Bad Sister(12)

‘I watched. I watched him burn. And that murdering creep watched too.’

‘I’m so sorry, Steph. To witness your dad dying, it’s a terrible thing to have experienced.’

‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that, I mean – it’s not as bad as if he’d been—’

A tap at the door stopped her. Connie jumped up, apologising for the interruption, and strode across the office. She hadn’t buzzed anyone in – was the damn thing broken? She poked her head around the door, it was her next client. She told him she’d be five more minutes, asking him to wait downstairs. She’d have to wrap things up with Steph. Unfortunate timing.

‘Sorry, Steph. Look, I’ve got my next client waiting, but I could see you again tomorrow so you can continue?’ Connie raised her eyebrows, but carried straight on without waiting for Steph to answer. ‘Unless you don’t want to risk it. I mean, I understand your position, but you could be a while waiting for another psychologist …’

‘Um. Well, I don’t know, really.’ She looked lost, her eyes darting about. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll come tomorrow.’ She got up and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned. ‘But I am gonna need to swap as soon as poss, if you don’t mind.’

Connie nodded. Hopefully she’d be able to get to the bottom of the letter tomorrow. And if the reassignment to another psychologist took as long as she assumed it would, then it might be that she could complete all of the ten sessions anyway, so she’d still have the opportunity to unravel Steph’s story. But she’d be able to continue only if her connection with the Ricky murder didn’t bring any further media coverage to her door. She’d have to do everything she could to make sure it didn’t.





CHAPTER TWELVE


DI Wade


Lindsay Wade blew out air slowly from her puffed cheeks. That wasn’t a conversation she’d been planning on having this early in the investigation. Had she convinced her?

‘That sounded heavy.’ Mack wheeled a chair towards her desk, sitting the wrong way on it, leaning his head on his crossed arms over its high back.

‘Yep. Connie Summers. Running scared, I’d say.’

‘Oh? How come?’

‘Said this situation and her perceived involvement has already impacted negatively on her practice – one of her current clients is in WP and is freaking out about the publicity her shrink is getting, threatening to change psychs. Miss Summers obviously doesn’t want her client to be put at further risk, so doesn’t want any further involvement.’

‘But you persuaded her to continue, by the sounds of it?’

‘Only if we contact her via phone. No more visits to her consultancy.’

‘Ah well, that’s better than nothing.’

‘Hmmm. But you can tell so much more by watching body language.’

‘Skype her then.’

‘Hey, Mack. That’s quite clever for you.’

‘Sarcasm is overrated.’

Lindsay checked the time on the laptop. ‘Right, let’s get to the briefing.’ She grabbed the files piled on her desk and pushed up from her chair. It was the second time in as many years that she’d been in Coleton police station, using their rooms as incident rooms. Her base was Middlemoor, in Exeter, but she’d been keen to take the lead on this case. Make up for before. So, back to Coleton it was.

‘The pattern of mutilation is interesting.’ The slides moved across the huge white screen projected on to the back wall of the incident room, gruesome shots like those in the god-awful Saw movie that Lindsay had never been able to sit through. She was surprised that any of the prison staff had even recognised this guy when he landed on their doorstep. She pointed to the next slide. The most horrific. She cast her eyes around the room. Some of the team had turned away. ‘Yeah, not good, is it?’

‘T’was some angry crackpot who did that,’ a voice from the back declared.

‘Actually, I’m not so sure.’ Lindsay took the pointer stick and placed it over the enlarged picture of Eric Hargreaves’ torso. ‘I know it looks a total mess at first glance. But look at the way the body has been quartered. It’s precise. I don’t think someone with anger issues did this. It’s too controlled. They had planned how they were going to do it. This was carried out carefully.’

‘So, they had time then, no rush,’ Mack said.

‘Precisely. Must’ve had Hargreaves somewhere they considered safe, somewhere they wouldn’t be disturbed for quite some time.’

‘What about the writing on his hand – “Connie Moore”? What’s that about?’ DC Sewell asked.

Mack turned in his chair to direct his response to her. ‘Well, there are various possibilities, but at this early stage we really can’t be sure about any of them.’

‘Like what, sir?’

‘Depends on who wrote it. If Hargreaves did, then we are never going to really know, but we could assume he had an obsession with her, perhaps. People don’t generally write names on themselves, more likely you write something you don’t want to forget – a number, an item you want from the shop.’

‘Or a name you didn’t already know, so that you remember it’s someone you need to speak to, or something?’ DC Sewell said matter-of-factly. ‘And if it was written by the killer?’