After hours of searching, Connie was no further forwards. She’d learned more about the crime from different perspectives than those she’d already known, and each victim – as inevitably in cases such as this there were numerous, not only the boy who died but his parents, family and friends – was ingrained in her mind. But she was no closer to finding fake Alice.
Would she still go to the support group, if it existed? Connie would work on the assumption that it did, as she had little else to go on. Even though Alice’s identity had been compromised by the latest news – and she must know that – it might still be worth a shot. When were the meetings again? Connie lurched forwards, clicking on the therapy file for Alice. Scanning the notes, she found what she needed. The in-person meetings were held on the last Wednesday of the month, so Alice had said. Not long to wait. Although, first she needed to find out where they were held. It shouldn’t be too difficult; there weren’t that many places in Totnes suitable for such groups. She’d start putting out some feelers, but in the meantime, she should make a start with another option.
And her starting point would have to be Deborah. Connie would find her and ask her if she’d had contact with the woman posing as Alice. During her last session, Alice had stated it was her intention to visit Deborah – and for now, that was the only lead Connie had.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Angela
I watch as the rain drowns the back garden, huge rivulets of water tinged brown with mud run down the concrete path towards the back door. The weather forecast said it would only be a light shower this morning, so they got that wrong. I hope it stops soon, or it’ll breach it, seep into the kitchen. I should put something in the way to block it. I would ask Tom, but I can’t face him right now. I have so many questions I want to ask, but I’m afraid they’ll all come spilling out at once and he’ll become overwhelmed, angry. I have to go about things in a more subtle way, choose my time. Pick my battles. I’ve had lots of practice.
I tear my gaze away from the downpour, shut off my ears from the battering rain on the roof and against the windows, and take my seat at the table.
I suck in a huge lungful of air and open the laptop.
I’m going to brave the support group page.
My heart thuds. The sound of my breathing competes with the noise of the rain. The saliva I try to swallow forms a lump in my throat and threatens to choke me. Maybe it’s what I deserve. To choke to death. Pay for my sins. Can I even turn to God now? Would He hear me, answer my prayers? ‘It’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission,’ I read once. Not in the Bible, but it still gives me strength.
The laptop has done its start-up routine and now my homepage glares at me. The icon for group support is in the correct position on the left-hand side. Now I’m diligently locking my laptop and have changed my password, Tom won’t be able to access it so easily. I close my eyes after I click on the icon, but my mind has already begun to conjure the words I’m likely to see when I open them. Lying bitch. Whore. Deceitful cow. All terms David and Tom have called me before. But my group haven’t, not my people. I couldn’t bear the rejection from them.
I clench my hands into fists and allow my eyelids to open.
My hands loosen and my fingertips fly to the trackpad, and I furiously scroll down the message threads. I get to the end of the first page, then check the next. And the next. Then I go back to the beginning, calmer now, to start again – focussing on the topic of each message with more attention this time.
There’s nothing.
Nothing about Alice Mann’s attack. Nothing about me. No one hurling accusations or abuse, no angry tirades directed my way.
Why? Haven’t they seen the news about Alice? No one is talking about it. Have I got away with it? For now at least? Maybe it is safe to continue being Alice – go to the next meeting even.
A relief, a happiness spreads through me.
‘Love covers over all wrongs.’ I smile as I cross my chest.
It’s not over yet.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Connie
Connie replaced the receiver, and, tapping her pen against her mouth, considered her options. Having found out where Deborah Taylor worked, she’d rung the marketing company and asked to speak with her. They were less than helpful. It seemed Deborah was on leave. Judging from how the employee spoke, Connie gathered it was likely to be extended leave. Of course, they wouldn’t give details out about her either, so Connie had no idea where she lived and didn’t have a contact number. It was a frustrating early setback.
But a setback was all it was. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, her mum would say. Outside of work, the employees of Complete Marketing might talk. There was always one loose-lipped idiot in every workplace – she knew that from experience. Connie would find them, see what information she could gain. In the meantime, it was possible she could get Lindsay to divulge some details – no doubt Deborah Taylor would be someone they were keen on talking to anyway, given the link between Alice Mann and her. She could even be a suspect, sad as that thought was.
Connie had been too busy contemplating how to find the fake Alice rather than thinking about who’d attacked the real one. Why would Deborah attack Alice though? Kyle had been imprisoned, justice had been done. Sean’s murder was four years ago. So why now?
Connie’s mobile vibrated, triggering it to creep across the desk. She picked it up, absently looking at the screen. Another message from Scott. Shit. She hadn’t responded to any of them yet. He’d think her rude. Actually, if someone had failed to message her back after ten attempts, she’d have assumed they weren’t interested and move on. But he was persistent. To the point of annoyance. Yes, he’d been a lovely guy, she’d enjoyed the company. The sex. But did she need a man in her life? She read his latest offering.
Hope you’re OK? Worried I haven’t heard from you. Thought you might want to hook up again. Xx
His messages were starting to become a bit needy; desperate even. But if she answered this one now, it would open the floodgates. If she ignored them, he’d soon get fed up and give up. This was the sort of mess she used to get in when one-night stands had been her thing. Having finally accepted that what had happened to her as a vulnerable teenager at that party was, in part, responsible for her poor coping mechanisms as an adult, she thought she’d moved on from that behaviour. The way of life that had become self-destructive. Did this prove otherwise?
She placed the phone back in her handbag, shutting it away from view. For the moment, ignoring the issue was all she could manage.
The security intercom gave a short, sharp buzz. Connie stretched across the desk and picked up the handset. She wasn’t expecting a client.
‘Yes, can I help?’ she said.
‘Just me. Are you free for a chat?’
Connie hesitated. Lindsay clearly wasn’t with him – what did he want to chat about? Maybe Lindsay had sent him. ‘I really need to upgrade my door entry system to include video, then I could screen my visitors before deciding whether to pick up.’
‘That’s a bit below the belt,’ Mack’s voice boomed. ‘I was even going to offer to take you for coffee and a cake. But, if you’re going to be like that …’
‘Huh! Coffee and cake – has the police budget been given a sudden boost or something?’
‘Well, I could do with a coffee that doesn’t taste like shit.’
‘Are you saying mine does?’
Connie heard a shuffling noise. ‘No, obviously not yours. Christ’s sake, Connie. Yes or no? I look a twat talking into this thing.’
She muffled a giggle with her hand. ‘I’m not sure how to respond to that statement.’ Connie imagined Mack hunched over the intercom, his mouth almost touching it so passers-by couldn’t hear him speaking. ‘Give me a minute, I’ll be down.’
As she collected her things, a sense of nervousness crept over her flesh. Had Mack and Lindsay been to see Kyle? Was Mack here buttering her up with the offer of cake beca
use something was up?
Mack was standing with his back to the door, his height practically blocking the daylight, as Connie flung it open. He spun around so quickly he almost lost his balance, his hand flying to his chest.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Sorry,’ Connie said, ‘didn’t mean to frighten you. I did say I was coming out.’
‘Yeah – but so violently?’ Mack said in a mock dramatic voice.
Connie laughed, the tension releasing itself.
‘Glad to see the rain has stopped,’ Connie said. She abandoned her umbrella inside the doorway.
‘Yes, rain followed by sunshine. Good old Devon weather, eh? Can never prepare for it,’ Mack said, shrugging. ‘Where to for coffee, then?’
‘Ann of Cleves? There, beyond the arch.’ Connie pointed to the café a few buildings down from where they were. ‘Look, you can see their amazing cakes in the window from here.’
‘Good choice. It’s almost like I’d scoped out the nearest place.’ Mack put his hand on Connie’s shoulder as they crossed the road. It felt strangely protective.
He had to duck to miss the low beams inside the café, and he looked awkward sitting at the round table, his legs packed in tightly beneath. She knew Lindsay often teased him about his height, but the jokes must have worn incredibly thin over the years. She refrained from commenting now. Instead, she jumped right in, asking him about Kyle, before he got a word in about the reason he’d asked her for a chat.
‘Aha, what a coincidence,’ Mack said, ‘that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.’
Connie’s heart plummeted. ‘Oh. I won’t lie, that kinda makes me nervous.’
Her attention was taken by the waitress, asking them what they’d like.
Connie quickly glanced at the menu, although her focus was now gone. ‘Er … I’ll have lemon drizzle cake and a latte, please.’
The waitress scribbled in a pad, then took Mack’s order. Connie stared at him while he spoke. His face had weathered over the past year: wrinkles gouged their lines from the corners of his eyes to the top of his cheeks. He’d grown more of a beard – no longer just stubble, it now had a thick coverage. Maybe to hide further lines, or a sagging jawline perhaps. It wasn’t as grey as his hair, although it did age him. Connie liked it, though. It made him seem more friendly, approachable. Fatherly.
He turned back to Connie. She looked down at the table, feeling as though she’d been caught checking him out. Her face grew warm.
‘Don’t be nervous. I’m not going to ask you to do anything you probably hadn’t already guessed at.’ He raised his eyebrows as he leant in towards her. ‘We didn’t get a thing from Kyle – not a fucking word. Refused to even acknowledge our presence.’
Connie wiped her palms on her trouser legs. Yes, he was right, she had guessed.
‘So?’ she asked, even though the answer was obvious.
The waitress breezed up beside the table, politely interrupting the conversation, a plate in each hand. She placed the slab of lemon drizzle cake in front of Connie. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so appealing.
Mack smiled at the waitress as she put his Bakewell tart down, and thanked her. He waited until she’d gone before delivering the line Connie had been dreading.
‘We want you to go back in. See what you can get from Kyle Mann.’
CHAPTER SIXTY
Tom
He paced until it made him dizzy. The area was too small, what with the desk that ran the whole length of the room, his computer, three monitors, his gaming chair and his bed, all competing for space.
She’d had the nerve to confront him when he got home last night. She hadn’t even backed down when he’d started shouting at her, screaming in her face. They’d been nose-to-nose and she’d stood her ground. He was losing his touch. Then she’d given him her ‘soft voice’ – the one she reserved for him when she was trying to talk him around. Or keep him calm. He had to admit, she was good at that. He’d always found his mother’s voice soothing. Even during the dark days, the even darker nights when he’d wake in the throes of a night terror, petrified, and certain there were people in his room, people who wanted to hurt him.
When his mum had been there, stroking his hair, hushing him, telling him everything was okay, he’d believed her. A part of him wished she could do that now. Maybe her reassurances would make him believe it again. Although he had the feeling he’d gone too far for that now. He collapsed on his bed, staring at the computer screen. His server was open, his followers were playing the game without him. He wasn’t in the mood, couldn’t concentrate on online killing. He wouldn’t for a while.
He had to come down from the high of last night’s reality first. It hadn’t happened as planned, but maybe that’s why it’d been even more exhilarating than the first time.
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
Connie
Connie cut her cake into bite-sized pieces and slowly ate a couple of chunks. It was moist, a lovely zingy flavour, but it stuck in her throat; the thought of talking to Kyle again stealing her saliva. She took a gulp of her latte to wash it down.
‘Why didn’t Lindsay ask me? Why you?’
‘I imagine it was due to the stress it might cause you, thinking about going back in. She said you were relieved when you’d finished the reports, didn’t have to go there again. I guess she wasn’t happy to ask this of you.’ He shrugged, then took a bite from his tart, bits of pastry flaking off and dropping into his lap.
‘But you are?’ She narrowed her eyes at him. There she’d been, thinking they were getting on. Her optimism had been premature. This nicey-nicey ‘take you for cake and coffee’ routine was only to soften the blow.
‘No, I’m not particularly. But even the prison psychologist said Kyle was only likely to talk to you. So …’
Mack drew back from the table and, reaching into his jacket, retrieved his ringing mobile. Connie watched as he nodded a few times, then shook his head. He gave a large sigh as he ended the call.
‘I have to go. Are you up for helping us out, see what info you can get from Kyle?’
‘Er … actually … I, er …’ Connie stammered, feeling flustered, as though she’d been ambushed. She wanted to say no outright – instead she settled for: ‘Can I think about it?’
‘Sure.’ He rose from his chair and straightened himself, brushing crumbs from his suit trousers. ‘But don’t take too long.’ He paused, looking intently at his phone, his forehead creased in a frown.
‘What is it? Is everything all right?’
Mack walked to Connie’s side, and bending right down, he whispered in her ear. ‘A body has been found. I’ve got to go to the scene now. But I don’t think we should delay speaking to Kyle Mann.’
Connie stared after Mack as he ducked down and out of the café door, watched as he strode past the window, back up the hill. Her hands shook. Lindsay and Mack had chastised her before, saying she kept getting herself involved in stuff she shouldn’t be, and now they wanted her to. What if she said no, she wouldn’t do it?
Mack had said they could only speak to Kyle informally. He wasn’t a witness, and currently there was no evidence to suggest he’d done anything wrong. Unless they charged him with another offence, they couldn’t have access to details of phone calls made via the prison phones. There was a PIN system – prisoners had a card with pre-arranged telephone numbers installed on it so the staff knew who they were calling. But it was well known that mobile phones were a real problem inside. They were often smuggled in – sometimes by staff members themselves. Even if the police had the information about who Kyle telephoned, Connie doubted he used the regular phone for anything but his family.
What kind of evidence would Connie help them get? She could make a recording of their session, but if Kyle was aware of it, he wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t speak at all. There was no way she could secretly record him, it would be unethical, not to mention inadmissible as evidence in court. So, wouldn’t it all be her word against hi
s anyway? Even if she got some information from him, how could the police use it? Unless they only wanted her to get names. If Kyle disclosed who might be involved, they could put surveillance on them. She didn’t know for sure, but the way Mack had mentioned the discovery of a body made her think that this too was linked to Alice’s attack.
Could Kyle’s accomplice have already struck again?
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
Deborah
I’m still shaken from the call earlier. The police officer only asked a few questions, but it was unexpected. I didn’t even consider they might contact me, which was naïve of me, given my link with Alice. I look over my shoulder every few steps, checking no one’s following me. I’m probably overreacting, thinking someone would be bothered about me. But I can’t shake the worrying thought that what happened in Alice’s kitchen is going to trace back to me. I was careful, I thought, but it would only take one person to tell the police they’d seen me, heard me, and I’d be linked to her attack. Nathan was right. It’s better to let things go, to move on and not let the past ruin the future. But when you believe there is no future, no real hope of experiencing a happy and fulfilling life, the past can be the only place to live.
I can’t get over how Nathan has not only moved on from Sean, but from me, too. Does he see a better future for himself by letting what happened go? I should be glad for him, happy that he can forge a new life. Funny though, I’m not. Not glad, not happy.
Maybe I’m jealous.
But if I could let go, would I?
A car horn blares. I shake myself out of my thoughts; I’m in the middle of the road. I must’ve crossed without looking. I hold a hand up in apology and hear the driver’s irritated voice calling me something unfathomable out of his window as he screeches off again. I need to be more alert to my surroundings. I parked in the car park on the outskirts of Coleton, thinking the walk into town would help blow away the cobwebs. I can’t say it’s worked. My head still feels woolly: abstract and random thoughts fight their way through strands of tangled yarn.
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