Bad Sister

by Sam Carrington

  ‘Who were they, Connie?’

  They were standing waiting on the platform for the next train to Coleton, and Connie pretended she hadn’t heard the question. She needed to speak with Lindsay – she couldn’t share any more information with this reporter. As grateful as she was for the fact Kelly had been with her during that frightening chase, she was still the enemy.

  ‘I suggest you hand that camera’s memory card over to the police ASAP, Kelly. It’s evidence.’

  ‘Sure.’ Kelly smiled.

  Connie bet she would make copies first.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  Connie

  Ignoring Amber’s cries for attention, Connie headed straight for the fridge and opened a bottle of lager, glugging quickly and noisily, draining it within seconds. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood leaning against the worktop, staring down at her dirty feet.

  What a bizarre turn of events. Who would’ve thought Kelly Barton would turn out to be her saviour? Although, to be fair, it wasn’t her who’d saved the day. She had the mysterious, unknown man to thank for that. Thoughts of Flint filtered into her mind. What Brett had said about his brain injury tugged at her consciousness, as if it was trying to make a link to something.

  She slammed down the empty bottle and went to her paperwork on the shelf under the coffee table. She riffled through it, scattering sheets of paper in her haste. There they were. The drawings she’d done of the tattoos covering Hargreaves’ body. She found the one of the code: U2X51.

  Could it be?

  Snatching it up, Connie ran back to the kitchen. She got her bag, took out the antipasti – which, surprisingly, did not appear to be ruined – and then emptied the rest of the contents of the bag on to the counter. Taking her compact, she held the mirror against the paper.

  Her breath caught.

  It was still not altogether clear because some of the letters could be numbers and vice versa – but it was a start. This could be it.

  The code had been written backwards.

  The person who’d done the tattoos was the same person who’d been in her toilet at work.

  The killer.

  Horror mixed with excitement, her blood rushing through her veins, making her giddy. Hargreaves’ killer was after her, but at the same time, she knew Lindsay was going to be chuffed with this when she told her. A breakthrough. Finally, this might be coming to an end.

  Connie rummaged in her kitchen drawers for paper and a pen.

  She was going to crack this code.

  The light had gone, now replaced with a shadowy dimness. Connie’s eyes ached. She got up from her crouched position over her laptop to switch the light on. She’d been poring over the numbers and letters, searching for all possible meanings on the internet for the past two hours. Now she had the sudden realisation that the original 5, once mirrored, could be interpreted as a 2, and the number 2 an S. This gave her 12XSU as the mirror image of the original tattoo.

  Taking a deep breath, she punched this in the search bar and closed her eyes. Please give me something. She opened them. Nothing. A page full of random results that meant nothing. She wanted to scream. Maybe that was too obvious – the mirror image would’ve needed to be more complex for it to be a puzzle, so it wouldn’t be a straightforward code. She remembered one of her early thoughts about it – a cipher. A simple substitution cipher was worth a go. So, instead of 12 it would be the letter equivalent – L. X would be the number 24, S, 19 and U would be 21.

  L241921

  Connie typed it in.

  Again, nothing.

  She banged the table, cursing. It was so infuriating. She was so close, she felt sure. She tried it again, this time spacing the numbers into twos.

  Her stomach flipped.

  The top result was: Luke 24:19:21. A bible reference.

  Another tattoo that was meant for her? She read the passage about Jesus of Nazareth being sentenced to death. Tears pricked her eyes. She went back to the search results and looked to see if it was a fluke. Underneath that reference was another, this time Leviticus 24:19:21. She relaxed. Good, there was a possibility it wasn’t a personal message, then. The first hit being her dead brother’s name was only a cruel coincidence.

  But the next passage alarmed her.

  Leviticus 24:19-21 New International Version (NIV)

  19 Anyone who injures their neighbour is to be injured in the same manner: 20 fracture for fracture, eye for eye, tooth for tooth. The one who has inflicted the injury must suffer the same injury. 21 Whoever kills an animal must make restitution, but whoever kills a human being is to be put to death.

  This was to do with Luke. It was apparent that someone was purposely involving her in this for whatever reason. What had her dad been up to? He was clearly covering something up from years ago, as she’d suspected. The questions as to what, why, when and how would need answering. Whether he’d intended to or not, he’d put her life in danger.

  Connie was a target.

  She paced like a caged animal until she saw the headlights of Lindsay’s car draw up outside. She opened the front door before Lindsay had stepped out of the car.

  ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve needed to speak with you all day.’ Connie’s tone was unintentionally abrupt.

  ‘Let me in and I’ll tell you all about the latest development,’ Lindsay said. She walked through into the lounge. ‘What on earth has happened here? You had a break-in?’ Her eyes were wide with concern.

  ‘Er … no. That was me. I’ve got something interesting to tell you, as well. Well, two things, actually.’ Connie was full of nervous energy.

  They sat together on the sofa, Lindsay with her feet tucked up beneath her, the most relaxed Connie had ever seen her. They shared the day’s events. It was a relief to talk to someone other than Amber, and even though she was afraid, beyond any fear she’d ever experienced, having Lindsay with her calmed her. She felt protected.

  Before getting to the nitty-gritty of what happened, Connie grabbed them each a glass of white wine, in an attempt to calm her nervous energy. How would Lindsay react to what she was about to tell her? She smiled as she handed Lindsay her glass, then took a deep breath and began. Lindsay listened in muted silence as Connie retold the story of her being followed, bumping into Kelly, then another man following – all resulting in a chase through a back street of Totnes.

  When Connie had finally finished, she saw that Lindsay was shaking her head. ‘What’s going on? Why would someone want to follow you – do you think it’s scare tactics? I can’t figure out what this has all got to do with you – it’s driving me mad.’

  This was a good time to tell her about the code.

  ‘I’ve cracked it, Lindsay.’

  ‘Cracked what?’

  ‘The tattoo – well, the one that we thought was a code, anyway.’

  Lindsay lowered her wine, her face brightening. ‘Give it to me then, don’t keep me in suspense.’

  Connie jumped up, gathering the notes she’d made from the table and the laptop showing the results of her search.

  Lindsay looked on with her mouth slightly gaping as Connie described her thought processes, and how she’d finally worked it out.

  ‘That’s so clever. How did this guy think of that?’

  ‘Some people are good with puzzles. If it is this “Flint” guy – which I suspect it is – according to Brett his brain works differently since an accident, so perhaps this is another side effect of his condition?’

  ‘Well, it sounds promising, but obviously we’d need more than that to confidently link him to your mirror writing and a murder.’ Lindsay leant across, placing a hand on Connie’s leg.

  Connie felt her excitement about cracking the code slip. It wasn’t enough. She bowed her head.

  ‘We’ve had some positive leaps forward in the last two days, though,’ Lindsay said brightly. Her obvious attempt at lifting Connie’s mood back up. ‘But they’ve come at a price.’ Lindsay’s expression became ser
ious again, the look that Connie had become accustomed to. ‘I’m glad today has had a better ending than how it might have done. You should’ve called 999, Connie. If I’d had any firm evidence that you were in danger …’ Lindsay’s head fell forwards. ‘I’m sorry. Had I listened to Mack right at the start this could have been prevented – he did bring up the possibility you were at risk and I played it down.’

  Connie laid her hand on Lindsay’s. ‘Don’t be stupid, there was no real reason to think I was a target before. Up until now it was just me being paranoid. Anyway, what would you have done, put me into protective custody? No thank you.’

  ‘We would’ve given you a DC to keep an eye on you, at the very least.’ Lindsay rubbed the back of her neck.

  ‘To be fair, you have been keeping an eye on me yourself – I’ve had the best of the best watching out for me. Anyway, enough of what might or might not have been the best thing to do, the question is, where do we go from here?’ Silence fell on the room while both women drank some wine. Then, Lindsay stood and walked to the window.

  ‘We found the white van used in Hargreaves’ murder yesterday,’ Lindsay said, ‘and in following that up, today another lead has come good. That’s where we were when you called.’

  ‘That’s excellent, Lindsay. Finally, eh? I hope the van proves fruitful.’

  ‘Forensics have been all over it and we’ve seized enough evidence – a partial print and DNA – to be able to link it to a suspect. When we get a valid one to try for a match, that is. I’m certain we’re getting close – this Flint character might be it. Up to now, there’ve been several people in the frame, but none have been anything other than hopeful. I mean, I think Niall is a creep, but I don’t think he’s capable of all this.’ Lindsay leant back against the window ledge, her hands in her trouser pockets.

  ‘No, me neither – not now. I think he’s weak when it comes to women, and Kelly played on that, pulling his strings for her own gain. I’m wondering if the bird tattoo on Hargreaves’ body was to make us think Niall was involved. A red herring.’

  ‘Poor sap,’ Lindsay said, making a face and rolling her eyes. ‘And we’ve got his DNA on file, we took all the prison officers’, so we’ll be able to rule him out once we get the results back from the van. Although, I guess that only rules him out of the actual murder. It doesn’t mean he didn’t have something to do with it.’ Her face looked tired, but her eyes sparkled.

  ‘Oh!’ Connie sat forward. How could she have forgotten. ‘Kelly has photos, possibly, of the two men that were following me. Supposing they aren’t blurry from the running.’

  ‘Really? She’s a canny one. I’ll get on that. Before she prints them in the paper.’ Lindsay sat back down next to Connie. ‘You might be able to make a positive ID from the photo, then we’ll have a solid enough reason to haul this Flint guy in, and then get a DNA sample. We could have our murderer locked up tomorrow, Connie.’ She clinked her glass against Connie’s. ‘In the meantime, I’m staying over.’

  Connie didn’t argue.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  Then

  He hid in the shadows, ducking between the sofa and dresser when he heard the footsteps. If he was caught out of bed at this time that would be bad enough, but if caught with the lighter too, then he’d be punished for days.

  A soft glow illuminated a patch of hallway where the street lamp shone through the glass half of the front door. The footsteps stopped there. He dared to peek out from around the arm of the sofa. Was that her? The silhouette looked right. But why was she standing so still like that? He didn’t know if she sleepwalked, he’d never seen her do it before. He wished she’d hurry up and move, go back upstairs to bed. He rubbed at the pins and needles in his feet. He was only short, and wiry-thin, but being crouched, tucked into a small space, was uncomfortable all the same. And now he needed to pee.

  Typical, why had he chosen this moment to steal the lighter from its hiding place?

  Another glow took his attention. Not from the street lamp. This light came from inside the house, in the hallway.

  He recognised it immediately.

  Fire.

  His breathing shallowed. What was she doing? He watched, his eyes transfixed on the dancing flame. It was beautiful.

  Then she was gone – he heard the soft padding of feet overhead.

  He uncurled from his position and quickly ran towards the growing flame, a gentle crackling noise now accompanying the waving tendrils of flame. The smoke was thickening already, and it snapped him out of his trance.

  His first thought was to get a bucket of water, but the flames were now creeping up the wall. Soon they’d be at the stairs, blocking anyone’s exit. There was no time. He jumped past the ball of fire and took the stairs two at a time. He was aware of shouting, cries of ‘Fire!’ filling his head. His voice.

  His dad was at the door, a look of terror on his sleepy face. He looked dazed.

  ‘Dad, we have to get out!’ The boy tugged at his arm, but he didn’t move. What was wrong with his eyes – he wasn’t looking straight; his eyelids were puffy and half-closed.

  Suddenly he was being pulled backwards.

  ‘Come on, hurry Brett.’ Jenna was dragging him.

  Cold soaked him. A wet blanket wrapped around him. They were in the back bedroom. She was there too. The window was open wide, she was half hanging out, screaming.

  ‘He’s not there, Jenna. The fucking gobshite isn’t there!’

  ‘We have to get out now, Mum, we’ll have to try the stairs. Quick.’

  Jenna was gone. The smoke was so thick, black, choking.

  ‘Stay low, put the blanket to your mouth,’ Jenna told him.

  He liked fire, his small, beautiful fires, ones he could control, not like this. The heat was so bad, even through the wet blanket. He followed Jenna down the stairs, the flames leaping across one side of the stairwell. His pyjama bottoms touched the fire, he smacked them with part of the blanket.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ he shouted.

  ‘He’ll be behind us – Mum went back for him.’

  They only just made it past the fireball into the lounge, then kitchen, then the black night air touched his face. They were out. Jenna led him up the path at the side of the house to get to the front.

  She hadn’t come out of the house yet. Neither had his dad.

  From the time it had taken them to leave the back door and walk around the front, the flames had taken hold – engulfing the top floor. How had it happened that quickly?

  He wiped tears away with the back of his hand.

  He could see his dad. Trapped. Jenna turned to him.

  ‘You’re so stupid, Brett. Why did you start it? You could’ve killed us and look what you’ve done to our house!’ Jenna’s face was red, her eyes bulging.

  ‘I didn’t do it.’ He creased his forehead – why was she saying that?

  As they stood at the front of the house looking up, and with the sounds of squealing sirens filling the quiet night, Jenna reached into the pocket of his soggy dressing gown.

  She pulled out the lighter.

  ‘You little freak. You did start the fire. You caused this.’

  Everything went black in his head, like the wet blanket had been placed over it. His chest hurt. He never did anything right.

  This was his fault. He should’ve stopped her. Jenna did this but he should have taken charge of it, stopped it.

  He looked up at his stepsister as she stared open-mouthed at the upstairs window.

  At his dad, screaming there.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT

  Connie

  Friday 23 June

  Waking up with the knowledge Lindsay Wade had slept in the spare room in order to protect her made Connie smile. For someone who had initially come across stern, uptight, hard to like – Lindsay was being incredibly soft right now. Her insistence that it should be her that offered the protection was reassuring.

  Today, though, Lindsay was going to organise for DC
Clarke to sit downstairs in the waiting room of her consultancy while she saw her two clients. One of them being Brett. After talking the case over last night, both she and Lindsay had decided that Connie should call Brett and ask to see him. As they were currently unaware of Flint’s real name or his whereabouts, he was their best lead. Connie wanted her own answers to some things too, and with Clarke close to hand she wouldn’t be so worried about asking awkward questions.

  Today was going to be an interesting one.

  Brett fiddled with the zip of his hoody, and at the same time bounced his leg up and down. The vibration of the movement together with his erratic zipping action put Connie on edge.

  ‘Nothing to worry about, Brett. I only wanted to continue where we left off yesterday.’

  ‘Who’s the geezer downstairs?’ He sniffed, and swiped his sleeve across his nose.

  ‘He’s a policeman. He’s here because I had a break-in. Just after your session on Monday.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but she didn’t want to get into details, she wanted to see his reaction.

  ‘Oh, really? Why would anyone bother? Not as if you keep money or drugs here, is it?’

  ‘I guess some people might think I do. You’d be surprised how many people mix up psychologist with psychiatrist.’

  ‘Uh, yeah, I suppose.’ His face remained neutral, he hadn’t flinched at the mention of the police or a break-in. ‘He wasn’t here yesterday.’ He gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘Well, no – I didn’t think I needed him. But since then …’ Should she mention being followed yesterday? He might have been involved.

  ‘Go on, since then, what?’

  In for a penny. ‘I was followed, and a few other minor things have happened which made the police believe they should keep a closer eye on me.’

  ‘Wow,’ he said, nodding. His eyes narrowed. ‘I guess you think I have something to do with this?’

  Immediately he had assumed he was being blamed. Connie wrestled with her conflicting feelings. This young man had been blamed for a fire and a death. So far, his entire short life had been filled with mistrust. She was treating him exactly the same as he’d always been treated. She felt bad now for even thinking he’d killed Steph and Dylan.