She jumped, spinning around to face him, then made a sign of the cross on her chest. ‘I didn’t hear you,’ she said, her voice breathless.
‘Sorry. Look, I need to talk to you. I’ve been thinking …’ He trailed off, and, taking her hands in his he began to speak the words he’d formed ready in his mind.
As planned, tears swelled as he delivered his speech.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
Angela
I’m not sure whether to believe him. Trusting him feels like something I should do, but it’s not as if he’s given me good reason to in the past. He put up a convincing argument, said the right things, seemed genuinely willing to change this time. His dad does have a lot to answer for. So do I. Did I think this last time? I can’t even remember. Is he playing me for a fool?
For Tom’s sake, I hope he’s telling the truth.
I’m still going to plan the lock-in, though. As a backup. Because if the time comes, I have to be ready.
And there’s something else on my mind too. Wendy’s messages on the group support page on Thursday have been niggling at me; the anxious feelings intensifying ever since. I was awake for ages last night, sweat laying its wet film over my skin as I wrestled with the bed sheets hour after hour. Going behind my back – how dare she? She’d seemed so sweet, harmless. Now though, she’s up to something. Perhaps she’s trying to overthrow me.
She can’t be group leader. It’s not her group! If she ruins this for me, I’m left with nothing. And no way of making things right.
I won’t let her take this away from me.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
Deborah
Visiting Alice has become easier since my first time on Thursday; I’m more confident, so look like I belong here. No one’s questioned me the last three days – in fact, the staff greeted me with a bright ‘hello’ today.
I brush Alice’s soft, ash-blonde hair; it seems longer than before. Fascinating how the processes of the human body continue – her hair and nails growing – despite her coma. Apparently they continue to grow even after death. I wonder how long Sean’s hair is. Before he died he’d had it cut – a grade two all over – he’d had the pleasure of telling me when I’d gasped at the shock of seeing his almost-bald head.
‘It’ll grow back, Mum,’ he’d said, giving me a hug. ‘Don’t you think it makes me look tougher?’ He’d laughed. So had I. But I hadn’t liked him with it so short. I preferred the boyish good looks his shoulder-length hair gave him. I wipe away my tears.
Maybe I’ll paint Alice’s nails tomorrow.
Her bruises are lightening, revealing her porcelain skin tone beneath.
‘It’s lovely you’re spending so much time with Alice,’ Graham says. I start at the sound of his voice – I’d forgotten he was there. He’s standing quietly at the foot of the bed, writing his observations of Alice in her notes. He peers at me in between strokes of his pen.
Something is bothering him.
‘Well, I enjoy being here, actually,’ I falter, feeling my words catch in my throat. I cough. ‘I like chatting to her, hoping she can hear me …’ I suddenly feel self-conscious and lower my head.
‘Edward only just left before you arrived. Did you see him?’
‘Erm … no. I must’ve been in the lift or something.’ I keep my eyes averted from Graham’s. I can’t very well tell him how I watch and wait, like an animal hunting its prey, for Edward to leave before I enter the ICU each day.
‘He was thrilled when I told him you’ve been reading to Alice, that you’ve spent a few hours here for the last few days.’
I look up briefly and smile, unsure of what to say. Scared of what is coming. I turn my attention back to gently pulling the paddle brush through Alice’s hair. He might go off, do something else. He doesn’t. I can see him out the corner of my eye, watching me.
‘Although,’ Graham says, standing with the file of notes against his chest, a perplexed expression on his face, ‘he said he doesn’t know anyone called Diane, and, as far as he’s aware, neither does Alice.’
My heartbeat gallops. Of course he doesn’t know a Diane. I’d been afraid of giving my real name when Graham had asked, as I imagined it would get back to Alice’s husband. And it was better for him to not know a Diane than it was for him to recall Alice mentioning a Deborah. She might’ve told her husband that she’d been visiting the dead boy’s mother for tea and forgiveness for all I know. But now, on the verge of being found out, I feel a panic rising. How can I get out of this?
‘Oh, that’s strange,’ I manage to say, ‘but then, I haven’t met Edward in person, only heard about him through Alice. She often spoke about him when she came over to my house for tea and a chat.’ I might have overdone it with the ‘often’. I smile again and place Alice’s hairbrush with her other belongings.
Please go away now.
If they begin to question me, start digging and find out who I am, they’ll also query why I’m here, visiting. Then they’ll ensure the police look more closely into my movements on the day of Alice’s attack – I’ll be asked for my alibi. When the police phoned before, they’d been quite vague, only asked a few general questions. I could tell they didn’t suspect me of anything, or they would’ve got me into the station, wouldn’t they? Asked me to make a full statement or something.
I shouldn’t chance being here, at the hospital. But I can’t tear myself away now. It’s become part of my day – part of my healing. It helps sweep away some of the guilt. I want to make the most of it, because it can’t last for much longer. Graham says the doctors are planning to bring her off the ventilator soon, monitor how it affects her vital signs. If good, then they will keep her off longer. Permanently, with any luck. Then my visiting days will be over; I’ll be back to my own company. My own demons. It’s been therapeutic spending time with Alice, my one-way conversations have made me come to different conclusions – enabled me to see things more objectively. Something I never thought would happen.
In fact, I think I’ve come to forgive her. Everything I’ve done has worked, somehow.
But, will she ever forgive me?
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
Connie
The timing of Kyle Mann’s ghosting from HMP Baymead was odd to say the least. He’d been there almost two years, and had two years at the Young Offenders Institute prior. During that time he hadn’t caused any problems whatsoever – no involvement in security issues, drugs, anything. Why now? Had something happened to force the governor to get rid of him to another prison quickly, without warning? All they’d told Lindsay was that, for security reasons, he’d had to be moved. Connie had a nasty suspicion security reasons meant a threat – Kyle’s life in danger from another prisoner, or prisoners.
Could Tom somehow have managed to get to him through someone else on the inside? She flipped the small mobile phone over in her hand, again and again. She could try texting him, although the likelihood of him still being in possession of his mobile after being ghosted was slim. It would probably be in someone else’s hands by now. Connie sat forwards. Someone who might know more about what went on and why? Well, it was worth a go. She had nothing to lose. The worst that could happen was that whoever had the mobile now didn’t know anything, but threatened to use Connie instead, for their own purposes. All she had to do in that case was to destroy the phone. They wouldn’t know who she was, unless Kyle had told them. And Connie doubted that.
With one ear listening out for Lindsay’s footsteps, she hammered out a message. She’d keep it simple, in case Kyle wasn’t the one reading it.
What happened? Has he got to you?
Connie placed the mobile back under the cushion and settled back on the sofa. Not that she’d be able to relax now – she’d have to constantly check if she’d received a message back. She’d put the phone on silent to prevent Lindsay finding out about it, although maybe now was a good time to mention its existence. Now Lindsay had finished work perhaps she’d be more relaxed and so Connie
’s confession wouldn’t create as big a shitstorm. She’d been in the bath for the last half-hour, attempting to soak away her stressful week. Connie could tell the cases were getting to her – it was unusual to have two big ongoing cases linked in the way these were. And the fact they also connected to an older, and pre-sumably ‘solved’ case, was even more unsettling.
They’d managed to get a half-decent image of fake Alice from the CCTV footage. Lindsay had taken the memory card into work, saying her techies would be able to tidy it up and enhance it. Connie’s determination to find her was intensifying. She’d been annoyed at herself for letting fake Alice get away from her last Wednesday, and now she didn’t have a clue where to look for her. Even if she did return to the group meeting, it wouldn’t be until the last Wednesday of next month now. Too long. What else might lead her to the woman? She’d be keeping a low profile now, no doubt. She must realise the net was closing in, her lies had been found out. She’d be panicking that her son could be revealed as the Coleton murderer. Double murderer even. What on earth would make her believe she could keep this from getting out? That she could possibly continue to protect her son?
‘That feels better,’ Lindsay said. She walked in, a towelling robe wrapped around her, and sat on the sofa beside Connie.
‘Good, you deserved some relaxation time.’
‘What are we watching?’ Lindsay looked to the television. ‘Looks depressing.’
‘Something about losing loved ones to cancer, but I’m not really watching it.’ Connie had been too busy concentrating on the mobile and thinking about fake Alice to focus on the TV.
‘Fancy a film then? I could do with something uplifting …’ Lindsay was already flicking through the movie channels before Connie even replied. ‘So you gave that bloke the brush-off?’ Lindsay kept her attention on the menu on-screen.
‘Scott? Yep. Kind of got forced into the situation. I wasn’t expecting to bump into him when I was waiting for you lot to turn up at the pub. I should’ve done it sooner.’
‘How come? He seemed all right when I met him on the way out of the house …’
‘Yes, well – he came across a bit needy in the end. Wouldn’t stop texting, wouldn’t get the message that perhaps I wasn’t wanting to take our one night any further.’
‘And Mack came to your rescue—’
‘He did not come to my rescue. I didn’t need him butting in, I was dealing with it fine.’
‘Ooh, okay, sorry.’
‘Why does everyone think I need saving?’ Connie got up. ‘I’m making a drink; do you want one?’
‘Hot choc, please. And don’t get annoyed. You know it’s only because you have people who care about you, Connie.’
‘I know, and I appreciate that.’ Connie smiled, trying to lighten the atmosphere as she headed for the kitchen. ‘But give me some credit – I can look after myself. After all, I’m an adult …’ She was overreacting. Lindsay and Mack had every reason to want to protect her.
They’d be even more protective if they knew she was in possession of a mobile phone sent to her by a murderer.
Lindsay fell asleep before the film ended. Connie watched her: her head was lolled back, her mouth drooping open, her steady breaths audible above the TV.
Connie swept her hand beneath the sofa cushion.
The Nokia’s display read: 1 new message
Connie swallowed hard. Glancing up to make sure Lindsay was still asleep, she tapped the button to open the text.
Nothing happened. I lied. It was only me, no one else involved. Sorry.
Connie’s brow creased; she shook her head. No. Either Kyle had written this under duress, or it wasn’t him at all. A shiver ran over her skin. Could it be from Tom? But how would he have ended up with Kyle’s phone? Although she had been given this mobile, delivered to her by God knows who. The same person might well have smuggled Kyle’s phone outside the prison too and got it in Tom’s hands. But for that, they would’ve had to have been in the know – and ghosting meant that Kyle would’ve been transferred without warning, no time to arrange a phone delivery. Unless he had insider knowledge – or help from a member of staff.
Connie switched the phone off without responding and pushed it back under the cushion. It was no longer safe to text him – if it ever had been in the first place.
‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ Connie said, gently rocking Lindsay’s arm. Lindsay jolted awake, sitting upright almost headbutting Connie.
‘God, sorry. Some company I am.’
‘I was going to say the same.’ Connie laughed. ‘But I’ll forgive you. You’d best get yourself up to bed.’
‘Yeah, I should get a few hours in before it all kicks off again tomorrow,’ Lindsay said, rubbing her eyes.
‘Do you think there’s a decent chance you’ll be able to find fake Alice soon, now you have a photo?’
‘It’s not exactly a wide search area, but when someone doesn’t want to be found, it can make our job tricky.’ Lindsay headed out of the lounge.
‘Yes.’ Connie’s throat tightened, the thought of Luke being one such person flying through her mind without conscious effort. ‘That’s true. Night, Linds.’
Connie couldn’t even think about sleep now – her mind was alert with questions and theories.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Angela
I’m braving going out today. I must go shopping; the cupboards are seriously depleted. I didn’t know whether to stick to the smaller Totnes shops – the ones closer to the house, where my presence might be more noticeable – or be one of an anonymous crowd of people shopping in Morrison’s. Either option makes my stomach twist with nerves. There’s no reason why random people should notice me, or know who I am. But the paranoia is setting in. I’m sure people are looking at me as I walk down the road, like they know my secret. Do I want to risk being spotted in a supermarket? What if one of my support group sees me? I hope that’s unlikely because most live outside the area, or at least they wouldn’t regularly come to Totnes unless it was for our meetings.
The group are never far from my mind. None of them have spoken to me online – it appears they’re giving me a wide berth. What could Wendy have possibly said to them? I feel isolated. This is the first time since I started trying to put everything right that I’ve felt so negative. It had all been going in the right direction. Tom’s actions have jeopardised everything. I know things are sent to try us, test our faith and ability to overcome obstacles – to be worthy. But I’ve had my fair share now. Why am I continually being tested? When will it be over?
Am I damned to spend my life, such that it is, in a state of guilt? Hiding away from the world in my house with only my son?
I haven’t dared venture into Coleton since Isabella. I don’t even know how Alice Mann is doing, whether she’s recovering from her attack or not – it’s all gone quiet. Even Isabella’s murder has lost its prominence in the news, other things now taking its place. But I wonder about Alice, whether she’s still in a coma. Maybe it’s better for her to be in a state of nothingness, her mind free from guilt and worry. She’ll be better off if she never regains consciousness.
I decide on Morrison’s. I want to be anonymous right now. Thankfully I don’t need to go past Connie Summers’ building to get there; I can bypass the main Totnes road, although it does mean a longer overall trip. I’ll have to get a taxi home with my shopping bags. My funds are almost as depleted as my food cupboards. I’ll have to be careful what I buy. Tom hasn’t given me any money for a few weeks now. I’m assuming he’s not collecting job seekers allowance anymore – but although I’m not seeing a benefit from it, I think he has other means of making money. It won’t be by legal means either.
I’ve turned a blind eye.
The story of my life.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Connie
Connie stared into every shopfront as she walked up the hill. She was hoping for a small miracle, but even if she spotted fake Alice, she wasn’t su
re how best to approach her. If she should approach her at all. Her instinct was to talk to her rather than phone the police, but would that be the right thing to do? If she frightened her off, lost her again like last time, an opportunity would be wasted.
She should leave it all to Lindsay and her team. They were on the right track – one which was hopefully going to lead them to a murderer. So why was Connie feeling so conflicted? The woman had come to her, lied, and broken the law by harbouring a criminal – but she was a mother; she was protecting her young. That was her job, her role in life. How did Connie know she wouldn’t be doing the same if she were in Alice’s shoes? If she’d had the opportunity.
Whoever ‘Alice’ was, whatever she did – or didn’t do – she deserved help. And for a reason Connie couldn’t quite figure out, she felt she should be the one to help her. Maybe it was her link with Kyle and the first murder, or because she had some empathy – Connie was concealing enough lies herself, after all. Some things were not simply black and white. There was an awful lot of grey in this case.
Stopping at the foot of her consultancy steps, Connie turned and gazed up and down the road. Cars drove past her within inches. The road was narrow, the traffic one-way going up the hill at this point. Connie tutted. She hadn’t even thought that the fake Alice could be in a car. She hadn’t been looking at drivers – only pedestrians. Totnes might only be a small town, but it was still like looking for a needle in a haystack. It was even possible the woman had got spooked and left altogether. She could be anywhere by now.
As Connie settled in her office, she thought about ways of tracking her Alice down. She’d not got far with finding Deborah Taylor – her boss had been reluctant to give any personal information when she’d spoken to her, which was fair enough. She hadn’t asked Lindsay if they’d spoken to her. Surely, as the mother of the victim of the first murder, she’d be high on their list to contact. How stupid for her not to have discussed this with Lindsay. But then she wasn’t meant to be part of this investigation, even though she’d been in the loop when Lindsay and Mack had spoken about the case at her house and they’d asked her to speak with Kyle. They’d had their reasons for those times; she doubted they’d do that again. As Lindsay had said to Connie’s mum, she didn’t tell her everything. After her morning clients, she’d ring Lindsay, disclose fake Alice’s urge to contact Deborah Taylor.
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