‘Maybe he was trying to protect me, stop this mess getting even more out of control.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s a possibility; if he’s been keeping an eye from afar he could’ve seen your name being linked to that Hargreaves murder I suppose. Let’s hope he doesn’t break cover again now, though.’
‘Oh yes, heaven help him if he reaches out to his own family.’
‘He made the choice—’
‘No, Dad. You made the choice. Luke was seventeen, how much say did he have in your decision?’
‘I’m so sorry, love, I really am.’
‘What would you have done this time – if the culprit hadn’t been caught, Dad? Faked my death too?’
‘Connie …’ He reached a shaking hand towards her.
‘No, don’t.’ She stepped back out of his reach. ‘How did you even pull this off? How could you have convinced us, everyone, that he’d died? I can’t believe it, there would’ve been so much red tape, you couldn’t have done that alone.’
‘At the time, I was very powerful in my line of work—’
‘What? Antiques?’ Connie snorted.
‘Not exactly. I dealt with more than antiques …’
Connie didn’t like where this was leading, but in her heart, she already knew.
‘Right, so that was your cover, or something? Doesn’t explain how you got away with this huge lie, this betrayal.’ Her eyes clouded. Knowing her dad was involved was one thing, hearing him trying to explain away his part in it hurt her more than she could possibly have imagined.
‘Let’s say I knew the right people that could help me without alerting those that would cause trouble for me.’ All at once the things Brett had said, the old arguments she remembered her mum and dad having – the time spent at the ‘gentleman’s club’ – all came together. Her dad belonged to some kind of funny-handshake brigade, a secret society – perhaps even the Masons – full of powerful professionals, no doubt. Did they turn a blind eye to his dodgy dealings? Help him out when he was in trouble?
‘Christ, Dad.’ She ran her hands roughly through her hair and paced around in a small circle. ‘Go on, what else?’ She stopped, and glared at him.
‘I did a deal with the police – I gave them info about one of the biggest drug importers on their hit list – and they put Luke into witness protection. It was the only way I could safeguard him. And you and your mum.’
The irony hit Connie. She’d been counselling someone in witness protection and all along her own brother had been forced into a similar situation of isolation and insecurity. Poor Luke, she could only imagine how being taken from your family at the age of seventeen would’ve affected him. How had her dad allowed things to get to that stage?
‘Don’t pretend you did any of this for us. You’ve ruined all of our lives and I’ll never forgive you.’
‘I know. But you are all alive. For me, your hatred of me is something I’m willing to bear for that.’ He gave a small smile and turned, walking back towards the road, and her mother’s house.
‘That’s it, Dad? What happens now?’ She rushed forward, pulling at his sleeve, forcing him to face her.
‘We ought to get in now, your mother will be waiting. We’ll talk about this another time,’ he said. Then he took hold of her upper arms and looked into her eyes. ‘Don’t worry your mum about any of this, will you? Sometimes you have to make decisions that aren’t going to benefit a lot of people. Maybe just to protect one.’
Connie wiped her eyes. ‘I can’t go in there and lie to her. We have to tell her the truth.’
‘No. There’s no point now – she buried him, she grieved. She went through hell. I can’t undo that. I’m afraid it’ll kill her. She can’t see him, he can’t be part of this family now, it’s not safe for him to suddenly come back. He knows that – why do you think he stayed in the background and didn’t contact you directly? Nothing can come of this – he has to stay dead, Connie.’
What he said made some sense. If her mum knew, she’d go to any lengths to find Luke – possibly putting them all in danger. But Connie couldn’t live with the knowledge he was alive and not tell her mum.
‘Sorry, Dad – but you don’t get to play God and make all the decisions any more.’ She pushed past him, crossed the road and went through the front door of her mum’s house without looking back at him.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Connie
Monday 3 July
Connie stood on the threshold of her consulting room, looking in. It had only been ten days, but the room held a musty odour that she would’ve expected from somewhere that had been shut up for much longer.
Nothing in her room was different.
Yet everything was.
Dropping her bag on her desk, she went to the window and threw it open. A rush of cool, fresher air flooded in. She closed her eyes, allowing it to wash over her face. Voices of people in the street below filtered up to her. They would be her company today, as she didn’t have any clients booked in. The few she had left on her list she’d had to put off while she recovered from the recent events. She hadn’t felt ready to help others through their issues when she was still working through her own.
It wouldn’t be long, though. It couldn’t be. She couldn’t afford to be self-pitying, she had to get back in the saddle and get her consultancy up and running again.
She reached inside her bag and got out the rectangular box, setting up her new aromatherapy reed-diffuser on the small table just inside the door. The immediate scent of orange and grapefruit infused the damp-smelling air. It was called Uplifting. She hoped it wasn’t false advertising.
The ringing phone startled her. She’d let the answer machine take it.
‘DI Wade calling for Connie Summers.’ The tone was light, jokey. Connie smiled and ran to the phone.
‘Hey, Lindsay. Is this an official call, or a checking-up-on-me call?’
‘It’s an official-checking-up-on-you call. I thought you might be feeling, you know, a little … odd. It’s been a weird time, and getting back to work might seem like a good idea to stop you from your constant overthinking and analysing, but only if you have actual work to do. Otherwise you’re just overthinking and analysing everything but in a different location to home.’
‘Some speech.’
‘Thank you. I’d rehearsed it.’ Lindsay laughed. ‘But, seriously, be productive, get on the computer and do some marketing, try and build your client list again. But stay busy. And no googling the case!’
Lindsay had clearly got to know Connie well over the last month.
‘Yes, Boss,’ Connie mocked. ‘Is everything going okay with the case, though – is there enough to take to the CPS?’
‘Connie, please. Enough. Trust that we will do our jobs. You concentrate on getting your life back on track. Leave the likes of Aiden Flynn behind you.’
Connie knew she was right. But she didn’t like loose ends – and there were too many here to prevent her leaving this all behind entirely.
‘I will, Lindsay, I promise. But what about this gang of Aiden’s? What about Brett – where did he really fit in to this? Have you spoken with him since Aiden’s arrest, was he involved, what about Steph—’
‘Okay, okay. I get you have unanswered questions. So do we. I can’t talk about it in detail, but you know a fair bit – Brett told you a lot of it. He was helpful when we questioned him, and there’s nothing to suggest he had any part in Stephanie’s suicide. No witnesses saw her with anyone on Dartmoor prior to hers and Dylan’s deaths. According to his probation officer, Brett’s going back to Manchester now there’s nothing left to keep him here. And, from what we’ve heard so far from Aiden, which I admit is limited, Brett appears to have been spot on. The gang wanted their revenge, had been waiting a long time for it, and supposedly, the catalyst for their actions was finding out that Luke was still alive.’
This had all started because they found out that they’d been duped, then. They’d realised Luke w
as alive, that the death of Jonny hadn’t, in fact, been avenged. Connie gave a long sigh.
It begged the question – was this really over?
‘Right. Thanks Lindsay. I appreciate you calling, I really do.’
‘Good. Because I’ll be calling again in a few hours. Someone needs to keep you in check.’
‘Hah! Yeah, I thought you might. Speak in a bit, then.’
If one good thing had come out of all this, it was her friendship with Lindsay. Despite the moral and ethical challenges Connie’s involvement in the case had created, Lindsay hadn’t allowed her usual ‘by-the-book’ approach to stop it from forming. And, if the phone call was anything to go by, she was keen to keep it going.
Connie walked to the window and stared out at the people going about their business. Was Luke still out there? Her dad had been angry that he’d broken cover – gone against the rules – had, in his mind, put himself and the family in danger. But Connie didn’t think that way. He’d broken his cover to protect her.
Connie took comfort in the thought he might be watching over her.
Epilogue
A cool wind whipped the long grass as he walked across the moor and stung his face as it caught him head on. It was cold, but the sun was getting higher, and sweat began pricking under his armpits. He’d taken an hour to walk to the tor.
Haytor.
He’d read about the Devon moors when he was in the YOI. There was something fascinating about them. Dark. They held secrets.
It held his.
He climbed the granite rocks, reaching the top easily. He let the wind buffet him as he stood on the edge looking down at the sheer drop. If he leant over a bit more he’d be able to see the smaller rocks below.
How simple. One push and he’d be over the edge. One small leap and he’d be flying.
Joining his stepsister and nephew.
He took a step back. Crouching down, he retrieved a bottle from his rucksack and sat on the rock. A chill permeated his trousers. Unscrewing the lid, he swigged from the bottle, coughing as the harsh taste of vodka burnt the back of his throat. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
He lifted his chin and shouted, ‘Cheers, sis.’
Enough.
Scrambling to his feet, he made his way to the edge again.
But he wouldn’t let her win.
He clambered back down the side of the tor, careful with his footing. A couple walking their dog came into view at the foot of the incline. He hoped they would hurry up and walk on by. He wanted to be on his own.
He waited until they were small blobs on the horizon, then made his way to the place. The exact spot where Jenna and Dylan had been found. Staring at the area they’d fallen on to, he could envisage their bent and twisted bodies.
She shouldn’t have lied.
Tugging at his jeans pocket, he pulled out a crumpled photograph. He looked at it for a long while, then placed it into a crevice by the rocks where Jenna’s body had fallen.
He sat down beside the photo – a smiling Jenna looking up at him from the only family picture that’d ever been taken of the four of them. Jenna on the left, then him, his dad slightly behind. With her. Taking his Zippo lighter, he flicked it, watching as the small flame danced. He shut the lid. Then flicked it open again. He continued with the motion until he felt ready.
Leaning forwards, he touched the flame against the photo. The left edge blackened, then caught. The flame licked the corner, then spread, obliterating her face.
‘I forgive you, Jenna.’ He watched until the photo was destroyed. He was calm now. ‘You had to die, though. It was only right.’
He smiled as he watched the ashes of the photo lift and get carried along by the wind. ‘I always told you it ends with fire.’
Author’s Note
This novel is a work of fiction – however, there are some real locations mentioned. For example, I talk about the wonderful historic town of Totnes in Devon – a place I know well. While real, I’ve used it in a purely fictitious manner, and to this end, have slightly altered some of the geography to fit my story.
Acknowledgements
Huge thanks to my agent, Anne, and my editors Natasha and Rachel, who did a great job helping shape Bad Sister. Thanks also to Kate from Kate Hordern Literary Agency and everyone at Avon, HarperCollins for their enthusiasm and hard work. I’m thrilled to be part of such a fab team.
As ever, thank you to Doug, Danika, Louis and Nathaniel and the rest of my family who have continued to support me and put up with me. I know it’s not always easy!
My grateful thanks to my friends and writing companions, Lydia and Libby, who read through various drafts of Bad Sister and whose insights and suggestions were a huge help. You both know how important you are – your daily support means everything to me.
I feel blessed to have great friends – so many have been part of my writing journey. A special shout-out to Nicci and James, who are always there for me and whose friendship and constant encouragement keeps me going. I’ll always be your Maeve, James! (Although, I’ll be surprised if you ever read this … ) Thanks to Emma, who I don’t see nearly enough – but I always know you’re there. And thank you to Tracey, my best friend since we were three years old – you are my rock.
I’ve met, both virtually and in real life, some amazing book bloggers. I’m so grateful for the support I received for my debut novel, Saving Sophie, and for their continued support on social media. You’re all stars. Special mention to Kaisha Holloway – you did a stellar job on the last paperback book tour, I will always be grateful for your enthusiasm and help. Many thanks to my book club girls: Charlotte, Izzy, Tara, Luisa, Laura and Lauraine. Our monthly meet-ups ensure I do get out of the house sometimes …
I also couldn’t get by without my chats with fellow authors, Helen Cox, Cass Green, and Louise Jensen – and the brilliant support from the CSers (you know who you are).
I will have missed people – I forget my own children’s names, so it’s inevitable. But please know, even if I haven’t mentioned your name, if you’ve helped or supported me in any way, then Thank You!
And of course, thank you dear readers. I hope you enjoy Bad Sister.
Your daughter is in danger. But can you trust her?
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sam Carrington lives in Devon with her husband and three children. She worked for the NHS for fifteen years, during which time she qualified as a nurse. Following the completion of a psychology degree, she went to work for the prison service as an Offending Behaviour Facilitator. Her experiences within this field inspired her writing. She left the service to spend time with her family and to follow her dream of being a novelist. Bad Sister is her second psychological thriller.
Readers can find out more at http://www.samcarrington.blogspot.co.uk and can follow Sam on Twitter @sam_carrington1
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Saving Sophie
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Sam Carrington, Bad Sister
Bad Sister Page 30
