Bad Sister(27)

Thankfully as they entered the room everyone was busy, so Connie’s presence went largely unnoticed. Better than everyone stopping to stare at her. It would help put her at ease if she could slip in and join the briefing without too much fuss. Lindsay took her to her desk and pulled up a spare chair. Connie sat, scanning the room. The whiteboard held the photos of Hargreaves’ post-mortem, the photos of the tattoos. And a photo of Connie. Lindsay noticed the flinch in her face as she clocked it. Her mouth twitched, but she said nothing.

‘So, Mack tells me that he showed you the pictures of the tattoos yesterday.’ Not much of an opening, but the best she could do to get the conversation going. She’d yet to consume her obligatory third coffee – her senses didn’t fully come alive until that magic number.

‘Yes, but they weren’t the clearest, I’d like to see the originals.’ Connie’s gaze travelled back to the whiteboard.

‘Sure, go ahead,’ Lindsay said, indicating towards the back wall. ‘Take your time. I’ll give you a shout when the briefing is due to begin.’

Lindsay watched Connie walk up and down in front of the pictures for a few minutes, then turned her attention to her briefing sheet. Out the corner of her eye she spotted Mack approach Connie’s side. It was hard not to openly stare; she kept her focus on the paper in her hands, periodically looking up. There was something weird about the way Mack acted around Connie. She’d mocked him and hinted at there being a history – but it was becoming less of a joke. Perhaps there really had been something. Mack was single. Kind of. Had been separated for so long from his wife that everyone classed him as single, even though they’d never even contemplated divorce. From the little Mack had told her, they’d married too young, had their kids too quickly, but were still the best of friends. Connie was single – by all accounts. Despite the disparity in age, perhaps their paths had crossed – it wasn’t out of the realms of possibility, even if Lindsay did doubt it was Mack’s style. If they had, though, Mack was doing a good job of keeping it to himself.

The sun streamed through the windows of the second incident room, the one they used for official briefings. The heat was already evident even though it was only 10 a.m. Lindsay hung her suit jacket over the chair and stood behind it, leaning forwards, placing both hands on the back. She waited for everyone to file in and take a seat. Connie was last inside the room.

‘Morning, everyone. Forensic psychologist Connie Summers is joining us today. She’ll be here to give any insight she has on Hargreaves.’ The team – twelve officers of varying rank – mumbled their greetings and then settled. ‘If you could perch here, Connie.’ Lindsay pointed to the chair next to hers. ‘Okay, so where are we up to, Mack?’

‘Right. Firstly, Oscar Manning, ex-con who knew Hargreaves while inside. We found him, interviewed him – and found no evidence of him being in contact with Hargreaves once he was released. His probation officer said he’d kept all appointments and is working part-time in a garden centre six miles out of town. He doesn’t have his own transport and relies on a co-worker for lifts to and from work. So, not looking hopeful as the person who helped Hargreaves escape. He wasn’t forthcoming with any further info and, as we had nothing, we could only ask that he contact us if he thought of anything else.’

Lindsay stood straight, crossed her arms and began pacing. ‘That’s disappointing. What about the tattoos?’

‘Clarke and I spoke to a number of the prison officers at HMP Baymead and not one of them believed any to be related to a particular gang – not well-known ones anyway. The prison governor is helping with enquiries and cooperating with the team by checking all rosters and working out who was on shifts on Hargreaves’ wing the most, then cross-referencing with wing records. He should be able to see what contact certain officers had with Hargreaves in the lead-up to his escape – looking specifically at the two officers who escorted Hargreaves at the funeral, but not ruling anyone out at this stage.’

‘That’s good, and we’ve been given access to all Hargreaves’ offending behaviour work carried out with Connie Summers.’ Lindsay turned towards Connie. ‘It would be good if you could also go through them – with a fresh pair of eyes – and look for anything relevant that could give us a clue as to why your name found its way on to his hand.’ Lindsay noted a visible flinch on Connie’s face, but continued. ‘It can’t be in relation to an upcoming appointment or anything of that nature, since Connie left the service a year ago.’ The team murmured, and heads nodded in agreement.

‘So, are we definitely ruling out Hargreaves writing this himself?’ DC Anika Patel asked.

Connie leant forward and gave a small cough. ‘He was left-handed, so it would be difficult for him to have written on his left hand …’ She looked around at all the faces turned to hers. ‘But, if you look closely at the way my name is written, there’s a uniformity about it, don’t you think? It’s printed, in capitals. Almost like a stencil. In which case, there is a possibility he did it himself. Personally though, I feel it’s more likely to have been done by the perpetrator.’

The officers looked thoughtful, and for a moment the room was quiet. Lindsay allowed the lull. She wanted her officers to process the information, come up with questions without her jumping in.

Anika leant across the table and directed her question at Connie. ‘Why would it be a stencil, why not just write it?’