Bad Sister

by Sam Carrington

‘Yeah, some weirdo. Black hoody?’ Steph bounced against the back of her chair.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Weird how?’

  ‘I think he was a druggy. Either that or an alky. Wanted a handout, that’s all.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’ Connie wasn’t convinced. But if Steph had been concerned it was Brett, she would’ve said, wouldn’t she? Now, thinking about it, it was more likely that the bloke was who she got her weed from and perhaps he was touting for more business.

  ‘I didn’t want to hang around to find out, so I took Dylan and left.’

  ‘And no other weirdos have approached you?’

  ‘Nah. Just that one time. I’m still feeling like someone is watching, though. Get that creepy feeling where the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I’m always looking over my shoulder, expecting Brett to be there.’

  ‘Is it only Brett you’re worried about?’

  ‘I think the others from the gang might want to get hold of me. The ones who didn’t get sent down. There were two who got off. But they didn’t have a lot going for ’em; one wash short of a load, both of ’em. So I’m not sure they’d be able to find me. Can’t rule it out, mind. Vince’s lot would string me up if I was in Manchester, I know it. But it’s Brett. He’s the one wi’ the biggest grudge. And he’s the one who threatened me.’

  ‘But why do you think he holds such a big grudge?’

  Steph paused for a long time, fiddling with a ring on her finger. Connie wondered if she was even going to answer. Finally, she sighed, and looked Connie straight in the eye.

  ‘’Cos he expected me to keep shtum about it. Stick up for him, I s’pose. Kept saying I was his big sis, I should protect him. And I didn’t. First thing I said that night was, “It was him, he did it, he killed him”. I remember it so clearly. His face, in the back of the cop car – the way his eyes looked through me; right inside to my core. He hated me in that moment.’

  Connie placed a hand over Steph’s. Such an awful experience, no wonder she was afraid now Brett was released. ‘I’ve got Miles looking into it. He’s going to check where Brett is.’

  ‘You mean he actually took me seriously, that Brett is a threat?’

  ‘Yes, he took it very seriously, Steph.’ She didn’t add that he’d said she didn’t even have a brother, or that Steph was making a whole load of this stuff up.

  ‘Surprises me. He wasn’t interested when I told him before.’

  ‘What, about your fear of Brett having found where you were?’

  ‘Yeah. Flapped his hand, said not to worry, no one but the team knew my location.’

  ‘And it was specifically Brett that you told him about. Your brother?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  ‘Just checking.’ Connie took a while to recover. Why had Miles acted as though Brett was new information? She made a mental note to challenge him about it. ‘Right, well, with Miles on the case and you being vigilant and reporting any incidents out of the ordinary, like anyone approaching you, for whatever reason – even if it’s just to ask directions – I think we can keep you safe here. Don’t you?’

  ‘I guess.’ She turned to look at Dylan. ‘It’s really hard to put mine and Dylan’s lives into other people’s hands. I thought I might get some control over what happens to me once I settled here. Stupid, aren’t I?’

  ‘Not at all. Of course you want to gain control, that’s what these sessions are for, to give you the tools in order to achieve that. We’ll get there, Steph.’

  Steph smiled. ‘I hope so, Connie. I really hope you’re right this time.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Connie

  The lilac air freshener mixed with the scent of the fresh-cut grass diffuser as Connie sprayed it all around the room. Now it smelled of public toilets. Oh, God. Stepping over Dylan’s pictures, she reached the window latch and threw the window open as wide as it would go. She sucked in the fresh air, then bent to pick up the paper and pens, shoving them all in her desk drawer before retreating from the room. She’d have a coffee and sit in the reception room, give it a bit of time to clear. Hopefully, by the time her next client arrived in about ten minutes, it would smell fine.

  Poor Steph. For her to be using cannabis again meant she’d taken a big backwards step. Connie placed a cup under the coffee maker, the bubbling liquid replacing the smell of air freshener. Why did she have the sinking feeling that her sessions with Steph were only scratching the surface and what she really needed was more intense therapy? Certainly more than what Connie was currently offering. Perhaps she could take Steph on as a private client after the agreed sessions that the protected persons scheme had paid for concluded. Connie was engaged in Steph’s life now, felt committed to helping her and ensuring her safety. She’d happily do them for a reduced rate – free even, seeing as Steph was surviving on state benefits.

  For the time being she would have to carry on as planned. She hoped Miles would come back to her soon and she’d be able to confidently reassure Steph that Brett was not a threat. That he was still in custody, or at the very least under strict probation terms so that it was impossible for him to be here, in Totnes. One issue would be resolved, then Connie could concentrate on the next. Like the fact she’d now have to tell Miles about the man she’d seen watching Steph. If it was someone selling her drugs, then Miles should know about it – the last thing Steph needed was to get in with another set of drug users, or worse, dealers. One by one, though, Connie felt sure they could overcome, or manage, each of Steph’s anxieties. For Dylan’s sake, as well as her own, Steph needed to move forwards now and put her traumatic past behind her.

  Connie gave a snort. Putting the past behind you. Like she had done? And what good had that done her? Now that very past was fighting its way back into her consciousness; her present. And not by her own doing. She’d never forgotten Luke, though. She’d chosen her profession because of what had happened to him. If she could do something to help others avoid going through the loss of their child, sibling, or friend, then something good would’ve come from his death. That’s what she’d convinced herself.

  Did she really believe that?

  The phone rang in her office. She ran up the stairs, but it’d gone to answerphone before she reached it. She waited for the message.

  ‘Hello, love. It’s your mum.’ Why did she always say that? Connie would obviously know who it was. The moment stretched; her mum silent. Connie shook her head, smiled. She knew her mum was waiting for an answer; she really didn’t seem to get the whole answer machine thing. After every sentence, she paused, waiting for Connie to speak, even though she knew she wasn’t actually speaking with her daughter.

  ‘Just been speaking with your dad, he was down this way, did you know?’ The pause was so great this time that Connie thought she must’ve put the phone down. She tutted, and picked up the receiver.

  ‘Oh, you’re there, dear.’

  ‘Yes, sorry about that, Mum, the machine kicked in before I could reach the phone. You were saying, Dad is here?’

  ‘Well, he was here. I thought he might’ve been in contact with you.’

  ‘Nope. Heard nothing from him.’ She yanked her hand through her hair, angrily. Typical. Her dad had been in Devon and couldn’t be bothered to call her; pay her even a fleeting visit? ‘But you said you’d just been speaking to him, and did I know! You clearly knew he hadn’t been in contact if you’d been talking to him.’ She regretted her harsh tone the second she spoke, but, really, why was she telling her this now?

  ‘Um, well … I didn’t really ask him. He was telling me all about his new project – he’s going to diversify apparently – he seemed so excited, had to rush back to Manchester.’

  ‘Right, fine.’ Connie wasn’t the slightest bit interested in what that meant, exactly. ‘No time for his family, then.’ Her mum had caught her in just the right mood. She was up for questioning her. ‘Anyway, why did Dad run back to Manchester in the first place all those years ago, I thought he was meant to be retirin
g?’

  ‘Ah. Well, you know your dad. Always wanting to be in the thick of things, this quiet life wasn’t for him.’

  ‘He’s still working all the hours, then?’ Connie’s bitterness at her dad for spending more time building his antiques import and export business than sharing time with them wasn’t ever far from the surface.

  ‘He’s got some new bloke, made him a partner – the idea being he’d take a back seat more, particularly with the foreign deals. He can’t let go, though, Connie. Can’t bear to hand over full responsibility to anyone else. Would’ve been different if he’d been able to pass the business over to Luke …’ Connie noted how her mother’s voice became hushed when she spoke his name. After a small pause, she continued, ‘He said he needs to keep a close eye on things, make sure there are no mistakes. He was always the one to be in control. Certainly won’t let go of the reins easily.’

  ‘No,’ Connie scoffed, ‘they’ll have to prise them out of his hands from his grave.’

  ‘Connie!’ Her mum’s shock travelled through the wire. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say.’

  ‘Sorry. Was only meaning it would take rather a lot for that. After all, if he couldn’t let go for his family …’ She let the rest of her comment slide. She’d got her point across. It wasn’t her mum’s fault; she shouldn’t be taking it out on her. ‘I need to speak to him, actually. What time did he leave?’

  ‘Must have been around ten this morning.’

  It would take him about five hours to drive back, give or take. By the time she’d finished for the day he should be back in Manchester, she’d call him.

  It was time to confront the past.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  DI Wade

  ‘You okay?’ Mack kept his eyes on the road as he drove towards the area they were informed the incident had taken place. Numerous 999 calls had been logged from tourists and walkers. This had the makings of a bad day.

  Lindsay stared out of the passenger window. The bushes whooshed past a little too quickly, her stomach squirming in response. Together with the heat, the twistiness of the narrow roads and the apprehension of what was to come, she thought she might vomit.

  ‘You’re speeding a bit … making me feel sick. I should’ve driven.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  She took a deep breath in through her nose. ‘I know.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. Lindsay cricked her neck, left then right, and repositioned herself to look forward. She had to get it together before they reached the scene. ‘I used to love coming to the moors. A shame that doesn’t work any more. Me and Dartmoor are no longer good bedfellows.’ Her attempt at humour, a defence mechanism at times like these.

  ‘Not all memories are bad ones, though, eh?’ Mack gave her one of his reassuring grins. ‘Try and remember the good times you had here, not those to do with work.’

  ‘Tell me that again when we’re driving away.’

  Their car began a sharp incline. At the top of this hill and round one more bend, the granite rocks of Haytor would come into sight.

  A shiver jerked her body. Would she be able to handle this?

  Mack looked at her again, his focus removed from ahead.

  ‘Can you watch the road, please?’

  ‘I know it’s not much comfort, but at least this is a suicide, not a murder we’re going to. This person had a choice.’

  ‘Some would argue that Karen Finch had a choice too, she chose to stab herself moments before her husband killed their daughter’s abductor.’ The memory of that evening’s events was as clear in Lindsay’s head now as the day it occurred. Some cases never left you. What a mess that scene on the moors had been. What mess were they about to encounter now? A leap from the highest point of Haytor, crashing into rocks as they fell, would not be a pretty sight.

  ‘There’s media everywhere.’ Mack’s voice low, as Haytor loomed in front of them. There was a helicopter circling, camera crews in the lower car park, police vehicles scattered along the road leading to the tor. Lindsay’s eyes flitted from the grey of the tor to the greens and browns of the rolling moorland, trying to take in the whole area of what appeared to be chaos. It wouldn’t be, though. Each person there had a role to play; a job to do. Their car was ushered into a space at the bottom of the tor.

  ‘Everyone loves a good suicide.’ Lindsay shook her head, questioning the need for so much media interest. It was like a pack of animals skirting around their prey, waiting to pounce and rip it to shreds. She tutted. ‘So sad. Bet they didn’t envisage their death being such big news.’

  Lindsay and Mack approached the police officer at the perimeter of the crime scene tape, gave their names so he could write them on his clipboard. Another uniformed officer called to them.

  ‘Not a nice one, this,’ he said.

  ‘Are there ever nice suicides?’ Lindsay frowned.

  ‘Brace yourself for this, though, Detective Inspector Wade. It’s not exactly your standard suicide.’

  Those words hit her in the gut. Hard. She took a deep breath and headed for the white tent.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Connie

  After a quick hello cuddle with Amber, Connie headed for the fridge and the cold lager she knew was waiting there. Her skin was clammy after the train journey and then the walk from the station. Or that’s what she told herself. Not from the thought of calling her dad. She swigged straight from the bottle, the refreshing liquid hitting just the right spot, then went into the lounge. She stared at the phone for a long while, as though it were a deadly spider she didn’t want to take her eyes off in case it moved. Then she picked it up and dialled.

  His voice, assured and confident, bellowed in her ear. ‘Darling, this is a surprise. How are you?’

  ‘Me calling you is a surprise? Wouldn’t you class the bigger surprise as you being in Devon but failing to come and see me, Dad?’

  ‘I know how busy you’ve been, setting up your practice and working long hours.’ His reply was quick. Practised? ‘Chip off the old block and all that.’

  Connie recoiled from the phone. Did he just compare her to him?

  ‘Even so, I thought you’d make some time to squeeze in a visit with your only child.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love.’ His tone was lowered. Her comment had caught him. ‘Maybe next month, I should be down again then. Couldn’t leave Max in charge for too long, so much going on at the moment. Big deals on the horizon.’ His deep, strong voice was back. Talking about his precious antiques business did that. Not like talking about his family.

  ‘Anyway, Dad, I need to speak to you.’ She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. Straight to the point? Or subtly?

  ‘Sounds important. Do you need some business advice?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that. It’s about Luke.’

  She heard a sharp intake of breath. Then nothing.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Look, darling. I don’t really have time to reminisce, although I’d love to …’

  ‘Not exactly reminiscing, more a case of you telling me what, exactly, went down that day. And why. I don’t think you’ve been honest with me about it.’ Once the words had left her mouth, the rest flowed. Years’ worth of words that’d been unspoken, left strangled in her throat, unable to form. She glanced at the clock on the lounge wall. She’d been speaking, without stopping for a response, for several minutes. The release was immense, she felt lighter, almost woozy from the outpouring. The heavy silence at the other end signalled to Connie that the weight that she’d lost had just piled on to her dad. Had she even asked a question in all of that?

  ‘Are you still there, Dad?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m here.’ His voice was weak. Even though she’d been doing the talking, she’d drained him. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea, doing this over the phone. She needed to see him, his reactions, to fully assess the situation. Maybe this was too much for him all in one go. A release for her, but clearly not for him. She didn’t want
to give the old bugger a heart attack.

  ‘Sorry. I realise this might feel as though it’s all a bit sudden. And I guess it is. Things that have been happening here have brought it all to the forefront. And I realise how much I don’t know. About Luke. And about you, Dad.’

  ‘We need to get together, Connie, love. Have a good chat about it.’

  ‘But I need answers now. Things are happening and I need you to help me.’

  ‘What things? What’s happening to you?’ His words were laced with concern, as though for the first time during the conversation he realised it wasn’t merely Connie being dramatic, or acting up. That there was a reason for her sudden outburst.

  She paced up and down, the receiver firm to her ear, wondering how much to reveal. With an ongoing police investigation, which she was involved in both personally and professionally, she didn’t want to give details that could get her in trouble. Because her dad would kick up a fuss and get involved himself, she was certain of that. And how would that affect her mum?

  She took a deep breath. ‘Things have been shown to me, articles that were written when Luke was killed. But there were also, well, accusations, I suppose, that it wasn’t an accident. That Luke was a target.’

  ‘That’s nonsense, Connie. Whoever is telling you this?’

  ‘That’s just it. I don’t know. It’s anonymous.’

  ‘Well, there you go, then. If they can’t even be open about who they are then they clearly have nothing real to say. It’ll be some random idiot who wants to dig up the past.’

  ‘But what for? Why would they want to, and why now?’

  ‘Who knows, darling. I wouldn’t worry. There’s been nothing more?’

  ‘Well, actually, there was another message left on my counselling page on the internet. It came across as threatening.’

  ‘What! What did it say?’ Connie imagined her father getting hot and bothered, loosening his tie, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.