? She’s young. It’s not too late to turn things around.’

‘I don’t suppose you know what time she called you?’ Donovan said. He purposefully avoided her question. He wouldn’t make promises he could not keep.

‘Carla asked me that too. She wanted to see if she could catch it on CCTV. But I’ve been so wrapped up in my treatment, I didn’t think to write it down.’ She stared at Donovan glumly. ‘All this . . . it’s for nothing if I can’t bring her home. I may as well be dead.’

‘There’s always hope,’ Donovan said. ‘Don’t give up on your daughter yet.’

As Donovan said his goodbyes, he felt weighted by the truth. Carla had died trying to save April. Tasha was barely living, despite her remission. April needed to come home. He could not let them down.

The vibration of his mobile phone brought his thoughts to heel. It was Amy, and he strained to hear her as wind ruffled the phone line. ‘Sorry, boss, to interrupt you,’ she said, barely giving him time to speak. ‘But how quickly can you get back here?’

‘About three hours, providing we’re not stuck in traffic.’ Donovan’s pace quickened. He checked his watch. Time was running away with him. He would ring Steve in the pub and pick him up from the side of the road. He plucked his car keys from his pocket. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘Another body has turned up – here in Clacton.’ Amy’s voice rose against the breeze. ‘I’m at the scene now.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MO

The resurrection of Mo’s memory brought forth many nightmares, but there were still a few gaps that needed to be filled. Ms Harkness had gone to great pains to tell her that while it was therapeutic to release repressed memories, they should also be taken with a pinch of salt. ‘Use hypnosis as a tool, a way of gaining closure, rather than a true narrative of your past life.’

Mo rolled her eyes as she looked away. True narrative indeed. What the bleeding hell was she on about? She took a seat in silence, but her therapist seemed determined to drive the subject home.

‘It’s not uncommon for victims of childhood abuse to dissociate themselves from the experience. Sometimes they remember spontaneously and other times with intervention. In many cases, this can bring relief to the client and help them to move on.’ She looked at Mo from over her glasses. ‘However’ – she raised a finger – ‘and this bit is important . . . hypnosis is an altered state of consciousness. While it’s easier to access memories this way, it’s not always reliable. When hypnotised, the mind is highly suggestible, which is why I have to be careful when I ask questions about what you’re experiencing.’ Another flick of her eyes over her glasses as she checked for understanding. ‘Hypnotherapy has helped many