Bad Sister(43)

Connie pulled the wine from his grip without speaking. Why would he say that? He’d never questioned her before, why the hell would he now?

‘Right. Okay, then.’ Niall raised his eyebrows, but made no further comment about it. ‘Bad day?’

‘You could say that.’ Connie rolled her head, trying to release the tension in her neck. After opening the bottle and pouring the wine, she settled on the sofa next to him. What started as a brief few sentences, her intention to summarise as quickly as possible and without detail, turned into an hour-long, in-depth breakdown of Steph and Dylan’s story. Their deaths.

By the time she’d finished speaking, she’d also finished the wine.

The room was quiet. Connie was aware of Niall’s hand lying lightly on her thigh, where he’d placed it in a comforting way while she’d been spilling her guts. Now, as he kept eye contact with her, he shifted it higher. Connie felt the warmth of his hand spread until it was between her legs. He waited, still staring into her eyes. He was waiting for the sign.

She gave it.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE


DI Wade


Wednesday 14 June

It had come as a shock to Lindsay. She’d fully expected the suicide site to have a major impact on her, given the child, and the fact it was Dartmoor again. But she hadn’t anticipated the emotional aftermath of her visit to Connie Summers’ house. She’d delivered bad news before, and whilst she dreaded that part of her role, she always carried it out with professionalism and what she hoped was sensitivity. And afterwards, she usually came away feeling confident that she’d fulfilled her role to the best of her ability. Somehow, yesterday’s experience had been different. It’d played on her mind all night; keeping her awake until the early hours. She’d felt redundant, useless, watching Connie’s reaction, like she was merely on the sidelines watching a bad football game.

Connie had taken it badly. The very fact that Lindsay knew she’d already had a lot to deal with lately made it all the more difficult to offer the right level of comfort. Stephanie Cousins had been Connie’s client, but Lindsay sensed that she’d felt more responsible for the young woman than was usual from a therapist–client relationship. She wondered if it was to do with the guilt from Hargreaves leaving the prison and attacking Katie. Whatever it was, Lindsay couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling she had right now, as she sat in the car waiting for Mack to stop chatting to the officers at the police station entrance and get in. Connie’s pale, waxy face would not shift from her mind. She’d left her too quickly. She should have stayed with her longer, talked through her concerns. And now, Lindsay was going to make matters even worse for her.

Lindsay reached across and slammed the heel of her hand on the centre of the steering wheel. The resulting blare had the desired effect. Mack spun around, his shocked expression turning to one of irritation: his eyes narrowing and forehead crinkling. He muttered something then slowly walked towards the car.

‘Wow, someone’s patient today,’ he said as he folded his legs into the footwell of the driver’s side.

‘Wasting police time is an offence, you know.’ Lindsay settled back in the passenger seat and drew the seatbelt sharply across her, clunking it in its holder with a heavy hand. Mack gave her a sideways glance and started the car.

‘You going to tell me what’s got your goat, then?’ he asked, face forward as he drove out of the station car park.

‘We need to go and see Connie Summers.’

‘Oh? I thought you’d already done the deed?’

‘I did, yes. I also told her that Miles Prescott would be making the formal identification of the bodies.’

‘And?’

‘Well, now he’s not. Apparently he’s stuck in Manchester and won’t be back until the weekend. So …’ Lindsay sighed, and ran her hands through her hair. ‘We’re going to have to ask the only other person who knew Stephanie Cousins and her son well enough.’

An awkward silence fell between them.





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR


Connie


Miles Prescott was busy. Busy avoiding Connie’s calls. She’d spoken to his colleagues four times since the news about Steph’s death yesterday and none of those times had yielded any information. They weren’t interested. She’d asked them to make sure he called her as soon as he was less busy, but she had the distinct feeling she’d be giving him another ring later. She wouldn’t let him ignore her forever.

It’d been the longest day. Connie stretched back in her chair, clicked her neck. Thank God it was almost over, no more struggling through sessions. The memory of last night flashed in her mind. Was she wrong to have sought comfort in the arms of someone who’d abandoned her when she’d needed him most? Niall hadn’t asked questions, and she’d been grateful for that. But when he’d left early that morning, he’d given her a quick kiss on the top of her head and left without conversation. It’d left her feeling empty. A moment of passion turned sour by a sheepish parting. Not how Connie had wanted to feel after giving herself to him. Again. Maybe it’d served its purpose, but something inside, a desire for something more, niggled at her and left her cold when he left. She realised now that she had wanted him to comfort her and talk things through. Had needed to share how she felt about everything going on. Wanted someone to make her feel loved.