Bad Sister

by Sam Carrington

It was tight. Her back scraped across the wooden slats as she crawled on her stomach to get herself as far under the bed as possible. She berated herself for not having gone on the diet she’d been planning for the last six months.

  Would she be seen?

  The carpet was damp, the musty smell irritated her nose. Don’t sneeze. Her head was at the foot of the bed, angled towards the door. She shuffled again, inching back, pushing herself hard against the wall. The pressure of the wooden slats squeezed the air from her lungs, she couldn’t take deep breaths.

  She felt like she was going to suffocate.

  Light appeared at the crack of the door, widening and lengthening as the door pushed open.

  Nothing to see in here, move on, please go away.

  She had to quieten her breaths or they’d hear her.

  Who was it?

  There was only one name that came to Connie.

  Brett.

  He was the only one other than her who would want to come here.

  Perhaps they were after the same thing.

  He was in the room now. Although her instinct was to screw her eyes up tight, she kept them open, watching, waiting for Brett to turn around. Leave.

  The feet didn’t leave. Instead they made their way towards her, inches from the bed. Shit, shit, shit.

  She should’ve been more careful. No one even knew where she was. If he found her here, what would he do with her?

  She held her breath. The whooshing of blood in her ears was so loud she was scared he’d be able to hear that instead. She watched wide-eyed as a pair of boots came to a standstill near her head. Her eyes were going to burst, the pressure behind them increasing with each rapid heartbeat. He was going to find her. She was going to die in this house.

  A shuffle.

  Connie stifled a scream. The person lowered to the floor.

  She was going to be found.

  Screwing her eyes up tightly, she waited for the inevitable capture. The hopeful part of her held on to that old childhood belief that if you can’t see them, they can’t see you. The pain in her lungs reached an unbearable level, threatening to crush her chest. She couldn’t hold her breath for much longer.

  Even through her closed eyelids, she was aware of a darkness closing in.

  Then breath tickling her face.

  Brett.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Connie

  ‘And what do you think you’re doing, eh?’

  Connie’s eyes sprang open at the sound of the voice, her breath rushing out. Tears bubbled and escaped; the fear releasing itself.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ she managed, weakly. Every bit of strength had left her body the moment she’d felt the breath on her skin.

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to leave this alone. Come on.’ The outstretched hand reached under the bed. Connie grasped it, a film of sweat causing it to slip. ‘Well, you’ve got yourself in quite a situation there, haven’t you?’

  ‘I guess you think it’s funny!’ Connie struggled to manoeuvre herself out from under the bed, and she knocked her back against the bed frame as Lindsay Wade helped pull her out.

  ‘No, actually. I think it’s incredibly stupid. I can’t believe you’ve done this.’

  Connie got herself into a sitting position and leant back against the bed. ‘I think I might have to agree. I really thought I was done for then.’ Her chest heaved with the effort of crawling out from under the bed, and from the fright Lindsay had given her.

  ‘So, who were you expecting it to be?’

  ‘Brett. I thought he might come here looking for the same thing I am.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Evidence, Lindsay. Something that incriminates him, something that’ll prove to you that I’m right in thinking Steph did not commit suicide.’

  Lindsay sighed. ‘I thought as much after our conversation at yours last night. I knew you were still holding on to that, and nothing I said was going to change your mind. Was it?’

  ‘You know what it’s like, when you’ve got a gut feeling about something. I have taken on board the things you said, and I know everything points to Steph killing herself. And Dylan. But it all seems too easy. Neat. I’m convinced that there’s more to it.’

  ‘So you thought you’d come here, break and enter and get yourself in a whole heap of trouble?’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to get caught. How did you know I was here – were you following me?’

  ‘I had my suspicions. I wouldn’t say I was following you, more like looking out for you.’

  ‘Right, well, what are you going to do with me now? You already think I’m cavorting with criminals, and now I suppose I’m going to be charged with this.’ Connie got to her feet, picking up her rucksack and torch ready to get out of the house.

  ‘I’m going to pretend I didn’t find you here. I’ll put the broken glass in the back door down to teenagers, tell the landlord he needs to secure the property. Come on. Let’s get out before we attract any unwanted attention.’

  Lindsay led the way out of Dylan’s room, back through the house and outside. Connie followed close behind. Wary of being seen, she kept looking behind, the feeling of being watched giving her the creeps.

  ‘I’ll drive you back to your house,’ Lindsay said as she approached her car.

  Connie climbed in, feeling like a naughty child caught up to no good. They drove for a few minutes in complete silence, the darkness pressing against the window as Connie rested her head against it.

  ‘Thanks. For not reporting me,’ Connie said.

  ‘Hmm. I won’t put my neck on the line for you again, though. Do you understand? So no more meddling, Connie. Promise me?’

  Connie faced her and nodded.

  ‘Right. That’s good. I don’t want to be worried about you, I’ve enough to think about.’

  ‘Yeah, like what?’ Connie straightened in the seat. Had there been a development?

  ‘For starters, I came away from a conversation with Miles Prescott with a feeling that he wasn’t sharing everything with me, that he was purposely being vague. His story sounded rehearsed. Off. I can’t put my finger on it but I’m going to dig further into the team at the protected persons scheme, and Miles in particular. The fact that so much about Steph … Jenna’s background, her family, was ignored and pushed aside, just so they could get a conviction on the boyfriend, seems wrong. Careless.’

  ‘Why hide the fact they weren’t thorough?’

  ‘I don’t know. Miles is coming up for retirement. I can’t imagine an enquiry at this point would be welcomed. Or perhaps he felt guilty?’

  ‘Huh. I can relate to that – you’ve no idea how much guilt I’ve experienced over the past year and a half.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I do, actually. It hangs over me like a veil – guilt for a mother’s death, her family left behind, guilt for my failed marriage, because my focus was always elsewhere, guilt for bringing you in on this case …’

  ‘Ah, well, you can cross that one off your list. It wasn’t you who wrote my name on a dead man’s hand, was it?’

  Lindsay smiled. ‘No, that wasn’t me.’

  ‘Maybe we should both stop giving ourselves a hard time.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ Lindsay said.

  ‘Anyway, back to Miles.’ Connie needed to change the subject; the car felt heavy with responsibility. ‘I still wonder if he’s covering his back. I think he knows more than we do, anyway. How are you going to get him to confess?’

  ‘I’m not saying he’s deliberately messed up,’ Lindsay faltered. ‘I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  ‘But you’re clearly thinking he’s hiding something, and you’re going to investigate further?’

  ‘Yes, like I said, I’ll dig deeper, see what I can uncover. Oh, and by the way, I’m afraid Mack did some digging himself.’

  Connie sighed. ‘Great, now what?’

  ‘Niall Frazer.’

  Connie’s pulse throbbed in her neck. Was she
about to find out that Niall was involved in Hargreaves’ murder?

  ‘Go on, don’t keep me in suspense.’

  ‘I’d asked Mack to go back through statements, interviews and the like—’

  ‘Get to the point, Lindsay.’

  ‘All right, all right, patience. He has an alibi.’

  ‘Yes, you said that before, you knew he had.’

  ‘Yes, I knew that all the prison officers did, but after you mentioned the bird tattoo I thought they should be looked at again. And guess who gave your Niall an alibi?’

  ‘He’s not my Niall … but who?’

  ‘One Kelly Barton.’

  Connie’s jaw dropped. No way. The sneaky rat.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  Connie

  Sunday 18 June

  ‘I need to see you. Now.’ Connie disconnected the call before her anger spilled over. She’d managed little sleep after Lindsay had dropped her home at midnight. She’d spent an hour sitting up in bed, poring over Steph’s unsent letters – everything swimming around her head, nagging her, making her question things again, and again. The letters had all been written by Steph to her mother. Poor girl. She guessed they hadn’t been posted because Steph knew her mum would never be able to read them, her dementia preventing that, or even any understanding if someone else read them to her.

  Just as Connie had thought sleep might finally steal her, her mind conjured another face. That bastard, Niall. She’d been suspicious of the timing of him getting back in contact and she’d also allowed herself to think he might’ve been the one who’d given Kelly Barton her name in the first place, helped the despicable woman link Connie’s name to Hargreaves. But she hadn’t considered that Niall and Kelly were together.

  Could Lindsay still be wrong? Yes, he had an alibi. But was it a trustworthy one? That lowlife Kelly would stoop that far just to get in on the action – be in the right place for a killer story. She could’ve lied for Niall, said she was with him in return for him giving her the juicy details; insider information.

  Getting him to explain was likely to be futile. Wouldn’t he continue to feed her lie after lie? She had to do something, though. Attempt to gain some form of explanation.

  ‘Before you launch into me …’ Niall thrust a garage-bought offering of flowers into Connie’s hands. ‘I’m sorry.’ He stayed on the doorstep, head bowed. So, he thought he’d get in with a quick apology, try and diffuse her anger. That wasn’t going to work.

  ‘How could you do it to me?’ Connie snatched the flowers from him, then thought better of it and threw them back at him. They hit his chest, then fell – a flurry of red petals floating to the ground.

  ‘Flowers were a bad idea, then,’ he said, his smile faltering.

  ‘Deciding to come back into my life was a bad idea.’ Her initial anger released, Connie stood back and invited Niall inside. He gingerly stepped over the threshold.

  She closed them both inside.

  ‘I assume you’re not happy with me,’ Niall stated casually.

  ‘And I assume you know why!’

  Niall cricked his neck from one side to the other, then sat down. His eyes were puffy, dark bags visible beneath them. He looked rough. The past year had clearly not been kind to either of them.

  ‘I’ll let you enlighten me. I don’t think it’s wise for me to guess why you’re mad.’

  ‘No, of course not. Because then if what I say isn’t what you think it might be about, you’ll be off the hook.’

  ‘I’m not sure I follow—’

  ‘Oh, enough, Niall.’ Connie didn’t want to play more games. ‘I know about Kelly Barton, all right? That’s why I’m mad at you.’

  He gave a brief nod, didn’t try the ‘I don’t know what you are talking about’ spiel. He knew it was pointless, that he was defeated.

  ‘In my defence, I was drunk.’

  It was no good, she couldn’t sit still – she had to pace.

  ‘Haven’t heard that excuse a hundred times, Niall. Although they’ve usually been from criminals.’

  His head snapped up. ‘I am not a criminal.’

  ‘You’re bloody acting like one.’

  ‘I let a few things slip, big deal. You know what she can be like.’

  ‘What do you mean, you let a few things slip?’

  ‘A bit of background stuff, you know – about your … er … issues with Hargreaves.’

  ‘Wow, you’re a real friend.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Really sorry. She was clever – she obviously knew where the prison officers went to drink and followed us to the bar one night. She lulled me into a false sense of security; she flirted with me, paid me attention—’

  ‘And that’s all it took.’ Connie spat the words at him.

  ‘She plied me with alcohol all night, knowing if I got drunk I’d talk openly.’

  Connie smarted as she remembered her own plan the first night she’d invited Niall over a couple of weeks ago. Her idea to get Niall drunk, to loosen his tongue. The same as Kelly. Were they that very different, then – both taking advantage of a loose-lipped drunk to get what they wanted? Connie put her fingers to her temples and rubbed them.

  ‘Are you still sleeping with her?’

  ‘What? No. I never slept with the woman. Give me some credit.’

  ‘But she was your alibi?’ A creeping heat spread up her neck. ‘She said you were together the night Hargreaves was murdered, and when his body was dumped outside the prison gates the following morning.’

  ‘Well, I’d been there most of the night …’ he mumbled.

  ‘Most of it? So, she gave you a false alibi?’ Connie couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  ‘Well … it wasn’t much, a few hours, tops. She asked for a favour in return, of course—’

  ‘And I was that favour,’ Connie snapped. ‘Get information from me about the case. Ensure Kelly gets first crack at the whip. I suppose you told her where I’d be, places I’d go, so she could watch me, follow me. Photograph me.’ She dug her nails into her palm, and attempted some steadying breaths. However, the question was, if Kelly had taken the photos of her at the train station, of her at Mack’s house with Gary, the one of her dad, then why hadn’t she used them in the papers? Why send them to her and the police?

  A game. Some cruel, messed-up game. It had to be.

  Would this god-awful woman ever leave her alone?

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  DI Wade

  Monday 19 June

  ‘Come on, people. Let’s make today a good one. I want leads, no – I want more than leads; I want a suspect. Get me a suspect, preferably in custody by the end of the day, or don’t bother coming back into this station.’ Lindsay waved off her team, and they dispersed. Apart from one. Mack leant against a desk, his legs sprawled in front of him, arms crossed. His brow matched.

  ‘If you’re waiting for me,’ Lindsay said, ‘you’d best make yourself a bit more comfortable. I’m going to be half an hour.’

  ‘I’ll make us a coffee then.’

  ‘Sure. Are you okay, Mack? You look peaky. You ill?’

  ‘No time to be ill, Boss.’ He pushed up from the desk and wandered off towards the coffee machine. ‘Besides, I’m tired, that’s all. Had a bit of a heart-to-heart with Gary last night,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘Oh? How did that go?’ Lindsay faced her computer screen, checking her emails as she spoke.

  ‘All right, in the end.’ He filled two cardboard cups with a toffee-coloured liquid. ‘It appears I’ve been a crap dad, when all’s said and done, though.’

  ‘You can’t be with them all the time. And anyway, he’s an adult, Mack, what is he – twenty-seven now? You can’t hold his hand on all his dates.’ Lindsay gave him a brief look, and laughed.

  ‘It’s not hand-holding he’d needed. It was his old dad to listen to him more. He’d told me that Connie was pregnant, that she went on to get rid of it, or so he thought. But I was so angry at her that I didn�
�t listen to him. I didn’t give him an opportunity to confide his feelings about it before now, I just saw how it affected him and acted on that.’ He returned, placing the cups on the desk.

  ‘You’ve been so busy; he knew you were there for him. All he had to do was ask, I’m sure.’

  ‘That’s not always what having a kid is about. As a parent, you’re meant to know; sense when they need you, or want to talk. They don’t always come to you outright, ask for something – unless it’s money, then they’re straight there, hands open in readiness. It’s the important stuff I missed. When me and Barb stopped communicating, it seems that I stopped communicating with my kids, too.’

  ‘I don’t know what it’s like having a child, I know that.’ Lindsay sat back in her chair, facing Mack, giving him her full attention. ‘But I do know what it’s like having parents. And from what I can recall, they went through their own personal hell and had no time for me during the worst of the times. But when my dad finally came out of his man-made foggy cave after Mum buggered off, I knew I could count on him again. It’s never too late to make up for it you know, Mack. It takes time and effort, but it’s possible. He’s confided in you now, and you’ve listened now – it’s where you take it from here that’s important.’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Boss. Sorry, getting all bleeding soppy on you. Old fool.’

  ‘Don’t be. Just don’t wipe your tears on my shirt.’ Lindsay gave his thigh a smack. ‘Relationships are hard. All of them. We muddle along as best we can, each of us groping in the dark. So to speak.’

  They laughed, the intensity of the sudden emotional sharing broken.

  ‘Back to work then, slacker.’

  ‘Hey, I’m waiting for you. What’s your plan, anyway?’ Mack moved his chair next to Lindsay’s, sitting backwards on it and facing her.

  ‘I was rather hoping you had one. Come on, Mack, I can’t be the brains and the beauty of this operation. You need to put in your share, and as you’re not that pretty …’

  ‘Ah, you can’t help but flatter me. Fine. If you want my honest opinion, I think we’ve missed something – something … ordinary. It’s like I was saying about not listening to the kids when you’ve got all your own shit going on. I think this has been a bit like that – we’ve blocked the main noise in favour of the background noise. We need to listen to what’s right here.’ Mack balled his fist and hit it against his chest.