‘It wasn’t written in blood, was it?’
Lindsay shook her head, clearly exasperated. ‘That’s yet to be confirmed. But my point is, yet again you are involved, however indirectly.’
‘I don’t know how this happens to me.’ Connie slid down, and crouched with her knees bent, elbows leaning on them, with her head in her hands.
‘No, neither do I,’ Lindsay said.
Connie looked up sharply. ‘If you hadn’t convinced me it was a good idea to take Jen up on her offer of doing those prison assessments … well, then I wouldn’t be involved, would I?’
‘I didn’t suggest you should agree to assess your client’s son though, did I? And even if you hadn’t taken the prison job, you’d still be involved because you were seeing Alice Mann!’
‘Okay, okay.’ Connie held her hands up. This wasn’t helping matters and was detracting them from the very serious issue of Alice Mann’s attack. ‘No point getting annoyed with each other. What’s going to happen now?’
‘I’m going to do my job, Connie. Which means soon I will probably be paying you a visit. Or, rather, Mack will.’
‘Oh, fantastic. Can’t wait.’ Connie pushed herself back up and stood in front of Lindsay, whose hands were now firmly placed on her hips. She looked like a stern headmistress. ‘Seriously, does it have to be Mack? Can’t you send Clarke?’
‘I’ll see who’s available,’ Lindsay said, her voice softening. ‘You can always start praying that, one, Alice Mann doesn’t remain in an induced coma for long and can tell us herself who attacked her, or two, we can ascertain who’s responsible ourselves using our first-class detective skills and don’t have to involve you at all.’
‘That would be good. If you could arrange for one or two … or both would be better, then I’d be forever grateful.’ Connie moved forwards, giving Lindsay a gentle hug. After what felt like minutes, Connie felt Lindsay’s posture relax; she responded by squeezing her own arms tightly around Connie.
‘Here’s hoping,’ she said, releasing her and turning around, leaving Connie on the threshold of her house, deflated and consumed by anxiety.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Connie
Connie paced – a nervous energy flowing through her, compelling her to keep moving. There was no way she could sit still now, knowing what she knew. Was this her fault? She’d somehow started a chain reaction by forcing Kyle to speak to her, and now something bad had happened to his mum. She’d had the suspicion he’d been keeping silent to protect her from the one that got away – had this person now attacked Alice to get to Kyle – stop him from talking any further to the professionals? Was he afraid of being grassed up by Kyle – identified as the other killer? Connie’s mind whirred. She had a vision of Alice, battered and bruised, lying motionless in a hospital bed, wires and machines attached to her, keeping her breathing; keeping her alive.
Blinking the image away, Connie decided she couldn’t wait around uselessly doing nothing.
Taking her bag and coat from the hallway, she left the house.
She had to see Alice for herself.
Connie stood in the doorway, afraid to enter the hospital room. All she could see were black, purple and red patches interspersed with bandages and numerous monitors. An intubation tube jutted from Alice’s mouth: a machine was doing her breathing for her. A pump made hissing and whooshing noises, the monitors bleeping incessantly. Connie could see from where she was standing that Alice’s ash-blonde hair was matted, a dark red staining the loose curls. The woman was unrecognisable as the Alice Mann she knew. Connie gripped the frame harder. Someone came up close behind her.
‘What are you doing here?’ Lindsay’s tone was hushed, but severe.
‘I had to see her. Sorry, but I …’
‘Well, now you have, please can you go and wait in the ward’s day room. I’ll come and see you in a minute.’ Lindsay tugged Connie backwards, away from the room. ‘Go please, Connie.’ She did as instructed, her legs unsteadily carrying her down the corridor.
The view from the day room was of the main road leading into Torquay, of the housing estates that had sprung up during the ’90s. Connie watched the cars zooming along the road, but didn’t see, her eyes unable to focus on anything. Poor Alice. Already suffering for her son’s act, she was having to face a new kind of suffering – more pain. Only now it was physical, as well as mental. Who would want to inflict such an attack on an innocent woman? Connie swallowed the hard lump in her throat. Was she to blame?
‘Right, Connie.’ Lindsay strode into the room, her face set. ‘Now you’re here, you may as well see if you can be useful.’
‘Sure, whatever I can do,’ Connie said, moving away from the window. She sat at the table where Lindsay had placed a file. Lindsay remained standing as she spread some photos out.
‘How much do you know about Alice Mann?’
Connie gazed at the photos of a house, the exterior and interior, the hateful words daubed in what she assumed now to be Alice’s blood on the wall. The crime scene. Blood splatters on the wooden floor. She turned away.
‘I know she’s the mother of Kyle Mann who was sentenced four years ago for the murder of Sean Taylor. I know she seemed afraid of her ex-husband – I got the impression he’d been abusive towards her and her son.’ Connie paused, sucking in a big breath of air. ‘I know I used the fact I was seeing her to make Kyle talk. And I think I started something by doing that. God, I’m so sorry.’
‘So you believe Kyle may have told someone on the outside about Alice seeing you?’
‘Yes. I don’t think Kyle acted alone in the murder of Sean Taylor. He had help, or he was manipulated into helping someone else commit the murder. He’s hiding something, protecting someone. During one of our sessions, when I told him that by talking about what happened he would help himself, he replied, but it won’t help my mother. It struck me that it was possible he wasn’t only protecting the other perpetrator, but his mum too. I wonder if this other guy was threatening to hurt Alice if Kyle spoke out?’
‘Okay. That gives us a fair bit to go on. Thanks, Connie.’ Lindsay gathered the photos and popped the file under her arm. ‘Now go home. Please. I’ll see you later.’
Connie had wanted to wait for Lindsay to come home, so she’d settled on the sofa and put on a film. She’d tried hard to stay awake, but sleep had finally taken her. She lay with a blanket draped over her, Amber nestled into the crook of her bent knees. Now, she was being gently nudged awake.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ Lindsay whispered. ‘Don’t you want to go to bed?
‘What time is it?’ Connie rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
‘Three in the morning.’
‘Wow, another late one for you.’
‘Two big cases, it’s mad at the moment.’
‘Sure is. Any developments?’
‘Sort of.’
Connie sat upright, all remnants of sleepiness jolted from her. ‘Oh? Good news?’
‘Leads rather than good news. I know you’re not really fully awake, but you mentioned an ex-husband, how Alice had talked about an abusive relationship?’
‘Yes, she was very shady about it, didn’t really want to talk about it when pushed.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, we obviously followed it up, questioned the husband. It appears he is her husband – like, current, not an ex. He’d been away for the weekend, visiting a military event in London. It checks out.’
‘Weird. Kyle also queried why she would have said they were separated. Why would Alice have made out that she was divorced?’
‘I don’t know. Mr Mann certainly gave the impression they were happily married – said they had their “difficulties” due to their son’s conviction, but he came across as genuine. He was visibly shaken and upset about Alice being attacked.’
‘He could’ve got home from the weekend early Monday and—’
‘He did get home on Monday. He was the one who called
the ambulance and police. But it’s clear Alice was attacked prior to his return – and left for dead.’
‘Oh?’
‘We’ve got accounts from Alice’s neighbours, most saying there had been some coming and going – people spotted hanging around Alice’s house. It appears there are a few people who had the opportunity to get inside, attack her.’
‘And so it’s a possibility one of those people was the other killer of Sean Taylor.’
‘Yes. It’s a possibility.’
‘Tying up loose ends,’ Connie said, more to herself than to Lindsay.
‘You might know more than you realise, Connie. Get some sleep, we need to talk more later.’
Connie gently pushed Amber along the sofa and swung her legs off, stretching her back until it clicked.
Yes, she might well know more. From the beginning, a niggling suspicion had troubled Connie. Alice Mann was hiding something from her. Now she had to find out what it was – and why she’d bothered to lie to her in the first place.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Deborah
Had I been seen skulking about like a common criminal outside Alice’s house? Did her neighbours hear my rage?
The newspaper lies open on my kitchen table, the bold headline screaming out like an accusation.
Convicted Murderer’s Mother Left For Dead!
My head is splitting. I’ve taken four tablets already this morning. I turn the unopened blue paracetamol box over and over in my hand. There are more boxes in the medicine cabinet. Maybe I should take them all. Nathan hasn’t bothered to call me to find out how I am. It would be the police who’d find me, eventually, not him.
I pierce the foil packet with my thumbnail, taking out two tablets. Then another two. I repeat this until the blister packs are empty. I pile the tablets on the newspaper – the small mound of white capsules mounting higher until they collapse, sliding and spreading out across the article.
Alice’s face is obliterated with pills.
What did I do?
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Connie
‘Did you sleep at all?’ Lindsay handed Connie a mug of coffee as she entered the kitchen.
‘Not much. My mind wouldn’t shut off.’ Connie leant against the worktop. ‘Kept going over in my head what I should have done, what I shouldn’t have.’
‘Try not to beat yourself up too much, I have a feeling this would’ve happened at some point soon anyway.’
‘Really? I don’t know. Even if you’re right though, it’s me, my input, that probably caused this to happen now. If I hadn’t told Kyle …’ Connie took a sip of coffee and almost spat it out. ‘Did you put sugar in this?’
‘Thought you might need it,’ Lindsay said, giving a brief shrug.
Connie recalled the moment in the morgue last year when she’d had to identify the bodies of her client and her son. Lindsay had given her sweetened tea then, to help the shock, supposedly. Was she being prepared for a similar outcome now? A shudder passed through her.
‘Have you contacted the prison, let Kyle know about the attack?’
‘Yes, they are going to get the prison chaplain to talk to Kyle. Support him.’
‘Aren’t you going to question him? He probably knows who did this to Alice.’
‘Let us deal with it, Connie. We know what we’re doing.’ Lindsay placed an arm on Connie’s. ‘Are you taking the day off today?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I should go in. I’ve got clients booked in – I’m not going to let them down.’
‘Well, take it easy. You’ve had a shock.’ Lindsay placed her mug and bowl in the dishwasher. ‘I’ve got to dash off, but call if you need me, yes?’
‘Will do,’ Connie said absently.
Having passed through the barrier, Connie walked casually along Coleton station platform. Being half an hour later than normal, she seemed to have missed the morning rush and there were just a few people waiting for the Plymouth train. The live departure board informed her there was a fifteen-minute delay though. Typical. Connie headed for the Pumpkin Café. An unsweetened coffee wouldn’t go amiss.
As she passed by the rows of newspapers to reach the counter, the headline on the Herald Express caught her attention. A fresh surge of guilt and uneasiness shook her stomach. Curiosity won out though, and she grabbed a copy and took it to the counter. When she’d paid for both, she went back outside to sit at the metal table and await the delayed train.
Connie set the coffee down and spread out the paper. A photo of Kyle Mann adorned the cover. Even in the local paper, attention-grabbing headlines and a flourish of drama were common. The story of Alice’s unprovoked attack began with the background details – and the dramatic ones – of Kyle’s conviction for the brutal and ‘assassination-like’ murder of Sean Taylor. Alice’s story continued inside. It was clearly a big scoop for the local paper. Connie turned to the inner pages.
Her breath caught, her chest tightened. The photo they’d printed was of Alice. Underneath it stated: Alice Mann during her son’s trial, Exeter Crown Court, 2014.
Despite the photo being four years old, and slightly grainy – one thing was clear.
It was not Alice Mann.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Tom
She must know now.
He climbed the stairs from the basement, unlocked the door at the top and entered the main part of the house. He rarely left his room, only when his food supplies ran low, or his cutlery and crockery needed washing. Then he dumped them on the worktop for her to sort. He knew he was lazy, but there was little point in carrying out such chores when she had nothing better to do with her sorry little life.
She’d seen him out and about a couple of times, not that it mattered. It was more likely to help him if she thought she was being followed, watched. It would keep her in check. Why, though, was everyone suddenly taking it upon themselves to try to ruin his game? One kill. That’s all he was after. Not much to ask.
He was still one step ahead though, he reminded himself. He was confident he now had enough time and space to carry on.
Now some of the loose cannons had been taken care of, he should be able to concentrate on the target he’d spent months carefully priming online – the one who was a bit of a loser, like Sean had been. Someone who wasn’t a great loss to the world, but who Tom would have fun building up to smash back down. Easy prey.
PART TWO
I created a monster.
It’s taken me a long time to understand. To even think it, let alone say it.
You don’t expect that something so amazing, brilliant, miraculous – something you grew inside your own body and nurtured, letting it take what it needed from you – could transform into something so evil.
We shared a connection – the physicality of the umbilical cord at first, then the emotional bond. I nursed him, allowed him to suck the goodness from my breasts.
That which ties us cannot be broken. We are inextricably linked. Forever.
That he is a murderer doesn’t alter this.
Yes, I created a monster.
But I wasn’t the only one.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Alice Angela
I’m in limbo, unable to go forwards, no chance of peddling backwards. Where can I go from here? The Herald Express lies open on the coffee table, her picture spread across the page. My stomach feels like a hard rock, and I swallow repeatedly to prevent bile from rising. I daren’t open the laptop, cannot bear to see the fallout of my deception. Will they know I did this with the best intentions – or will they hate me? It was just one little lie. I was trying to make things right.
I’m still going to make things right.
‘Hatred stirs up conflict, but love covers over all wrongs.’ My voice cracks.
But I’m right, aren’t I? It’s not the end – I can carry on despite this setback, as major as it is. I can make amends for him. For me. It seems I’m going to have to bypass Alice Mann now though. I can’
t believe I’d been so close to meeting Alice and then messed it all up. Twice! I was so cowardly – outside her house on several occasions and never making it past the front door. Now it’s too late. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I’ll just have to go straight to Deborah on my own instead. It would’ve been so much better if I could have met Alice, got her onside, then we could’ve seen Deborah together; put on a stronger, unified front. Alice is the same as me. We’re in the same boat. I wouldn’t have felt as alone in seeking Deborah’s forgiveness if I had her by my side.
But Alice had beaten me to it. She’d been seeing Deborah. I’d figured out it was Deborah’s house I’d followed Alice to after she left the post office. I shouldn’t have been surprised she’d wanted to meet Deborah – maybe we both had the same burning need for forgiveness. Only Alice had been braver than me. She’d gone there alone.
I’ve spent so many months being Alice, feeling as though I was living her life, taking responsibility for my actions as her – even talking about her son with a psychologist, as if he was mine. Showing remorse while pretending to be her was the best opportunity I had to gain redemption publicly without risking losing my son. It’s what I needed. And I liked being needed too. Being Alice gave that to me.
I’ve been Alice for so long now that I’m not sure how to be me.
But I am Angela Killion again now. And I am still desperate to meet Deborah and make things right. It’s going to be harder now. But one way or another, I must make it happen.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Connie
‘Lindsay, it’s not my Alice.’ Connie raised her voice above the noise of the train.
‘What? What do you mean?’
‘I’ve just seen the photo of Alice Mann in the paper, and it’s not my client. Her face was so bruised and swollen when I saw her in the hospital, I didn’t realise it then. But apart from similar hair, it’s definitely a different woman.’
One Little Lie Page 13
