Christ. What had she done? What a terrible thing to do to this poor woman.
Rosie’s lips parted. Connie held her breath.
‘Ahhh, noooo.’ It was almost a wail.
Connie froze. Was she going to scream, cry? She looked towards the door, hoping no one was nearby. But Rosie quietened again. Connie didn’t know what to do, so she placed her hand over Rosie’s. It was cold, waxy. Her mind conjured Steph and Dylan’s dead bodies on the metal gurney in the morgue. Goosebumps prickled her arms.
‘Poor … Jenna.’ Rosie’s eyes shone with tears.
‘I’m so sorry.’ But Connie had started this now, she felt compelled to continue. ‘What happened in that house, Rosie, the night of the fire?’
‘It wasn’t … his fault.’ Rosie’s words sounded almost brittle. ‘It was mine.’
Connie’s hearing was temporarily drowned out by the banging pulse in her ears.
‘Why was it your fault, Rosie?’
She stared into Connie’s eyes. The coldness of Rosie’s hand spread up Connie’s arm. She took her hand away.
‘It wasn’t meant to happen like that.’
‘How was it meant to happen?’
‘Fucking Jimmy!’ she shouted.
Jimmy? Connie scrambled about in her memory, she’d heard that name before. From Steph, she was sure.
‘What did Jimmy do?’
‘He didn’t. He didn’t. He … he fell asleep.’
This was getting confusing. Connie had to piece this together. How could she pull this back?
Rosie lurched forward, grabbing Connie’s arm. ‘I made a mistake,’ she hissed. ‘I couldn’t face what I’d done.’
‘You set the fire?’ Connie blurted.
Rosie shook her head. Side to side, more and more violently. ‘I made a mistake, I made a mistake.’
‘It’s okay, Rosie. It’s all over now.’
‘It’ll never be over. Not until we all burn.’
‘No. It’s going to be okay, really.’
‘He’s been here. He hates me. He knows.’
‘Brett? What does he know?’
‘Jenna. Poor Jenna. She only wanted it to go back as it was before. Before that man and his wretched boy came. I shouldn’t have asked her to lie.
‘Jimmy was meant to save us. Get the ladder. GET THE LADDER, JIMMY!’ Rosie’s shouts made Connie jump. Tears streaked Rosie’s face. Then she turned away, looking back towards the window.
‘I looked for Jimmy, he wasn’t there. He was supposed to be there. I panicked, the smoke was so thick. Black. I managed to get out. I left him there. He thought I was still in the room, he was shouting, shouting, Rosie, Rosie, where are you? I let him die. Banging at the window, screaming for help. I left him.’ She faced Connie again. ‘I only wanted to go back to what it was before. With Jenna’s dad. We thought we’d arranged it well. It all went so wrong. So wrong. We only wanted the money. The money to leave – just me, him and Jenna. We never wanted anyone to get hurt. I didn’t want him dead. I just wanted to be away from him.’
Oh, my God. Had the fire been set deliberately to get insurance money? It suddenly came together in Connie’s mind. Jimmy – that was Uncle Jimmy, the drunk. He was meant to be there to get them from the fire. Rosie said he fell asleep. So, he hadn’t been where he should’ve been, ready with a ladder to help them all escape. Why the hell had she gone that far for money? And with them all inside the house? That was an extreme measure to make it more realistic, believable. They must’ve assumed that people wouldn’t question it, wouldn’t think it was arson – an act to defraud – if they were all in the house at the time of the fire.
And Steph had been in on the plan. That’s why she was so angry at her mum, and had been for all those years. Because she’d been left, the plan completely ruined, no house, a dead stepdad, life not back to how she’d wanted it with her mum and real dad. Instead, she’d been left with useless Uncle Jimmy – knowing he’d been the one who let them down. Connie remembered Miles saying that Steph’s dad’s whereabouts were unknown. It made sense now – he’d obviously done a runner after the fire destroyed everything. Was he the one who took the insurance money? He needed to disappear so he didn’t have to answer awkward questions, so he couldn’t be implicated. Which left three others who knew the awful truth: Steph, who was carrying around her guilt; lecherous Uncle Jimmy, who was flat-out pissed all the time; and Brett, who until recently had been safely locked up in prison. Alone, confused, and believing he had started the fire. That was, until the therapist had worked with him, helped him recall the traumatic events of that night. Then he realised he had been set up to take the blame when the plan went so terribly wrong.
He had been the scapegoat. Just as he said.
Brett had been telling the truth. Why on earth hadn’t he appealed his sentence when he’d unearthed his real memories? But, then, memories weren’t evidence. What a terrible situation, how would he have been able to prove his innocence with so much stacked against him?
As quickly as Rosie had become lucid and cooperative, she switched off again. Her eyes returned to their dull, blank and staring state. Connie had heard enough anyway.
It was difficult, in that moment, not to despise the broken woman before her.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Killing him had been the task that he’d been given – that had been his responsibility, but once the tattoo idea had begun formulating in his mind, it stuck – it had been so genius there was no way he could unthink it once he’d thought it. A lot of the plans had been outside of his remit – being in prison meant he’d had to rely on others. He’d been given the details, bit by bit over the year. It’d been a painstaking process, and one he’d had little say in – just instructions. But the tattoos were his contribution – although he’d still needed help to execute it.
Whatever. His part had been vital, he’d been needed.
It felt good to be needed.
And it wasn’t over yet.
He’d got her key copied easy enough. He’d left a message for her while he was there. To toy with her. It couldn’t hurt to have a bit of fun with her first.
Now he waited.
For part two.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Connie
Wednesday 21 June
Connie replayed the visit with her dad and Rosie again and again as she travelled back to Devon on the overcrowded train. She hadn’t been able to get a seat until Birmingham New Street and now her legs were hot, her feet swollen – the tight skin acting like rubber bands around her ankles. She massaged them, wishing she could be home already, taking a cool shower, opening a cold bottle of lager.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she decided to visit Steph’s mum; what she’d wanted to hear. She guessed it was confirmation she was after, for Rosie to somehow convey that Brett had to be responsible for Steph’s death. Connie had been so convinced she was right, that he’d killed her – because Steph couldn’t possibly have jumped to her death, killing Dylan in the process. How had Connie been so wrong about that? She’d have to speak to Lindsay when she got home, tell her it looked as though she and Mack were right after all – Steph had killed herself and her son in a terrible act of fear. Fear that her lies were finally going to be exposed, that the hideous plan she’d helped her mum with and had kept secret all those years was coming out. She’d protected her mum until the end. No wonder she was so angry. As far as she believed, her mum had got away with it all – and dementia had taken all the bad memories of what she’d done. Steph had been left to carry all of the guilt.
As for Connie’s dad, now there was something she was right about. He was most definitely holding something back. Lying. To protect himself? To protect her and her mum? Or to protect Luke’s memory? She’d spent the rest of Tuesday night at his house, waiting for him to return after he walked out. When he came back it was like nothing had happened. He had brought takeaway home, and they sat watching TV while they ate and shared a bottle of wine. All ver
y convivial. After her third glass, Connie told him about the photo the police had been given anonymously. Him in a bar. It turned out to have been taken while he was in Devon, the time he failed to see Connie. He’d shrugged it off, said it was just a business deal. No reason anyone should’ve taken a photo of them. Must’ve been merely to throw in a red herring, cause her to question him, he’d said. Connie couldn’t be as flippant. It felt like more than that. When she thought about the other photos, each were taken for a reason: her and Jonesy – to throw suspicion on her activities and give them cause to question whether she might’ve paid an ex-con to carry out a revenge attack; her and Gary in the house – to piss DS Mack off and further disaffect her relationship with the police. So the one of her dad and the unknown man were for what?
However hard Connie had pushed, her dad deflected every attack, and countered every argument she put forward with a reasoned response. She’d wanted to scream at the man, he was so exasperating. His final word on the matter that morning, before she got in the taxi, was: ‘That bastard Hargreaves messed your life up. Don’t let someone else carry on where he left off.’
What was that supposed to even mean?
Connie’s head throbbed. She didn’t want to visit Manchester again any time soon. Finally, at almost 3 p.m. the train drew into Coleton station. Stiff and tired, Connie jostled her way off the carriage, her overnight bag and laptop case banging awkwardly against other passengers. She looked cautiously up and down the platform before heading to the taxi rank. Now would not be a good time to run into Jonesy.
She’d told her mum she would pick up Amber, but too tired now, Connie gave the driver her home address instead – the cold lager was calling to her and the taxi would have her there in five minutes. She couldn’t wait.
The smell hit her first.
As soon as she swung her front door open, it assaulted her. She hadn’t even stepped inside. She put her hand to her nose. What was that? Gone-off food? She’d not even been gone two days. Nothing could smell that bad in such a short time, surely? Connie poked her head further in, and gagged. If she’d been at all healthy, she might have considered it to be rotting vegetables – broccoli perhaps. She took a deep breath and held it, rushing through the hallway to the kitchen. She’d have to open the windows and spray a can-full of Oust.
She stopped short of the window.
A dark oblong-shaped lump was situated in the centre of the kitchen floor.
She let out her breath and, with her hand cupped over her mouth and nose, stepped closer to inspect it.
A dead rat.
Connie’s stomach convulsed. She stepped over it and flung the window open wide. She threw her head out of it, gasping for fresher air. Amber had only ever brought a single field mouse inside the house before – how had she got this huge rat inside without her noticing?
Then she remembered.
Amber was at her mum’s. She couldn’t have left a rat in the middle of the kitchen before they left the house on Tuesday, Connie would’ve seen it.
In which case, how had it got there?
A chill shot through her insides, causing her to shudder violently.
Someone must have been in her house.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
DI Wade
Wade walked up and down in front of the board where all their photographic evidence was displayed. Crime scene photos, murder victim in situ and post-mortem, the tattoos, and the Connie Summers photos – all linked by an invisible cord.
‘Come on, come on – it can’t be that complicated, there’s a clue here somewhere. Come on, show yourself,’ Lindsay said to herself.
‘First sign of madness.’ Mack had crept up behind her, making her jolt with surprise.
‘Bloody hell, Mack.’ Lindsay wiped at her shirtsleeve where her coffee had slopped over the rim of the cup.
‘Sorry, Boss.’
‘Anyway, I already exhibit a whole host of signs – talking to myself is the least scary one, I can tell you.’
Mack laughed. ‘Point taken.’
‘Apart from scalding your boss, did you have any other purpose for sneaking up behind me?’
‘Yes, actually.’ Mack gave a mock-superior look. Lindsay’s eyes widened in anticipation. ‘The teams didn’t bring you suspects, I’m afraid. But they did find someone who remembers seeing the white van that was used to transport our victim.’
‘Keep talking.’
‘He was going for his morning newspaper, same time as he does every day, 7.15 a.m. He walks the two-mile round trip to the post office in Ashbury to keep himself fit – he’s eighty-two years old—’
‘I don’t care about his exercise regime, Mack – or how old he is. Get on with it.’
‘Sorry. The van came speeding around the corner, heading out of the village, towards West Ashbury.’
Lindsay waved her hands impatiently. ‘And this is telling us what, exactly?’
‘The road to West Ashbury goes to West Ashbury.’
‘Oh my God, Mack. Stop talking in riddles, man.’
He smiled. Clearly, he was enjoying prolonging the tension.
‘It only goes to West Ashbury, no further. It’s a small hamlet off Ashbury. There are a few roads, but they are all no-through ones. If our driver went there, there’s a strong possibility the van, full of lovely forensic evidence, is still there.’
‘Fabulous. Oh, and thanks for wasting ten minutes dragging that out, just to showboat.’ Lindsay grabbed her suit jacket from the back of her chair and headed for the door. She heard Mack mumbling as he followed.
‘Oh, Ma’am,’ DC Sewell called after her. Lindsay had given up asking her to call her Boss, or Guv like the others. ‘There’s a call for you.’
‘Take a message. I’m on my way out.’ Lindsay swung the door open.
‘It’s Connie Summers, Ma’am, she sounds a bit upset.’
Lindsay stopped dead, her stomach flipping. Now what had happened? Connie must’ve only just got back from Manchester, had she had another intruder? She let the door fall back, knocking into Mack, and took the call.
‘Wade. How can I help?’ She wanted to keep the call professional, not come across as a concerned friend. She didn’t want the others thinking she’d gone soft.
‘There’s a dead rat in my kitchen.’ Connie’s voice sounded wobbly.
‘Okaaay.’ Lindsay frowned, while trying hard not to sing the lyrics to UB40’s hit eighties song, ‘Rat in Mi Kitchen’. What did she want her to do about that?
‘It was here when I got back. When I left on Tuesday, it wasn’t. Someone’s been inside the house while I’ve been away, left it for me as some kind of … I don’t know, a message. It stinks, Lindsay.’
Lindsay’s lips twitched with the urge to laugh.
‘Look, I understand why you’re rattled. The incident at your office the other day has put you on edge. But I imagine your cat brought the rat in, or you just have a rat issue …’
‘Amber isn’t here. I took her to my mum’s before I went to Manchester, and there was no rat when I left.’
‘Amber probably brought it in prior to Tuesday, alive, then injured it and it died while you were gone. There’s a perfectly good explanation. Have you checked around the house – is there anything else untoward, any windows or doors been forced that you can see?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘Then I’m sure it’s fine. Just a rat. Horrible creatures, but at least it’s dead. If it’d reassure you, make you feel better, I’ll send a DC around?’
‘No, no need to do that. It unnerved me, that’s all. If you don’t think it’s anything to worry about … I might go over to Mum’s and pick Amber up now. I was going to leave it as I’m so tired, but I think I want her here. I’m sorry for bothering you with this. You’re clearly right. I’m being oversensitive, it’s been a hell of a visit to Manchester.’
‘Perhaps I’ll bring over a bottle of wine tomorrow night and you can bring me up to speed?’
; ‘Sure, that’d be good.’
Lindsay paused after she’d replaced the receiver. Was Connie being oversensitive? Or was Lindsay being too flippant about her concerns? There had been someone in the downstairs toilet at Connie’s consultancy – that was a certainty. Whether that person was Brett, or someone they’d not considered, was up in the air. Could that same person have got into her house? It seemed unlikely. Unless they had a key – as Connie said there was no sign of anyone having broken in. Lindsay was suddenly aware of eyes on her.
‘Sorry, Mack. Let’s go.’ She strode towards him, and together they walked to the car. All the while, Lindsay was thinking about Connie. After they were done for the night and before heading back home to Plymouth, she’d pop over to Connie’s house and check no one was hanging around. Ensure the house was secure. Put her own mind at ease. ‘I assume we have all hands on deck for this?’
‘I’ve done the necessary, Boss. I’ve got maps of the land, dwellings, barns and everything. There’s a farm there with various outbuildings, I thought that’d be a good place to begin.’
‘Sounds the perfect drop-zone, doesn’t it? Let’s hope our friend thought so too.’
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Connie
Wednesday 21/Thursday 22 June
Connie held her breath as she wrapped the dead rat in newspaper, then rushed outside and deposited it into the wheelie bin. She shuddered as it hit the bottom of the empty bin with a thud. Back inside the kitchen she squeezed a handful of washing-up liquid into her palm and rubbed her hands together until the lather dripped down her arms. Disgusting disease-carrying creatures. She still had a tingle of concern travelling up and down her spine, but, as Lindsay wasn’t unduly worried, then she shouldn’t be either. Her explanation did make sense. Even so, Connie waived the ice-cold lager and bath, and phoned for a taxi to take her to Shaldon. She’d have an hour with her mum – having to concentrate on keeping from her all that was going on would definitely take her mind off this current rat situation. Then she’d return home with Amber. Any further rats would swiftly be dealt with by her. She hoped.
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