Child's Play: Amber Fearns London Thriller, #3

By Denise Yoko Berndt

Betrayal. Hate. Revenge.

 

TV starlet Lavinia Johnstone has 9,000 followers on Instagram. One of them hates her. And that person now has her daughter.

 

When ex-DCI Amber Fearns hears about the kidnapping of little Nica, she offers her services as an external consultant to London's Metropolitan Police. 
Both Amber and her colleagues know only too well that in child abductions the first 24 hours are crucial. A desperate race against the clock begins.
Time ticks by and there is no trace of Nica. Until a dubious ransom note turns up.

 

Join Amber Fearns on her most difficult case to date. 

 

Child's Play is the third book in the Amber Fearns London thriller series by Denise Yoko Berndt, combining psychological suspense with police procedural. All novels in this series can be read as a standalone.

 

If you like Lynda La Plante, Robert Bryndza, Mark Billingham, Sharon Bolton, Biba Pearce, and Patricia Gibney, you will be gripped by Child's Play.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denise Yoko Berndt
• Release date: Jun 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201302924

Denise Yoko Berndt

Mit zwei der erste Büchereiausweis, mit sieben die erste Kurzgeschichte, das konnte ja nur böse enden. Erst Songtexte für verschiedene Künstler, dann mehrere Drehbücher und 2006 der erste Roman: The Poriomaniacs – Dead in Dornbirn. Nach insgesamt vier Krimis um die Girl-Rockband The Poriomaniacs erschienen bislang drei Tübingen-Thriller, zwei Thriller mit Schauplatz München und seit April 2020 die London-Thriller-Reihe um die Ermittlerin Amber Fearns. Wenn sie nicht gerade irgendwo auf dieser Welt für das nächste Buch recherchiert, hält die Autorin sich am liebsten in London auf.

Book preview

1

The garden of the Horniman Museum was bustling. Families with children, couples, tourists. Some had brought picnics and settled on the lawn. Others were admiring the view. On such a clear day, you could see all the way from Forest Hill to North London. Even the arch of Wembley Stadium was visible in the distance.

But all this was of no interest to Mia.

The weather, the view, the people.

She only had eyes for the black-haired woman with the pushchair. At the moment, the woman was posing next to a small white pavilion, pouting at the camera of her smartphone. Tilting her head to the right then to the left. She put on a broad smile that showed perfectly bleached teeth. Put a finger to her lips.

Guess that's supposed to look cute.

The little girl in the pushchair kicked her legs. Her lips were moving. It looked like she was happily chattering away to herself. The woman paid no attention to the child. She was too busy swiping around on the display of her mobile phone.

She's probably picking out a photo to upload to Instagram.

The little girl pulled one of the bright-red bows holding her pigtails out of her hair, looked at it briefly, threw it away. Laughed.

Her mother didn't notice any of this.

Let's see if I'm right.

Averting her eyes from the black-haired woman, Mia pulled out her own smartphone. Unlocked the screen and called up Instagram. Navigated to the profile of Lavinia Johnstone.

The profile had almost nine thousand five hundred subscribers. And they'd just been presented with a new photo. Lavinia with pursed lips, in the background the bright-blue sky and part of the white wooden pavilion.

Mia grimaced when she saw that the first followers had already reacted to this photo. She quickly pocketed the phone and turned her attention back to reality.

Lavinia knelt in front of the pushchair and tied the bow back into her daughter's hair.

I know exactly what is coming next.

Lavinia ran her hands through her daughter's hair. The little girl laughed with her mouth open. Lavinia pressed her face next to her daughter's then raised her right arm and brought the smartphone into position. She joked around with her daughter for a few minutes in the direction of the mobile phone camera then stood up again. She gave her undivided attention to her smartphone, not even noticing that the little girl had put her head back and was looking up at her.

You don't deserve her love. You don't deserve love at all.

Mia knew full well that it was only a matter of minutes before a photo would pop up on Lavinia's Instagram profile, showing her with her little daughter, Nica. Dozens of enthusiastic comments would roll in, calling Nica adorable, sweet, and cute and Lavinia a wonderful mother.

If only they knew. If they could see the reality. Someone like Lavinia shouldn't be allowed to have a child at all.

Mia turned and walked toward the exit.

She'd seen enough for that day.

2

Amber bent over and put the flowers down. She'd taken them out of the cellophane wrapper, which she crumpled in her free hand and slipped into her jacket pocket. Silently, she paused for a few minutes, letting her gaze glide over the gravestone. She knew every word, every number, every single letter. She could have traced the inscription from memory—she had spent so much time in this cemetery.

I miss you so much.

She reached out a hand and gently stroked the headstone, which still looked new. Smooth, cool marble under her fingertips. Despite the warm May sun, she shivered a little.

Then she told him about her plans in a low voice. Told him about her wishes for the future and what she'd already done to make them come true.

The new flat was a lucky find. I realise that every day anew. I finally feel comfortable again in my own four walls now that there are no longer memories lurking in every nook and cranny. Everything is new and fresh, which is good for me.

She paused, letting her gaze wander over the cemetery. She saw only a few visitors. Most people had probably been here first thing in the morning so that they could devote the rest of the day to other things.

Amber swallowed, looking again at the marble tombstone. I just wanted to tell you that. That I'm getting a little better every day. But I will always miss you.

After one last long look at the engraved name, she turned to leave. There was something she wanted to do that day.

Two things, actually.

3

Amber typed in the access code and pulled open the metal door. After selling her house, she'd stored some things that didn't fit in the new two-bedroom flat at EZ Storage. The small storage room held a dozen guitar cases, instruments that had belonged to her late husband, Sean. In addition, there were some crates and boxes with his hard drives, memorabilia, and odds and ends. Amber knelt on the floor in front of the guitars lined up neatly side by side.

An acoustic guitar, not an electric one.

The four cases that contained acoustic guitars were on the far right.

The pretty blue one with the black inlay—I'm sure he'll like it.

The second case she opened contained the instrument she was looking for. Carefully, she lifted it out and laid it across the other cases to open the accessory compartment. Inside were a rolled-up guitar strap, some picks, and a packet of strings.

Satisfied, she flipped the compartment closed and put the guitar back in the case. She snapped the locks shut and left EZ Storage.

In the car park, she stowed the instrument in the boot of her car then entered an address into her satnav.

I hope there won't be too much traffic. I don't feel like driving around London for hours.

She started the engine, switched on some music, and turned up the volume. Richie Kotzen's latest album would keep her entertained during the drive.

As soon as she threaded her way into the traffic on Finchley Road, she sang along at the top of her voice.

Warrior, one of her favourite tracks.

Today is a good day, despite the visit to the cemetery.

4

Are you really sure I can have it?

Amber smiled and nodded. She liked the enthusiasm in Danny's light-brown eyes. Yes. I want it to be used and not just sit around in storage. And with you, it's in good hands.

I'll try my best, Danny said, sitting on the couch with Sean's blue Gibson acoustic guitar on his knees. He strummed a chord and screwed up his face.

It needs tuning, of course, Amber said. Hasn't been used in a long time.

I haven't played in ages. I probably need to take lessons. Danny laughed and put the guitar back in the case.

Amber took a sip of her coffee. But you have time now.

Danny's laugh turned into a wide grin. No, I don't. I didn't want to tell you the good news over the phone. I go back to work tomorrow.

What, already? I thought early June.

That was the plan, but I've made such good progress. Danny reached for his coffee cup and sipped.

I hope you're on desk duty, Amber said, raising an eyebrow.

Danny lifted two fingers of his right hand as if to swear. I promise. I really don't need another forced break with rehab and psychological care. Once was enough.

A shiver ran down Amber's spine as she thought back to the mission during which Danny had been seriously injured. She, too, had gone through several sessions with a therapist to deal with the experience. Unlike Danny, however, she'd arranged her therapy privately and paid for it out of her own pocket. In Danny's case, of course, the Metropolitan Police had paid for everything.

So, how are you doing work wise? he asked.

Amber shrugged. I've been so busy the last few months with moving and getting the place set up and getting used to the new neighbourhood. I haven't thought about a new job yet. She sighed. But you're right—it's about time.

Danny was giving her a furtive look.

What? she asked.

Any chance you'll come back to us?

Amber laughed. You know very well I don't want to work at the Met anymore.

You say that all the time, but you said yes both times Chris asked you to help. Danny spread his hands and gave Amber one of his incomparable puppy-eyed looks. I'm not saying you should come back permanently, just every once in a while as an external consultant. Wouldn't that be something?

You just want to share a desk with me again because you know there will always be ginger nuts in the top drawer.

Danny grinned. That too.

Amber leaned back and looked around. She was sitting on Danny's L-shaped couch, which took up most of his living room. A flat-screen TV hung above the fireplace, and a small dining table with two chairs stood at the far end of the room. Other than that, the room only had space for a bookshelf.

I like your place, she said.

Are you changing the topic? But thank you. I like it very much too.

Doesn't it bother you that there's no tube here and you always have to take the overground? To me, that was quite important—that I live near a tube station, I mean.

Danny rolled his eyes. You really are changing the topic. He stood and picked up the guitar case. No, I like to travel by overground. Less than twenty minutes to Canada Water and then on to the Jubilee line. He left the living room. Amber heard a door open and close, then Danny reappeared in the doorway. You want another coffee?

She grinned at him. Are you trying to get rid of me?

He grinned back. Not at all. If you want to stay longer, I'll even throw a frozen pizza in the oven.

5

Danny stroked the polished wood of the guitar. After Amber had left, he'd taken the instrument back out of the case. Now he sat on the bedroom floor and plucked the strings.

I need to get a tuner. I'll see if I can find one online later.

He tried a few chords he could remember. Everything sounded ghastly.

It's probably not even because it's out of tune but because I'm just no good.

Nevertheless, he continued to strum away. Although he was a big music fan, he'd never really made an effort to learn an instrument. As a teenager, like so many young people, he'd gone through a phase of wanting to become a musician. He'd taken some guitar lessons and practised for hours but hadn't even got as far as joining a school band.

I just don't have much talent. But with a little practice, I could play some easy songs.

He leaned the guitar against the wall and admired it. He liked the dark-blue colour. He decided not to put the guitar back in its case but to leave it out.

It will be the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning.

He smiled and went back to the living room, where he booted up his laptop.

As long as there isn't a stressful case where I have to work overtime, I can practise a little every night.

On Friday, he'd spoken on the phone with Detective Chief Inspector Christopher Walmsley, his direct superior, who'd said that at the moment, there was only routine work to be done. That was just what Danny needed after a five-month break.

I need to take it slow at first. I really wouldn't mind a few weeks of quiet desk work. The main thing is that I can work again at all.

The website of a large music shop appeared on the screen. Danny clicked through to the subpage with guitar accessories. While he looked at tuners, his mind wandered back to last December.

He'd been seriously injured during a covert operation. Had there not been an emergency doctor on standby in the immediate vicinity, and had he not been taken to hospital so quickly, he probably would not have survived his injury.

Following the emergency surgery, Danny had to stay in hospital for a few days, after which lengthy rehabilitation had been required. In addition, he'd had therapy sessions to process the traumatic experience.

I really didn't need the therapy. I'd much rather have started work again sooner.

Danny sighed. Of course, he hadn't been completely idle in the last weeks and months. He'd read countless books and taken psychology courses online.

But that was all dull compared to real work, and I missed some of my colleagues too.

Apart from Amber, Pola Williams, Sara Marsh, and Rajeev Singh had visited regularly, and all of Danny's team had sent a get-well card, flowers, and a giant balloon with the words Be back on your feet soon. While he was in hospital, Amber had visited every day. She'd sat by his bed and told him all about the final solution of the case and the motives of the perpetrator. And she'd brought him biscuits.

Danny smiled at the thought of the orange rolls of ginger nuts.

These biscuits have become something of a running gag between us.

He caught himself thinking of how Amber would not be there on his first day back.

And not because of the biscuits. She's simply my favourite person to work with. She challenges me, shows me new ways of thinking, and helps me get out of my comfort zone.

As much as he was looking forward to finally being able to work again, the prospect of sitting alone at his desk was not all that enticing.

I'll miss her. And the biscuits too.

6

Mia switched on her tablet, called up Instagram, and entered an email address and a password. The round profile picture in the upper right-hand corner of the screen didn't show her face, of course. It showed a man in sunglasses.

She had no idea who this man was. She'd downloaded some random photo from the internet when she set up this Instagram profile. Steven _Lehman. His short bio didn't give away much. Movie buff, dog lover, Londoner was all it said.

The half dozen photos Steven had posted so far were randomly cobbled together from various social media channels. Two dog photos, two pictures of London art-house cinemas, a movie poster, and a kitschy sunset.

Steven followed a hundred twenty people but had only eighteen followers. Those had probably been attracted by the dog photos.

All this was part of the deception. Steven needed to look at least somewhat real.

The fake Instagram profile had only one purpose: to spy on Lavinia Johnstone.

Mia's heart contracted when she saw that Lavinia's profile picture had a pink frame. The woman had posted new stories.

She took a deep breath before clicking on Lavinia's picture to see what was new.

Gurgling laughter came from the tablet's tiny speaker. Mia quickly lowered the volume without taking her eyes off the screen.

Lavinia's little daughter Nica laughed straight into the camera. Just like earlier in the Horniman Museum garden, she wore her blond hair tied up with red bows.

Nica extended a chubby hand toward the camera. Mummy.

The image changed to a still image of Nica. Adorned with a flashing heart gif and the words Isn't she adorable?

Nausea rose in Mia's throat.

Yes, Nica was adorable. But did the entire world need to see that? Did Lavinia Johnstone seriously think it was right to put her little child on display like that?

You don't deserve such a sweet little daughter.

Mia put the tablet away, reached for her water glass, and took a big sip.

Go to bed. Try to sleep. Stop looking at all these posts. It's useless anyway.

But she couldn't help herself. Instead of turning off the tablet, she clicked the X that took her from Stories back to Steven's main Instagram page. In the search bar at the top centre, she typed Lavinia's name.

Since that afternoon's two posts, Lavinia had uploaded not only the stories but also two videos, one of Nica frolicking on the lawn behind the museum and one that looked like it was filmed off a TV screen.

Mia started the second video. An interview with Lavinia—or more precisely, a short excerpt from an interview. A small local London station had talked to her.

Mia pursed her mouth in contempt. You're not interesting enough for the BBC or ITV, my dear, but you're good enough for the mini channel.

The presenter was styled similarly to Lavinia. Her hair was dyed blond, not jet-black, but like Lavinia, she wore a short skirt, a top with a plunging neckline, and high heels. The presenter wanted to know what Lavinia's plans for the future looked like.

It wasn't so easy now that she was a mother, Lavinia replied. But she was in negotiations.

Mia snorted. Yeah, sure, probably with Hollywood.

At the end of the interview clip, the website URL, where the full video could be viewed, appeared. Mia hesitated. It was late, and she was tired. If I watch it now, I might get so upset that I won't be able to fall asleep.

She logged out of Instagram. But then again… if I don't watch it, I'll probably lie awake for hours, imagining what she might have said.

With a sigh, Mia navigated to the TV station's website. The interview was short, less than eight minutes long. Suitable for the attention span of today's media consumers.

Lavinia has nothing to say anyway.

A few minutes were spent reliving her past glories. The role in the soap seven years ago. Her participation in the reality TV show Shopping Rush. Then the presenter moved on to private questions. The wedding and the birth of her baby daughter.

How old is the little one now? the interviewer asked.

Cut to Lavinia's face in close-up. Her eyes moved to the upper left, and a small wrinkle appeared between her carefully plucked and exaggeratedly traced black eyebrows.

Erm… fif—no, sixteen months. Yeah, Nica is sixteen months now. Lavinia bared her bleached teeth in a smile that couldn't have been more fake.

She doesn't even know how old her child is?

Mia didn't hear the rest of the interview. She had dropped her tablet into her lap and was staring into space.

The bitch first has to calculate in her head how old her own child is? She has a beautiful little daughter, but all she really cares about is her career.

Giving TV interviews, sharing photos and videos that were far too private on social media all day long—those were the only things that interested Lavinia. She didn't give a damn about her family.

I know you. You're all about appearances. The main thing is that Lavinia Johnstone is the centre of attention. Nothing else matters.

Mia closed her eyes, picturing Nica's sweet little face. She heard the girl saying Mummy and laughing.

You don't deserve her.

7

That creature looks like a lion with a crocodile head and a lizard tail. And what's with that hump on its back?

Mia averted her eyes from the Victorian sculpture of a dinosaur that had certainly never existed in this form. She hadn't come here to look at the infamous Crystal Palace Dinosaurs.

She was here because of Lavinia and Nica. They also showed no interest in the primordial lizards. Lavinia was yakking into her mobile phone at a volume loud enough to entertain the entire park, while Nica was dozing in her pushchair.

Lavinia stopped abruptly just before a bend in the footpath that led past one of the dinosaur islands.

Mia turned away and pulled her smartphone out of her pocket, pretending to take pictures of the sculptures as she concentrated fully on what Lavinia was saying. The conversation was about an audition she wanted to do. Whether she was on the phone with an agent or a producer wasn't clear, but in any case, Lavinia considered the person important. At least, Mia assumed that was the case, given how often Lavinia used the endearment darling.

Just don't choke on all your sucking up.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mia saw Lavinia start walking again. At a fork in the road, just before a small bridge, the woman sat down on a park bench under a tall tree, still talking into her mobile phone.

Mia walked behind the tree so that Lavinia wouldn't notice her and stopped on the bridge, looking down at the water. Although she stood several yards away from Lavinia and Nica, she could hear Lavinia's voice loud and clear.

That would be absolutely splendid, really. I'd fully throw myself into it.

That shrill voice sent a shiver down Mia's spine. How could a single person be so loud and vulgar?

How does her husband put up with her? Does he work all day and is never at home, or does she keep her mouth shut when he's around?

And what about the media? Oh, that sounds magical, quite magical, really.

Suddenly, Nica laughed. Dada! she shouted.

Mia risked a glance to the side. An elderly man with a dog was just walking past the park bench. The white West Highland terrier had aroused Nica's enthusiasm.

Da! she called out again, pointing her chubby hand at the Westie.

Lavinia pressed the phone against her chest and put a hand on Nica's shoulder. Nica, not now. Mummy's on the phone. It's important. Then she lifted the phone back to her ear and apologised for the interruption. Oh, you know how it is with little kids. Nothing but stress.

Mia averted her eyes. Blood rushed in her ears.

She can't be serious.

She folded her arms, looking around. Except for the man with the dog, who was already almost out of sight, there was no one around.

It was Monday, early afternoon. The children were still at school, the parents at work. Apart from pensioners and do-nothings like Lavinia, no one had time for a stroll in the park on a Monday afternoon. Besides, the weather had cooled down considerably overnight.

Mia placed both hands on the bridge's wide wooden railing and took a deep breath.

Will there ever be such a good opportunity again?

Darling, I'll see you the day after tomorrow. I can't wait. With a smacking sound that was probably meant to be a kiss over the phone, Lavinia ended her call.

Mia turned her head just a little to look toward the park bench. Nica tugged at her purple dress, whose skirt consisted of several layers of tulle and was studded with glittering stones.

Lavinia leaned toward her daughter. Now, Mummy has time for you again. Now we'll take a few more pictures, okay, honey?

Nica reached out toward her mother's face and laughed her gurgling toddler laugh. Lavinia smoothed Nica's hair then lifted the little girl out of the pushchair.

Mia lowered her head. The dirty green water below her sloshed lazily over the large boulders in the artificial lake. In her peripheral vision, she saw Lavinia with Nica on her hip, holding the little girl with her left hand and snapping photos with her right.

Oh, you are so cute. My little fairy, you are to die for, Lavinia cooed.

Nica shrieked with delight. Lavinia put the girl back into the pushchair. Nica kicked her legs, which Lavinia didn't see because she was typing on her smartphone.

Sure, upload the photo at once. Don't live in the moment, just stay on Instagram.

Lavinia tossed her hair over her shoulder and leaned down to Nica. Now, Mummy's going to take some more pictures by herself. Be a good girl, will you?

Mia raised her head. Lavinia stood with her back to Mia, her head turned to the side so that Mia could see her profile. Lavinia pouted as she posed for the camera. Mia's gaze moved from Lavinia to Nica in the pushchair. She kept her head down and tugged at her hair. Only now did Mia notice that the little girl was wearing some kind of tiara or crown.

As if on autopilot,