It was time to give Lindsay another call.
Connie hesitated, her finger poised over the button to dial. She’d want her to be alone when she visited. No Mack. No other officer. Just Lindsay. She sighed, and pressed it.
By the end of a slightly uncomfortable conversation, Connie had invited Lindsay Wade over for wine and an evening meal. And surprisingly, Lindsay had accepted.
Connie couldn’t suppress her smile as she opened the door to Lindsay. Although she’d asked her over, she hadn’t expected Lindsay to say yes. She came across as very ‘by the book’ and Connie had supposed, with the police’s current interest in her, that Lindsay would feel obliged to decline. Mind you, it might not have been accepted with the same intent that it was offered. Maybe she had an ulterior motive for spending time with Connie. With a bottle in one hand and the other stuffed in a trouser pocket, Lindsay stepped over the threshold. She pushed the bottle towards Connie.
‘Thank you, there was no need, though.’ Connie tucked her freshly washed and straightened hair behind an ear and stood aside to let Lindsay through. Her outfit was no different from the one she wore to work. Wasn’t this woman ever off duty? She didn’t exactly seem relaxed, comfortable. Mind you, Connie had invited her over to discuss the latest development, so she wasn’t going to give her a night off anyway. Leaving Lindsay sitting on the edge of the sofa, Connie went to the kitchen and opened the wine, pouring two large glasses.
‘I wondered if you could get a taxi home? Or …’ Connie called from the kitchen.
‘Oh, er … no. It’s a bit far to Plymouth by taxi. I thought I’d get one back to the station after, seeing as it’s so close. I’ve lots to do. I can kip there and drive back home tomorrow.’
Connie walked in and handed the glass to Lindsay. ‘Wow, you don’t give yourself much time off, do you?’
She shrugged, but didn’t offer anything further. For a long moment neither of them spoke, and Connie began to regret the invitation. She took the armchair nearest to the end of the sofa Lindsay was perched on.
‘Thanks for agreeing to come over. I don’t really do cooking, so I thought we’d get takeaway. Chinese? Indian?’
‘I’m rather partial to Chinese.’ Lindsay smiled.
‘Excellent. Me too. I’ll grab the menu.’ She jumped up.
After choosing what they wanted and ringing it through, Lindsay settled back into the sofa. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t ask me here for purely social reasons?’ She swigged from her glass.
‘I did have an ulterior motive, yes. But let’s not worry about that until after we’ve eaten. I was wondering, Lindsay, how long have you and Mack worked together?’ As far as idle chit-chat went, Connie realised that topic wasn’t the best. Not for her.
‘A fair few years now. He’s a great officer, you know. Can be a bit old-hat at times, but he’s good at his job. And he’s kind, too.’
Connie let a sharp breath out through her nostrils. ‘Sorry. Yes, I’m sure he is. I don’t think I’ve witnessed that side of him yet. Given our personal issues, I am guessing I might not.’
‘I know. You two didn’t get off on the right foot. I’m sure he’ll come around. When you’re not in possession of the full facts, it’s hard to make a proper judgement. Particularly when emotions are involved.’
‘Yep. I know.’ Connie lowered her head.
‘You live on your own.’ It wasn’t a question. Obviously, Lindsay was already aware that she didn’t live with a partner.
‘No, I live with Amber.’
‘Oh. Er … sorry, I had no idea, um—’ Lindsay fumbled.
‘My cat,’ Connie jumped in. Had Lindsay thought she meant another woman?
‘Ah-ha. Of course.’
‘What about you, Lindsay? You married?’ The question was out before she thought too much about it.
Lindsay gulped some wine – several mouthfuls – before she answered. ‘Well. I am, I guess. I mean, officially.’
‘Oh, I see. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to pry.’
‘No, don’t be. It’s fine. He’s been gone well over a year. Moved in with another woman now. It’s most definitely over.’ She fiddled with the stem of the glass. ‘Not sure I’ve moved on, though. I’m stalling on signing the papers. Not sure if it’s because I’m hopeful he’ll change his mind, or because I want to be a bitch – make his life more difficult.’
Connie laughed. ‘I could hazard a guess.’
‘Thanks!’ Lindsay’s smile seemed unsure at first, and Connie winced. She’d overstepped the mark. But then Lindsay gave a snort. ‘So, you’ve noticed that about me then? That was quick, it usually takes a good few weeks of knowing me before people realise I’m a bitch.’
They both laughed, Connie relieved she hadn’t caused offence.
After they’d shared out the Chinese and devoured almost all of it, plus opened another bottle of wine, the atmosphere became altogether more relaxed. Connie told Lindsay that she had seen one of the tattoos found on Hargreaves’ body before, or at least something very similar to it. She explained about the emblem briefly, mentioning her dad’s business as well. Then she felt comfortable enough to tell her about her brother’s death, and handed over the memory stick.
‘That must’ve been such a terrible time for you and your family,’ Lindsay said. She’d let her speak, not interrupting up to then, but now appeared genuinely taken aback with Connie’s story – not that she’d even given her all the details. It was enough for now to share the basics.
‘It had a massive impact then – and continues to now. But, like I told you, what’s on the stick has nothing to do with the Hargreaves case.’
‘Okay, I appreciate you giving it to me though, thank you.’
When Connie went on to tell her about Brett’s surprise call and subsequent visit, Lindsay’s interest was clearly piqued and she was keen to hear all about it. She, too, was particularly struck by the discrepancies in the information held by the protected persons team, and what Steph and Brett had told Connie. They talked until after midnight, when Lindsay said she should get going.
‘Thanks for coming over, Lindsay.’ Connie wasn’t sure quite how to say her farewell: a handshake, hug, air-kiss? Possibly because of the wine, she went in for a loose embrace – which Lindsay reciprocated. The main aim of the evening for Connie had been to get Lindsay to believe that Steph and Dylan had been killed, that it was not suicide.
As she saw Lindsay out and waved her off in the taxi, she wondered if she’d been successful.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
DI Wade
The cool evening air was a relief after the mugginess of the taxi. Lindsay paused for a moment before entering the police station, breathing in the night. She’d always loved that smell. The smell of night had a particular kind of scent; comforting, somehow. She made her way to the office off the main incident room, passing a few officers who were on the late shift. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. Despite the people, the room held an altogether different mood. A subdued hush. Not the hub of frenzied activity it was during the day.
She had a lot to mull over. The evening with Connie had been an unexpected one. The things she divulged weighed on her mind. Everything was so confusing – nothing was piecing together in a straightforward manner. The very fact that Stephanie’s brother, Brett, had found Connie and was telling her a different story to the one Stephanie had told was concerning. Connie was still so convinced that Stephanie and Dylan did not die by way of suicide, and Brett telling her that he was not, as she’d been led to believe by Steph, responsible for the fire, was falling on deaf ears with Connie. Why was she being so stubborn? Miles Prescott had told her there was no evidence that the brother had set the house on fire. In fact, according to Connie, Miles had denied all knowledge of a brother at first, then after finding a psychiatric report on Stephanie, changed this view and said instead that Brett had been responsible for a school fire, and it was that which he’d been sent to the secure home for. Miles had informed Co
nnie, and Lindsay’s team, that the police at the time were confident the house fire had been caused by a petrol bomb through the letter box. But Connie wasn’t listening to reason. She’d got the bit between her teeth and was compelled to find out what she believed was the truth.
But at what cost?
If Connie carried on looking to implicate Brett in Stephanie and Dylan’s deaths, wasn’t she putting herself in a dangerous position?
If, in the unlikely event she was right, and she confronted Brett – the repercussions could be severe. Lindsay had told Connie this, hoping her words of warning would penetrate. But if Connie was as headstrong as she suspected, then it was a tall order to expect her to give up on her theory.
Maybe they should look into it further. Just in case. Lindsay opened the case files on her laptop, scrolling until she found the timeline she’d compiled. Connie had informed her that Brett had been released from the YOI on Thursday 1st June. Searching the timeline, she noted that was a day before Hargreaves’ escape from custody at the graveside, and four days prior to his body being dumped. Coincidence? Why had he turned up on Connie’s doorstep and how had he found her? The hairs on Lindsay’s forearms bristled. Were there any other links? From what Connie had said, he wanted to put his side of the story forward, tell her that Stephanie had lied about him. It was strange he’d chosen Connie to unload this on to.
A nagging itch spread across her scalp. Had they been too quick to dismiss Stephanie as a suicide case?
Lindsay scanned the notes on the database. There were still no solid links between the timing of Hargreaves absconding from custody, the body dump and prison officers’ rosters – but it had been Niall’s day off. Yes, he’d given an alibi and it had obviously checked out because it hadn’t been flagged. But someone might have lied for him. At the time, there’d have been no reason to be suspicious. Now though, the thought of a possible link between Niall Frazer and Brett Ellison crossed her mind. Both men had got in contact with Connie shortly after the deaths of Hargreaves and then Stephanie, which was either coincidental, or there was a reason for it. For Niall, it might have been purely because he wanted to offer comfort and had felt guilty for leaving it so long. Or he wanted to see how his handiwork had affected her, find out if it’d made her life better – how pleased she was with what he’d done.
Were he and Brett working together?
Lindsay shook her head. She was letting her mind get carried away. She’d allowed Connie’s hysteria to rub off on her; she was getting swept along. Connie seemed to have an odd effect on her. She’d even confided in her about her husband. Now that was a surprise, even to her. Perhaps it was the counsellor in Connie that somehow made her more approachable, easy to talk to – after all, it had taken Lindsay months before she’d disclosed any personal details to Mack and she worked closely with him.
She needed to be logical now. The only way of cracking this case was to go over each small detail and find the evidence. It wouldn’t do to fling theories around on the basis of one woman’s say-so. Especially when there was still a possibility that that woman was central to the case and might have her own agenda. Lindsay questioned her own decision to accept Connie’s invitation tonight – had she crossed a line? But although there was some evidence which could be taken as incriminating, whether that was enough to stop treating her as an expert advisor and more of a person of interest was doubtful. In Lindsay’s mind at least. She had a feeling if her superior knew the situation fully, he might take a different view.
Lindsay clicked on the tattoo files. Connie had told her, almost as an aside, that Niall had a bird tattooed on his upper arm. Again, was this coincidence? Lots of people had bird tattoos, no doubt. Mack had taken pictures of them to a few local tattoo artists. None had recognised the work or could give a clue as to what they meant. Perhaps they were personal to the perpetrator, or Connie? The fact that Connie believed that one was similar to her dad’s previous business emblem was curious. She hadn’t come up with anything on the others. She had the memory stick now. And, as Connie had stated, it did seem unrelated to the current case. Worrying for her though – an unknown person purposely messing with her head, dragging up a past, painful event for no apparent reason. Lindsay would file the stick as evidence anyway, just in case more came of it at a later date.
Lindsay also had a team working on CCTV – seeing if the white van was spotted prior to or after the body drop. But there was literally nothing. It was as if it were a ghost van. The only thing they could gather from the lack of sightings was that he’d kept to lanes. He knew the area. Lindsay was sure he’d had help. But who? How many were involved in this? There were so many loose ends, it made Lindsay’s head swim. Even the interviews with Hargreaves’ final victim, Katie Watson, and her family had some inconsistencies. They couldn’t be ruled out entirely, either.
Much to her annoyance, this case was proving to be more, rather than less complicated as it progressed.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Connie
Saturday 17 June
Her head was groggy; a fug from too much alcohol. Had it been a productive evening with DI Wade? Connie doubted it. She rolled on to her back, squinting against the brightness of the room, the sun’s rays streaking across the ceiling like long fingers. Although Lindsay had listened, and even agreed in some part, Connie still thought that, ultimately, Lindsay believed Brett was telling the truth. That he didn’t start the fire – and Steph was lying. As far as Lindsay was concerned, Brett’s assertion fitted with Steph committing suicide. Steph had known the truth and, with the knowledge that Brett had been released, her lies were going to finally come to light. Her past had caught up with her. So, according to Lindsay’s theory, Steph was frightened, but for a different reason than the one she’d given Connie.
Maybe Steph had been afraid that if the truth came out she would be in danger of being put in prison, of having Dylan taken into care? Connie flung the duvet off and slowly stood. Or had Steph been telling the truth about being scared that Brett was coming to find her? But not to finish what he started, as she’d said, but to exact his revenge for ruining his life. It might be that Steph was telling a half-truth but, whatever her story, Connie still believed that her death was not a suicide.
And Brett had a motive to get rid of Steph in whichever version of the truth.
After swallowing two paracetamol, Connie fed Amber and then slumped on the sofa. It’d been nice to have female company last night. After the initial awkwardness, Lindsay had relaxed a bit, and had surprised her when she began telling her about her husband. Connie had the distinct impression that Lindsay was lonely. Her job clearly meant everything to her, and she’d also said she felt like she’d sacrificed a lot for it. Relationships had taken a major hit. Connie couldn’t help feeling that Lindsay had forgotten how to apply some social skills, ones required to develop and sustain a healthy relationship. Connie hoped that now she’d made a move in the right direction with her, she’d continue to reach out. She liked the woman – her directness and honesty, the fact that what you saw was what you got – she could trust her. They might even become friends. Connie had to admit, they could both do with a female ally.
After a cool shower, Connie dressed in jeans and a white shirt, and, feeling refreshed and less headachy, decided to walk into Coleton to get something for lunch. Living meal-by-meal was becoming tiresome. What she really needed to do was a proper weekly shop; organise what meals she was going to have, to stop this pigging-out routine she’d got herself in. If she could lose a few pounds, well, a stone at least, she’d feel better, more like her old self. Her mum would stop worrying so much if she could see she was taking care of herself. Although, her mother would never stop worrying. If it wasn’t about her health, she’d find something else to worry herself over.
It was only a ten-minute walk: past the park and then the train station, up takeaway alley and through the market walk to the supermarket. Which was fine on the way, when empty-handed, but when laden
with bags, the walk back was far slower. Impeded by the throng of Saturday shoppers, Connie made slow progress. Plus, she had to keep stopping to rest and shift the bags to stop the plastic handles biting into her hands. She should’ve got a taxi home. As she leant against the wall of Sports Direct, facing the opposite side of the street, a familiar flash of purple hair caught her attention. Christ. Not now.
Connie gathered her bags and set off, head down, her pace as quick as she could manage.
‘Ooh-ooh, Connie!’ a high-pitched voice called.
Connie closed her eyes briefly, sighing loudly, but carried on moving. Perhaps Kelly would give up following.
‘Connie, wait up.’
No. Of course she wouldn’t give up. Connie stopped. Might as well let her have her usual dig, get it over, then she’d leave her be.
‘What do you want, Kelly?’ Connie turned sharply, Kelly almost bumping into her.
‘Ah, well. I was wondering how things were, you know – things have been rotten for you. I heard the dreadful news about your client killing herself, murdering her beautiful child—’
‘She did not kill herself, or her son!’ Connie said, then instantly regretted her words. She’d played right into Kelly’s hands.
‘Oh, and why do you think that? Do you know something, Connie? If it wasn’t suicide, then you must think she was killed. Do you know by who?’ The woman tripped along beside Connie, her annoying voice, grating.
‘I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.’
‘You said she didn’t commit suicide. How else would you like me to take that?’
Connie didn’t respond. They were level with the park. She didn’t want Kelly following her any further, finding out where she lived. She walked to a free bench and placed her bags on it.
Bad Sister Page 20
