Bad Sister(31)
Or, as the material on the memory stick seemed to suggest, was it just her dad that knew something he didn’t want her to know?
Connie’s thoughts, her questions, swamped her brain. Before being given the memory stick, the story she’d grown up with was simple. Luke had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a tragic accident. It wasn’t meant to be Luke. He’d just got in the way.
Now someone had gone to the trouble of showing her an alternative explanation, she wasn’t so sure. It had thrown everything she thought she knew into question. How could she have lived this long without querying it?
‘Sit down, sweetheart,’ her dad had said. His washed-out face, its serious, rigid expression, towering above her. ‘We’ve got bad news. It’s about Luke.’
Connie recalled the whimper, the tears from her mum huddled in the corner of the room, Aunt Sylvie’s arms wrapped protectively around her. No one’s arms wrapped around Connie. ‘He, well … there was a fight. After the match. I … I couldn’t—’ His voice had cracked, his face crumpled.
Connie’s eyes stung with the memories.
‘Biscuits. Yes, let’s see if you’ve still got the knack.’ Connie smiled the tears away and took a bite out of the freshly baked ginger biscuit.
Had Luke’s death been more than a random accident?
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Connie
Monday 12 June
The weekend had been a mixed bag of emotions and two days in her mum’s house had been too much. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy her mum’s company, more the fact that she felt suffocated. Restricted. The many attempts at getting her mum to open up about Luke’s death had hit barriers at every turn. She’d managed to get her to find the other photos though. They’d spent a couple of hours poring over them, laughing at remembered stories, crying for the ones that would never be. In each captured moment, Luke’s bright green eyes stared out at her, seemed to penetrate her own. What had really happened to him? But details of that final day were still elusive. Connie had nudged for information; asked about where her dad had been when the fight broke out. He’d got pushed aside in the crush … he couldn’t get to him, she’d said before picking up another photo and talking about that instead.
Why did the document on the memory stick refer to her dad? Whoever gave her the stick seemed to be pointing to her father keeping details about Luke’s death from others. From her and perhaps even her mum. Whether that was to protect them from the true horror of that day or to hide something was not made clear in the content, but the very fact the memory stick had been given to her must’ve been so she’d question it. At the time of the incident, though, it had been reported as a case of wrong place, wrong time. No one had even been convicted of Luke’s murder because of the lack of evidence; too many people in the crowds outside the football ground meant key people hadn’t been identified, and no one had come forward with information. That’s the story that’d been told for years afterwards, until they’d stopped mentioning it altogether. And that’s what her mum had said at the weekend, when she’d been pushed into speaking about him. Connie had never questioned what she’d been told. Why would she? But having seen the articles with a new perspective – things just weren’t adding up.
Today she was relieved to be back at work, immersing herself in her clients’ problems rather than thinking about her own. And she was due to see Steph tomorrow, if she kept the pre-booked session, which would definitely keep her from her own thoughts. She’d also returned to a message from DI Wade, asking if she could spare them another day this week. A flutter of excitement broke loose inside her stomach. It was good to get the old adrenaline going again, to be part of something – part of a team. Something to challenge her skill set. The code she’d written down after Mack had left last Thursday had floated around her mind since. Nothing tangible had been grasped yet, but something would come to her, she was sure. She loved puzzles.
For lunch, Connie decided to walk down to the bottom of town and sit on the grass verge by the River Dart – watch as the riverboat took people out, and relax in the sunshine. She’d made a packed lunch to avoid having to hang around in any bakeries. She didn’t want to risk another ‘accidental’ run-in with Kelly Barton.
It was surprisingly quiet given the warmness of the day. She checked her watch: 2 p.m. – a later-than-usual lunch. She’d hoped that by taking different lunch hours it would deter the annoying bitch of a reporter.
Connie’s thoughts drifted; she let them. Although she was looking over the river, she wasn’t really seeing. A squeal drifted across to her and pushed into her consciousness. On the other side, where the riverboat boarded and disembarked its passengers, next to the riverside café, there was a play area. The large wooden pirate ship there was the source of the sudden squeal – a child on the deck, his mother chasing him around. Connie held her hand up to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun to gain a better view. They were a fair distance away, but she knew the figures. Steph and Dylan. How wonderful to see them like this – away from the glare of assessment, from judgement. They were like any other mum and child, playing and enjoying the moment. Steph’s lightness and caring nature warmed Connie. She could tell that Steph was smiling at her son as she picked him up and swung him towards the sky. They laughed again; the happy, high-pitched giggles carrying on the air. Connie smiled. There was a carefree delight in their laughter. No worries. Not in that moment.