Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) Caroline Mitchell (free ebooks romance novels txt) 📖

‘I don’t have any official documents. The couple Mum sold him to passed him off as their own.’

‘Sold?’ Amy sighed. ‘I think you need to start from the beginning.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

As he walked down the station corridor, Donovan contemplated the investigation to date. He was winning his old team around. Since hearing Carla’s voicemail, officers were left with little doubt that events had been orchestrated on the night of her death. Had the scene been preserved, evidence might have been retrieved. But now, fingerprints and DNA would be impossible to validate, given the number of visitors to the pier since. Whoever had vandalised the CCTV must have lured Carla to her death, then sent the goodbye text. He imagined the satisfying sound of metal against skin as he slapped his set of handcuffs on their suspect’s wrists. And they would be arrested. He would make sure of that.

Some of the world’s most notorious serial killers were caught thanks to minor violations. A parking ticket had helped bring the ‘Son of Sam’ serial killer to justice, while Ted Bundy was stopped twice for traffic offences. In April 1980, killer Peter Sutcliffe was arrested for drunk driving before being found responsible for a string of murders. But were they investigating a serial killer this time around?

The thought lingered as he approached the side room for his evening appointment. Another family member was waiting to be seen. Sharon Collier was the wife of Chesney Collier, suicide victim number one. She had asked to see Amy, but Donovan had decided to take her place. Amy couldn’t be everywhere at once, no matter how much she tried. Their brief tryst in the toilets had been risky, but worth every second. Up until now, he hadn’t been sure how Amy felt about him. But today he sensed the strength of her emotions in their kiss. Now he was looking forward to their supper date. Bicks may not know about their relationship, but it would be nice to socialise like a real couple.

He wasn’t going anywhere just yet, though. The press had reported their team’s presence, and the fact that they were looking into the suicides that had taken place. Several family members were travelling to Clacton to speak to Amy, who was at the forefront of the case. Given that Sharon Collier would not wait until tomorrow, Donovan wondered if she had some new information to pass on.

After a quick word with Elaine in reception, Donovan was directed to the witness interview room. Sharon was already seated, and he briefly introduced himself. The space was similar to their own interview rooms in Notting Hill police station, sparsely furnished but fit for purpose. Donovan caught a flicker of interest in Sharon’s eyes. Perhaps she had watched him on TV. Having made the journey to Clacton, she wore the tired expression of many busy mums balancing work with childcare. A plus-sized woman, her clothes were clean but wrinkled, her brunette hair skimming her shoulders. Donovan noted the lack of a wedding ring as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. At least the interview room was quieter here than in Notting Hill, with only the occasional passing footfall of officers from outside the door.

Sharon flushed as Donovan caught her looking him up and down. ‘I was wondering if you had any news,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to tell the kids.’ Her expression was troubled, and he knew this couldn’t have been an easy visit for her to make. Which was worse – knowing your husband was murdered or chose to end his own life? As Donovan glanced at the woman before him, he wondered if she was still in shock.

‘It’s early stages,’ Donovan said, after expressing his sympathies. ‘Officers are busy viewing CCTV to establish if there’s any link between a number of seaside suicides.’

Sharon nodded in understanding. Her darkening expression suggested something weighed heavy on her mind. ‘He didn’t have any mental health issues. He . . . he said he was going for a walk.’

Donovan sat in silence, giving her time to compose her thoughts.

‘There’s something else. I didn’t mention it in my statement . . .’ She rubbed the deepening wrinkles in her forehead. Had she been storing this for Amy’s ears alone? Judging by the torment on her face, she had. ‘Our marriage wasn’t as perfect as I made out. We kept it going for the kids’ sake.’ Her fingers found her wedding ring, which was on a chain around her neck. ‘Chesney . . . he was distant. I should have known something was wrong.’

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ Donovan said softly.

Sharon nodded as she cleared her throat. ‘I didn’t drive him to it. He’s the father of my children. I wouldn’t have wished that on him.’

Donovan believed her. There were no life insurance policies in place and no reports of domestic abuse. If Sharon were to kill her husband, it was unlikely she would choose a method such as this. But still, he needed to ask a question. ‘Why are you wearing your wedding ring around your neck?’

‘This is Chesney’s.’ She sniffled. ‘I lost mine down the plughole when I was washing up.’ Sharon rubbed the area on her finger where her ring should have been. ‘I should have got it replaced,’ she mumbled beneath her breath, shifting position in the hard plastic chair. ‘I should have done a lot of things.’

‘The holiday was Chesney’s idea, wasn’t it?’ Donovan had reread her statement before they met. But a write-up in an MG11 statement of a picture-perfect family did not accurately portray Sharon’s life. It seemed that she had been telling them what they expected to hear.

‘He sprang it on me at the last minute.’ Sharon stared vacantly at her hands. ‘Said it would do us good.’

‘Was he ever violent or abusive?’ Donovan was trying to get an accurate picture of events leading up to Chesney’s death. ‘Were you scared of him?’

‘No way.’ Sharon vehemently shook her head.