Bad Sister(28)

‘It needed to be clear, no room for misreading?’ Connie said, her voice lilting. ‘Stencilling would ensure it could be read. Perhaps the person who wrote it had awful handwriting?’

‘But if that was the case, why were the tattoos done freehand instead of using a stencil?’

‘Perhaps he didn’t want those to be clear. Wanted ambiguity – to screw with us,’ Mack offered.

‘That’s certainly a possibility,’ Connie said.

‘It was important. He needed to make sure we could read the name, no mistake.’

Lindsay noticed Connie shift in her chair.

‘Connie. We’ve had some thoughts as to why your name. You must have too?’

‘My first thought, and, well, the one that horrified me, was that I was somehow the next target.’

‘Why?’

‘I wondered if the person doing this was related to Hargreaves’ last victim. Perhaps someone seeking revenge for it. And if that was the case, then perhaps he wanted me to pay too – seeing as I was the one who was instrumental in Hargreaves’ release. Although, I wasn’t actually instrumental as such.’ Connie’s voice was now firm; confident. ‘The parole board had various evidence at their disposal to make the final decision to release him. But the way it was reported at the time – you’d think it was all me, that I was the one who allowed Hargreaves to walk out and attack another woman.’

Lindsay caught the sharp turn of Mack’s head in her direction; his eyes narrowed. ‘This was something we’d considered briefly. Mack, perhaps you could follow this line of enquiry – check the boyfriend and family members of …’

‘Katie Watson,’ Connie added.

‘Yes, Katie Watson, and see if all have solid alibis for the time of the funeral and the time of the body dump.’ Lindsay paused, watching the scribble of notes; the look of indignation on Mack’s face. He was annoyed with her. He’d been concerned Connie was a target and she’d been dismissive. She still had a gut feeling Connie was not ‘next’ but she should have ruled it out officially straight away. Not four days later. She brought her focus back to Connie. ‘Any other ideas?’

‘Once the initial shock wore off, I thought it was more likely that the person who wrote my name merely wanted you guys to know I had a link with either them, or the victim.’ Connie paused, her eyebrows raised. ‘Although, Kelly Barton made the link without the knowledge of my name on the dead man’s hand.’

‘A leak from within the prison? Someone keen to drag your name through the mud again?’

‘Yes, something like that,’ Connie said.

‘We keep coming back to the why? Why was it so important to get us to notice your name?’ Lindsay paced the room again, hands on her hips – the movement creating a welcome shift of air.

‘I still like my theory, Boss.’

‘Go on, Clarke.’ Lindsay was glad of Clarke’s interruption.

‘You know – the secret admirer, or perhaps not so secret, who thought he was doing Connie a favour, getting even on her behalf. Getting rid of the scum who ruined her career.’

Connie’s skin blanched.

Lindsay tapped her index finger on her lips, thinking. ‘We could do with a list of people you have had relationships with, gone out with, or have had, or do have dealings with, or even that have shown an interest in you.’

‘Really? How far back?’ Connie’s voice had raised an octave; her eyes were wide. Lindsay felt sorry for her – not the easiest thing to have to do, no doubt. Opening yourself up to a whole team, spilling how many relationships you’d had. It might have been better to have asked her privately. Too late now.

‘I’d go back a year prior to your dealings with Hargreaves. To start with.’

Lindsay looked to Mack, his head was lowered.

She wondered if his name would appear on that list.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Connie


The day had been long. Connie’d been at the police station for eight hours – yet at the same time it had come as a shock when Lindsay had told her it was six o’clock and she should go home. Being with people other than clients had given her an energy she hadn’t experienced for a while. Her blood had pumped harder; her mind had been sharper. She hated to admit it, but she’d enjoyed being part of the team, even if it had only been for a day.

Now Connie sat back on the sofa, Amber flopped on her lap, and pressed the phone to her ear. Her mum’s voice was quiet – she sounded as though she were far away instead of a few miles.

‘Mum, really, you shouldn’t worry so much. I’m fine.’

‘You always say that. I’m fine. Said it for as long as I can remember, especially when it wasn’t true.’

Connie gave an exasperated sigh. Her mother wasn’t going to let up. ‘Okay, I’ll come over and see you at the weekend.’

‘Good, good. Tomorrow or Sunday? Or you can have your old room, it’s still got your bed – and you can spend the whole weekend. Let me cook you some decent meals, look after you.’

Decent meals? Could her mother see the discarded plastic microwave meal containers, the empty pizza boxes in her bin? Her conscience tugged. Despite her mum living just ten miles away, she hadn’t seen her for months, had only called sporadically. But, with the content of the memory stick so insistently on her mind, how would she stop herself from dragging up Luke’s death if she spent the entire weekend in her mum’s company? Her mum would be distraught if she pulled her back into the trauma of losing her son. They still spoke of Luke on important occasions, how bright he’d been, what a clever, talented seventeen-year-old – a young soul plucked from this earth way too early. But not the actual incident. That had never been discussed. Not since that dark day in 1995. She shouldn’t really broach the subject, it was her dad she should talk to. If the content of the memory stick was to be believed, then he was the one in the know. But her mum was concerned – she’d just have to keep her questions about Luke to herself.