Bad Sister

by Sam Carrington

  ‘Calm down, Connie.’ Lindsay stretched a hand across and touched Connie’s. ‘Shall we go and get a coffee?’

  Connie pushed the chair back and stood up in a swift movement. ‘Yes. I need to get out of this room.’

  She was out of the door before Lindsay had responded. She needed breathing space, and some time, before the inevitable questions came about what information the memory stick contained.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Connie

  ‘I was just outside here with Mack,’ Lindsay said, as she passed a white polystyrene cup to Connie.

  ‘Yeah? Talking about me, was he?’ Her patience with Mack was wearing thin. Who was he to judge her?

  Lindsay smiled, a straight-lipped one. ‘He was pretty upset.’

  ‘Because I slept with his son?’ Her tone betrayed her disbelief.

  Lindsay’s eyebrows lifted. ‘So you already knew that Mack was his father? Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘No. I didn’t know. Not until just now. God, what a mess.’ Connie threw her head back, looking skywards.

  ‘Ah. Right. Well, yes – it is pretty messed up. But it was more than that, Connie. Apparently, Gary was pretty cut up about it all.’

  ‘Oh, really! Well, not as cut up as I was. It might’ve only been a one-night stand, but he got away with more than me, didn’t he? He didn’t have to go to the hospital, he didn’t have the repercussions to deal with.’ Connie turned her face away from Lindsay, not wanting her to see the pain that still resided in her.

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? I mean, he didn’t even know about your pregnancy until it was too late for him to have a say?’

  This was unreal. Who did Lindsay think she was, sticking her nose into this? It had nothing to do with her. Her anger flared, but then extinguished, Lindsay’s words suddenly sinking in.

  ‘Have a say? What “say” would he have liked?’

  ‘I guess whether you kept the baby or not?’

  ‘I didn’t get the opportunity to discuss that with him. You do know I lost the baby, don’t you?’

  Lindsay took a step back. ‘Oh. Um … I’m sorry, I – I thought you’d had it terminated.’

  ‘That’s what Mack told you?’ Connie was livid again. ‘No. I didn’t terminate the pregnancy, I had a miscarriage. With the stress of everything going on …’ Tears choked her, a tight band restricted her throat. She couldn’t get any more words out.

  She felt an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Connie. I jumped to conclusions.’

  They were silent for a moment, the two of them semi-huddled in what was almost an embrace. Connie took some deep breaths, composing herself.

  ‘It’s okay. Easy enough to do, given the circumstances.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘You’re doing your job, I know that.’

  ‘Yes. I am. Which means I also need to ask you about the content of the memory stick you were handed.’ Lindsay gave an apologetic smile.

  ‘It really doesn’t have relevance to the case, Lindsay. It’s literally a couple of documents referring to something that happened over twenty years ago. A personal tragedy. Someone clearly wanted to hurt me, bring it all up again.’

  Lindsay nodded. ‘Well, we’ll take a look anyway. Sometimes things don’t always appear linked at first, but later down the line you get a eureka moment. Best to have it anyway. No stone unturned and all that.’

  ‘Fine,’ Connie conceded, not that she had much choice. ‘I’ll bring it in.’

  ‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that.’

  ‘Look, I am aware of how this all looks,’ Connie said, ‘but all I did was write a report, subsequently I was made a scapegoat and left the prison service, then I started my own business. I had absolutely no contact with anyone from the prison service, employees or prisoners. That is, until last week, when I first bumped into Jonesy at Coleton train station. That was the same day you and Mack turned up, and suddenly my name, yet again, became embroiled in a drama. Not long after, I got back into contact with a former colleague, Niall—’

  ‘Was his name on the list?’ Lindsay cut in.

  ‘Yes. But I’d not heard from him in a year prior to him calling.’

  ‘So, he got in contact with you just after Hargreaves’ body was found?’ Lindsay bit the corner of her bottom lip.

  ‘Yes.’ Her previous nagging thought came back to her. She’d considered whether Niall had been the one to give further details to the police about her links to Hargreaves. He hadn’t known that her name was written on his dead hand, as the police kept that undisclosed. Therefore, why had he been so quick to give her name and get her involved in the investigation? A horrible thought occurred to her. Maybe he’d been the one who’d served Hargreaves up on a platter for her.

  The idea was ridiculous. But, watching the look on Lindsay’s face, she realised it wasn’t ridiculous to her.

  It was a plausible possibility.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  DI Wade

  She’d let Connie go home. Mack hadn’t been impressed with that call, but Lindsay wasn’t about to give her reasons in public; she would need to speak with him in private before he left the station. Worried that Connie had been upset and shaky following their discussion, Lindsay asked DC Clarke to drop her back to her house. She’d left without another word. Lindsay berated herself for jumping in feet first. Her gut told her that Connie had nothing to do with Hargreaves’ death, not intentionally anyway. Treating her as a suspect felt wrong. She believed what Connie had told her about the photo of her and Jones. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Sometimes things weren’t as they first appeared. That’s how she thought about this situation: this whole thing might be someone pinning blame on Connie, as she had history. What better person to fit up for wrongdoing? Someone sending incriminating evidence to the police, anonymously, was suspicious in itself. They needed to find the mystery photographer.

  At least they had a potential new lead. Niall Frazer, a former lover of Connie’s and an employee at HMP Baymead. His timing in getting back into contact with her just after the murder certainly fit with one of the theories – that it’d been done as a revenge killing for Connie. As some macabre gift. As for the photos, he might even be behind those – had he been jealous of Connie’s love life? He could’ve been following her, had the opportunity to take the one of Connie and Gary. But why would he have taken revenge for her, then tried to implicate her? That didn’t fit. So the two might not be linked. A different person took the photos. But Niall was a possible culprit for the murder. They should look through his initial statement and interview transcripts again; they might glean something different, something they missed initially. At the time their main focus had been on Hargreaves’ escape and who could have been involved internally. They’d been looking more closely at the statements given by the officers who’d had the most contact with Hargreaves.

  Maybe they were looking in the wrong place.

  She’d get Mack to go through it all – check again. That would also give him something to concentrate on, keep his mind off Connie. First, though, she needed to tell him what Connie had said.

  ‘Mack.’ She stood, looking in his direction. ‘A word, please?’ She raised her eyebrows and jerked her head in the direction of the spare office, located off the main incident room. Hopefully she could ease the animosity he felt towards Connie if she told him he’d been wrong about her. Or at least about the termination.

  Lindsay sat on the desk’s edge, awaiting Mack’s entrance. He was taking his time. Sometimes he acted like a petulant child. Finally, he sauntered in.

  ‘You sulking, Mack?’

  He ignored the question.

  ‘Look, I realise there’s a personal level to this for you,’ she crossed her arms, ‘but you should’ve disclosed this straight away. Not sat on it, brooding like a child.’

  Mack’s head snapped up.

  ‘Really? That’s rich, Lindsay. You didn’t brood one bit when your husband le
ft you for another woman, did you?’

  Lindsay’s jaw tightened.

  Mack held up his hands. ‘Sorry, sorry, Boss.’ His quick apology was a sign he knew immediately that he’d overstepped the mark. Lindsay should take him to task over it. But she wouldn’t. How could she, when he was dead right?

  ‘That’s below the belt, Mack.’

  ‘I know. Any chance you can forget I said that?’

  ‘No. Actually, Mack, there’s not. And I think you’ll find my professionalism didn’t waver throughout that time – only you knew about it.’

  ‘I know. I’m really sorry, I’ve let this stuff get to me – I’m not even sure why. If I’m honest, I think I’m angrier at myself than I am with Connie. Anyway, I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.’ He lowered his gaze, staring at his feet.

  ‘You do know you’ve put me in an awkward situation here, right? I should take you off the case—’

  ‘No. Please don’t do that. There’s no need for that, really.’

  ‘I don’t want to. But you need to get your act together, or I’ll have no choice.’

  ‘Understood. I’m sorry, this is the last thing I wanted.’

  Lindsay knew that. She also knew Mack was a good detective and she needed him. ‘As punishment, you can trawl through all the evidence thus far relating to the prison officers, but taking particular interest in a Niall Frazer.’

  Mack groaned, pinching his nose between a thumb and forefinger. ‘Okay. But why?’

  ‘Connie told me he’d got in contact with her just after the Hargreaves murder, hadn’t spoken to her for a year prior. And his name is on her list.’

  ‘Oh, yeah. And it’s his full name. Lucky him.’

  ‘Check his whereabouts at every crucial point, but if they check out, if he has an alibi – check them out thoroughly, too.’

  Mack turned to leave.

  ‘Oh, and Mack?’

  ‘Yes, Boss.’

  ‘You need to give Connie a chance to explain, I don’t think you’re in full receipt of the facts.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You said that she went ahead and terminated the pregnancy, without giving any thought to Gary’s wishes.’

  ‘Yeah.’ His neck reddened, the anger returning.

  ‘Well, you’re wrong. She didn’t have an abortion. She miscarried the baby.’

  Mack paused by the doorway. ‘And you believe that?’

  ‘Yes, Mack. I do.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Women’s intuition?’

  ‘Huh. Don’t give me that sexist bull, Boss.’

  ‘Okay then. I just believe her.’

  ‘I reckon she has some kind of hold on you, Boss.’ He gave a wry smile, then turned and left.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  Connie

  Connie collapsed full length on the sofa, her hands interlocked and covering her face. Her body was weak, all energy sapped. She might stay there, not move, for days. Sod the new consultancy, her new life. What was the point? Every time she took a step forward, someone blocked it. Pushed her back. Her dad was right. She was a disappointment – Luke would’ve been successful. The perfect child would’ve transformed into the perfect adult. Not her. She was a disgrace. A let-down. Her life was a joke, and the fact she got to live it and Luke didn’t was unfair. No wonder her dad wasn’t interested, he couldn’t bear to witness what a mess she was making. It hurt him to see her and not his perfect Luke.

  Fuelled by an abrupt anger, Connie propelled herself up and paced the lounge. She could take control. For far too long she’d allowed herself to be a puppet, let others use and walk over her. Let herself be a scapegoat for anyone who could get away with it. If she was to ever feel any better about herself, give herself a chance to be anything, she had to stand up for herself. Others could only control her if she allowed them that power.

  ‘Come on, Connie, take the damn control back,’ she berated herself. Somehow it felt better to say it out loud.

  Amber brushed up against her calf, almost knocking her over. ‘Hello, baby.’ She lifted her, snuggling into the long white fur. A cat supposedly had nine lives. Perhaps she did, too. Only one way to find out. She texted Niall. Asked if he would meet her for coffee. Although it was late afternoon he might still be at work. It depended which shifts he was doing this week. She said if he was free they should meet in town. She didn’t want him to come to the house.

  She needed to be certain there was nothing untoward about his contacting her after Hargreaves’ murder. Clearly Lindsay had taken his appearance as some kind of suspicious timing. She didn’t want to believe that. But, then, hadn’t she also had her reservations about him? Either way, she’d rather be safe than sorry. The night they’d spent together had resulted in an awkward parting the next day, and now Connie was curious as to why. Yes, she was going to take control.

  After sending the text from her personal phone, Connie picked up her work mobile. She should give that new client a call; she’d yet to respond to the voicemail he’d left. Sitting down with a pad of paper to take the details, Connie rang the voicemail box, listening, pen poised.

  ‘Hi, I want to arrange some sessions with you. I’m new in the area, and have a need for counselling … ’ There was a long pause, then the voice started again, ‘I’ve had a lot of trauma in my life and now it’s essential I make a fresh start. For that to happen, I’ll need extra help. Can I see you as soon as possible?’ His voice was soft, although the way he spoke immediately made Connie think he was reading from a pre-prepared script. It was stilted, the wording not as natural as a conversation would be. The caller left a number, which Connie scribbled down. A mobile. She dialled it.

  ‘Hello, this is Connie Summers, psychologist, you left me a message to arrange an appointment?’

  There was no response, but Connie could hear breathing.

  ‘Hello, is this a bad line?’ She held the phone out, checking the signal. She had four bars.

  ‘No. The connection is fine.’ His voice was flat. ‘I can hear you clearly.’ He fell silent again.

  ‘Okay, good. I have spaces for an initial consultation next week, which day would you like?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Oh … er …’ Connie could fit him in; she would rather have left it until next week, but he obviously was keen to get started. That was great, she needed the clients. And the money.

  ‘Yes, I can do …’ Connie checked her diary. ‘Either ten a.m. or three thirty.’

  ‘Ten is good, I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Um … wait a second.’ Connie hadn’t even got details and the man seemed ready to hang up. ‘What’s your name?’

  Another pause. Had he gone?

  ‘It’s Brett. Brett Ellison.’

  The phone went dead.

  Connie’s mouth gaped. Her hand containing the phone dropped limply in her lap as an icy grip seized her heart and immobilised her lungs. Then, as if she’d been immersed in water for several minutes, she gasped, hungry for air. Her heartbeat tripped and faltered. She placed a hand on it in an attempt to steady the rate.

  Could it really be Steph’s brother?

  So, she’d been right, he had been released.

  What was she meant to do with this information – call Lindsay and tell her? Conducting a counselling session with the man – the boy – she suspected killed Steph and Dylan seemed an impossible, not to mention risky, task. But it was one that ultimately she knew she’d manage. Her curiosity wouldn’t allow for the alternative.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Brett

  I waited a long time for this moment.

  Today I am released.

  Today, my life begins again.

  I have unfinished business. Doesn’t everyone?

  I have to visit her first. I’m not expecting the truth, not anything remotely close to it. Her words will be lies. Ones she’s told over and over. Like me, she’s come to believe them, consciously at least. They will mean nothing to me. But her eye
s. They will tell a different story. They will hold the truth.

  Those eyes haven’t seen me for eight years. Will they recognise me?

  She won’t look the same, either. The picture I have had for all these years has not aged; I have no reality to compare it to.

  I’ll know her when I see her, I am sure of that.

  And when the reality dawns on her, the significance of my visit, she’ll know it’s time to pay.

  It’s my truth that matters now.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Connie

  Bubbles of white fluffy clouds hung in the dry air, hardly a breeze disturbing them, the cloud cover keeping the layer of heat trapped. Connie fiddled with her buttoned cuffs, un-popping them and roughly shoving her sleeves up her arms as the warmth pressed down heavily on her. It was difficult to tell if it was the heat or her anxiety that was making her sweat – either way, she wasn’t looking forward to meeting Niall.

  The café was quiet; only a few customers near the back remained. It was 4 p.m. and most people would be thinking about heading home after work. There was an hour before the café closed. If Niall was on time, that would be ample. Connie stared at the glass latte mug. Should she have called Lindsay, told her about Brett calling? Until she spoke with him, there was probably no point. She’d informed Lindsay and Mack of her fears; they’d not been unduly concerned. A thought occurred to her. How on earth had Brett managed to find her? Had the police found and contacted him? Lindsay had said they were going to inform Steph’s relatives of what had happened. Perhaps that’s why he was here, why he was ‘traumatised’. She supposed it wouldn’t have taken much effort to find counselling psychologists in the area, and it would have been just a matter of elimination until he got to her.

  Her phone buzzed, the vibration informing her of a text. Great. Had Niall decided against meeting her after all? As she read the text, she was aware of a figure walking through the door. The message was from her mum. She was worried. Again. Connie would answer later – attempt the usual ‘I’m fine, everything’s fine’ response. Niall threw himself in the chair.