‘Tea? Coffee?’ Anna asked, raising from her chair.
‘We’re good, thank you. Can I ask that we talk to Katie first?’ Lindsay smiled. ‘We need to speak to you separately, if we may.’
Lindsay noted Anna’s body stiffen as she shot a look towards Katie.
‘I’ll be okay, Mum. Honestly.’ Katie wrung her hands, but smiled confidently at Anna.
‘We’ll just be in there, you shout if you need us, won’t you?’ Anna shuffled towards the door leading to another room. ‘Come on, Jenny, she’ll be all right.’
Jenny gave Katie’s hand a squeeze and then followed Anna, closing the door gently behind her.
‘I’m sorry to have to visit you and ask this, Katie. As DC Clarke informed you in his call earlier, the man who attacked you was found dead – murdered – on Monday 5th June at approximately 7.15 in the morning. We need to ascertain people’s whereabouts—’
‘I know what you’re here for. You think that because he attacked me and now he’s dead, that one of my family did it. Out of revenge. And you want our alibis.’ She sat back hard in her chair and crossed her arms.
‘It’s not quite like that, Katie. We do need to know where you were, so we can eliminate you from the investigation. But that’s so we can be thorough.’
‘Yep. I get it.’ Tears swelled. ‘I have to prove where I was when that … he … got what he deserved. Otherwise you’re dragging me down the police station and probably arresting me for murder.’
‘Like I said, I am sorry for causing you distress. Once we’ve spoken to you and your family, you can put this behind you. It’ll be over.’
‘It’ll never be over.’ Katie twirled a strand of her long, dull, brown hair around her index finger, twisting it until it was tight, like a piece of rope.
There wasn’t anything Lindsay could say, no comforting words, no snippets of wisdom that would make Katie feel any better. She wanted this interview done so she could get out of this poor girl’s house; her life. After all, how do you move on if people keep dragging you back?
For a moment, Lindsay’s mind flipped to Tony. How many times had she attempted to drag him back? She wasn’t letting him move on. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Why should he get a new chance at happiness – a fresh start, with another woman?
DC Sewell’s voice infiltrated her thoughts.
‘Were you with anyone at 7.15 on the 5th of June?’
Katie looked directly at DC Sewell. ‘Not with anyone as such, no. I was here, my mum was here, but I slept in until ten-ish. I’d had a bad night. I dream a lot you see, you know, like nightmares. I spend a lot of each night in a cold sweat, lying awake staring at the ceiling. Until exhaustion takes over. I go into such a deep sleep, often until mid-morning. So, at that time I would’ve been in bed. Alone.’
‘Can your mum corroborate this?’ Lindsay’s full attention was now on Katie, praying she was about to say ‘yes’.
‘She brought me a cup of tea at ten, like she usually does.’ Her gaze fell to the table.
If Katie’s mum hadn’t seen Katie until ten, Lindsay guessed that Anna had also been on her own up until that point. This wasn’t going well. But the time of Hargreaves’ escape could still help eliminate them.
‘Okay, what about the afternoon of Friday 2nd of June at 2.30?’
Katie tilted her head back, and took a deep breath in. ‘A Friday? Then that would be the afternoon my support group meets. I don’t miss those.’
‘Yes, it was. That’s great, thanks Katie. Who runs that, please?’
‘Maddy. I’ve got her number, I can give it to you so you can check I’m telling the truth.’ Her face reddened. ‘You do know I don’t blame Connie Summers for what happened to me, don’t you?’
The question threw Lindsay. At no point had she mentioned Connie’s name. And Katie had used her current name – not Moore. How did she know she’d changed it?
‘That hadn’t crossed my mind,’ Lindsay said. ‘Why did you think it had?’
‘Everyone always assumes I blame her. I just wanted you to know that I don’t. Typical how they tried to pin all the responsibility on one person – and a woman. Like she was the one who single-handedly released that evil excuse for a human being, instead of it being a joint decision by dozens of people. I don’t hold any grudges against her.’
‘Do you hold them against anyone else?’
She smiled. ‘No. My support group is teaching me to let go of hatred, blame – all the negativity that eats away at your soul. The only way to get over this, eventually, is to forgive.’
If she was lying, she was very convincing.
‘Have you had contact with Miss Summers at all?’ It was niggling Lindsay that Katie had brought up Connie’s name.
Katie’s neck flushed pink. ‘Erm … no, I haven’t met her before, just seen pictures. You know, in the paper, on the local news and stuff.’
Lindsay pursed her lips and tapped her pen on the pad, looking straight at Katie. ‘Only, you mentioned her by her new name, not the one that was in reports. I was just curious, that’s all.’ She smiled, wanting to play it cool; she didn’t want to make Katie feel as though she was being interrogated.
Katie shrugged. ‘I must’ve just heard it, or seen it – actually, I think someone told me a while back. I can’t really remember. It’s a small town, after all.’
‘Yes,’ Lindsay said, ‘I guess it is.’ She thanked Katie, and asked if she’d show her mother through next.
Anna’s story confirmed Katie’s, and Jenny had been at a school assembly on the 2nd and with her husband, in bed, on the 5th.
Lindsay and DC Sewell left the Watson women hugging each other in the kitchen.
‘Let’s hope that they really didn’t have anything to do with Hargreaves’ murder. It would be terrible if we had to pay them another visit.’ DC Sewell closed their front door.
‘Agreed. I wonder how the male Watsons fared?’
Lindsay’s gut feeling was that they would all be in the clear.
But then, her gut had been wrong before.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Connie
Tuesday 13 June
Connie checked the time on her computer again.
Steph was late. She was never late. It was twenty minutes past her appointment. Connie’s fingers drummed on the edge of the desk. Why wasn’t she here? Perhaps she’d had issues with the pre-school; Dylan might be unwell. The only contact number Connie had was her landline, and she hadn’t answered that.
She’d be here.
Her next client was due at eleven. Should she put him off? If Steph was any later, Connie wouldn’t get the time she needed with her to cover everything she had in mind. If she cut Steph’s appointment short, it might be detrimental. And Connie doubted whether asking her to come back later in the day would go down well. She put her head in her hands and pulled at her hair. What to do?
She strode to the window, checked the street, the market – no sign. Maybe she’d forgotten – that was a problem with pre-booked sessions. She ought to send reminder texts, like her dentist did. That’s the only reason Connie never missed her own appointments.
Dammit.
Connie picked up the phone and dialled Paul. Hopefully she could reschedule him without causing him undue anxiety. He was reaching the end of his sessions with her – it would be a good indicator of how he was coping with everyday problems. Or that’s what she convinced herself as she explained the need to alter his session.
Thinking it could well be a waste of time – and that Steph wouldn’t show up at all today anyway – Connie set about writing notes about everything she wanted to discuss with Steph. Every few minutes she checked out the window. Come on, Steph – where the hell are you?
Could the man from yesterday have caught up with her? Should she call the police, or Miles, to go and check on her? Connie’s heart fluttered erratically.
What if Brett had found her?
Connie reached for the phone again. Then st
opped. She was blowing this out of proportion. Steph was just late. She replaced the receiver. She’d give it another ten minutes. Her attention was caught by the new mail icon flashing on her computer screen. She clicked on it.
You have received a new private message through your counselling directory page.
Distractedly, she scanned it. She usually got messages from people enquiring about her service – how many sessions, how much it cost – even though this information was already set out on the website. Really it was their way of reaching out; taking the first tentative step. They wanted to get a personal message from the person they were considering putting all their trust in. It was understandable.
But the new message was not someone reaching out in that way.
Connie read through the message twice to make sure she’d not misread it.
It’s you who needs the counselling. No wonder, when you’ve had to keep secrets for 22 years. That stuff screws with your head. Or are you still claiming you know nothing about it all?
Don’t you remember, Connie?
Your dad does.
He clearly doesn’t care though, he’s still carrying on like it was nothing to him.
He didn’t learn the first time, maybe he needs another lesson.
She stared at the message in shock. Then her brain kicked in. Why would someone send a message like that through her website? They must want her to inform the police. Unless they believed she wouldn’t involve them for fear of dragging her and her family into a horrible, stressful situation. The memory stick was one thing – that was telling her to wake up and see that Luke’s death was no accident. It wasn’t threatening. But He didn’t learn the first time implied another ‘lesson’ was coming. These things couldn’t be a coincidence, it must be from the same person who gave her the USB. This was more worrying.
Connie let out a long breath. With a shaky hand, she grabbed the receiver and began dialling DI Wade.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Then
No matter how much air freshener she sprayed, or Shake n’ Vac she scattered, the stench of weed, dirt and sweat seeped back through – the concoction of smells made her retch. For the five months she’d lived there, Jenna had never had time with Vince alone – his gang of mates practically lived there too.
She’d complained. Asked if they might have time without them, but Vince told her they were his family; he couldn’t tell them to sling their hooks, because he owed them. Owed them what exactly, she didn’t know, and he didn’t offer any explanation. Judging by the drugs that changed hands, though, and the money that suddenly appeared at odd times, it wasn’t hard to guess. What could she do? She’d made her bed – as her mum had often told her in the past, now she had to lie in the shitpit. And boy, had she made her bed.
If her mother could see her now. Would she even care? What kind of mother abandoned her only daughter? Things had never been amazing, she wouldn’t have ever given her a ‘Mother-of-the-Year’ award, but after Brett’s arrival they’d progressively worsened. Her mother had become snappy, quick to anger. She’d made it obvious she disliked Brett and the arguments she and Brett’s dad had were almost always about him. Jenna was pushed out of the picture. She’d tried visiting her mum at the nursing home a few times after the fire, but as she’d been met with a wall of silence, a glazed look of indifference each time, she’d stopped. Couldn’t bear to see the empty shell. How had her mother been so lucky? The sudden onset dementia meant she had no idea what it was like to live with the fallout. How convenient.
Her mum, like the rest of her family, was dead to her now.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Connie
Connie gave a yelp of surprise and dropped the phone as the door swung open and banged against the wall.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.’ Steph burst through, dragging little Dylan behind her.
Connie’s chest rose and fell rapidly. ‘No problem,’ she managed. The call to Wade would have to wait.
‘I’m late because I had an argument wi’ the school ’cos I told ’em I’m not leaving Dylan there again today. He needs to stay wi’ me.’
Connie opened her drawer and retrieved the colouring pencils and paper she’d given Dylan before.
‘Hey, Dylan. How would you like to draw me a picture this morning?’ Connie crouched down, smiling at him. He lowered his head and scuttled behind Steph, still clutching her hand.
‘Go on.’ Steph pulled him back around her and gave him a nudge towards Connie. ‘Take ’em. You can do a nice happy picture. I’ll put it on the fridge when we get home.’
Dylan edged forwards, his first two fingers of one hand jammed in his mouth. He chewed on them. Poor kid seemed really nervy. He hadn’t been like that last time he’d been in her office. Connie smiled and placed the pencils and paper on the floor beneath the window. He’d go to them in his own time.
‘Sit down, Steph.’ Connie took her notebook and pen, then moved her chair to be beside Steph. A sickly-sweet aroma reached Connie’s nostrils; she repositioned the chair slightly further away. She didn’t want to appear rude, but the smell was overpowering. Was it cannabis? Surely not. ‘Are you doing okay, Steph?’
‘Been better.’ Her eye sockets appeared sunken; dark puffy skin bulged underneath. ‘Not slept the past few nights.’
‘Have you been taking anything?’ Connie thought she might as well be direct.
‘What, like drugs you mean?’ Her voice cracked.
‘Yes, like drugs. Only I’ve got to say, I know you said you’ve not been sleeping, but your appearance is, well—’
‘I took a bit of weed. That’s it – to try and relax me. It wasn’t much, nothing really.’ Steph broke eye contact and looked over at Dylan, who was finally busy with his colouring.
Connie knew that cannabis had been an issue for Steph in the past, when she’d lived with her boyfriend. But to her knowledge, she hadn’t used it since being relocated. She wondered where Steph had acquired it. It was a question for another time, though; her priority for today’s session was finding out about any perceived or real danger Steph might be in. With the focus on her brother, Brett.
‘Perhaps we’ll talk about that a bit later, see if together we can come up with some more appropriate ways of dealing with stress and learning some relaxation techniques?’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
‘I’m going to write notes as we chat today, Steph. I feel we need to get some things straight and I want us to come up with a plan by the end of this session. Does that sound reasonable to you?’
‘Fine. If you think that’s gonna help, knock yourself out.’
‘Don’t you think it’ll be helpful?’
‘Depends.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess. If the plans include moving me again, then that might work.’
Connie sat back in her chair. Steph must feel the threat to her was great if she was even thinking about that.
‘I would imagine that would be a last resort for Miles and his team. They’d want to do what they can to ensure your safety here, first.’
‘If you say so. Look, I know you mean well, and you’re trying your best for me. But you can’t save me. No one can.’
‘What do you mean by that? Why do you believe you can’t be saved?’
‘It’s written in the stars. Set in stone. My destiny – whatever. I wasn’t meant to live, was I? Death …’ Steph gave a quick sideways glance, lowering her voice to a hushed whisper. ‘Death will come for me. I know it. I feel it.’
Connie shuddered. Steph’s face was set, her jawline strong; defiant. Did she even want Connie to disagree, argue for the opposite? Say she was wrong? Her mind seemed made up. Resolute.
‘No, Steph. Death will not come for you. The reason Miles brought you here under the protected persons scheme was to do just that – protect you. And Dylan. But to ensure your safety we need to know everything that’s going on.’
Steph’s eyes darted from Connie to Dylan and back again.
‘Right, yes. I know. And I trust you, Connie. Whatever they’re saying about you in the news.’
Connie lowered her head as a heat spread from her neck to her face. No time to deal with that right now.
‘Have you had any further letters?’
‘No, not letters.’
‘Then, what?’ Connie’s brow creased.
‘I had some calls. But when I picked up, no one spoke.’
‘How many, and when?’
‘I dunno. Three, not many. One a day for the last three days. All in the evening, about eight.’
‘Just the last three days …’ Connie ran her index finger over her bottom lip. ‘Yesterday, I went to the quay, for lunch.’ Connie kept her eyes on Steph’s. There was a flicker in them, she was sure.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes, and I saw you and Dylan, playing on the pirate ship. I was a distance away, so you didn’t hear me when I shouted to you.’
‘No, well – my mind was elsewhere. I took Dylan out of school then too, so we were just having some fun.’
‘It looked as though you were having fun, yes, and it was great to see you and him playing like that.’ Connie smiled. ‘But then I saw a man. He seemed to be hanging around.’ She almost added ‘watching you’ but stopped herself.
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