Bad Sister(45)

‘Glad you’re here—’

‘That makes a change,’ Mack said, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘Well, it’s not an issue now, is it?’ Connie couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her voice.

Lindsay had placed her hand on Mack’s arm; a warning to proceed with care?

‘I’m afraid we need to ask something of you …’ Lindsay looked reluctant, her body language closed.

What do they want now?

Fearing she was going to be asked something she might not like, Connie shot to her desk, picked up the crayon picture and thrust it in front of Lindsay.

‘What do you make of that?’

‘Er …’ Lindsay gave Mack a sideways glance.

Connie could taste the tension. They wanted to talk to her, and she was making it awkward for them. So what? This was important.

‘It was drawn by Dylan. Tuesday morning.’ Connie raised her eyebrows, hopeful Lindsay would see it the way she had.

‘Kids draw some weird things, don’t they?’ Lindsay passed it back to Connie. ‘Look, Connie, I’m so sorry to have to ask you—’

‘Don’t you see?’ Connie couldn’t believe Lindsay was so dismissive of this possible evidence. ‘Look at the figure he’s drawn next to him, how he’s blackened out the face with scribbles.’ She held the picture towards her again, but when Lindsay didn’t take it, she pushed it into Mack’s hands instead. ‘That’s not right, is it? That figure has to be who Steph was afraid of.’

Mack smiled thinly, and took the picture. After studying it for a few seconds he lowered it, and made eye contact with Connie.

‘We’ll take it, it might be useful, thank you.’

Connie narrowed her eyes. Was he trying to placate her? Would they do anything with it, or just bury it in a file somewhere? Before she could question him, Lindsay spoke again, her voice loud, direct. She clearly didn’t want to be interrupted again.

‘Miles Prescott has been unable to confirm the identities of our suicide victims. You’re currently the only other person who knew Stephanie and Dylan well …’

‘Really? Are you kidding me? Why hasn’t Miles been able to?’ Connie felt her pulse bang in her neck. She moved around the desk, sitting heavily in her chair.

‘He’s away in Manchester on police business and won’t be back until after the weekend. It’s important we don’t wait any longer for the official ID to be made,’ Mack informed her.

That would explain why he hadn’t returned Connie’s calls. It would have been easy enough for his colleagues to tell her he was away, though. Unless he didn’t want people to know. Manchester. Could he be looking into Brett’s whereabouts? Perhaps he’d taken Steph and her concerns seriously after all.

‘Right. Well. I guess I don’t have a choice, then. Do I?’ Connie directed this to Mack. He shrugged his shoulders.

‘We could drive you now, if that’s convenient.’ Lindsay shifted her weight from one leg to the other, watching her, waiting for her to answer. To say it was fine.

Connie’s head was heavy. It wasn’t fine. Nothing about this situation was fine. The thought of seeing Steph and Dylan’s lifeless bodies was too awful. This wasn’t how she’d envisaged her day ending. All she wanted was to get home to Amber and have a long soak in the bath.

But, on the other hand, Connie couldn’t bear to think of Steph and little Dylan, cold and alone, waiting for someone to identify them. She ran her hands through her hair and groaned.

‘Okay. I’ll do it. Let’s go.’ Connie bolted up from the chair so quickly that she felt dizzy.

‘Thank you. We greatly appreciate you doing this, I realise it won’t be easy.’ Lindsay offered a steadying hand to Connie.

‘No. It won’t be. Not at all.’

The three of them left the office, Connie trailing behind Lindsay and Mack down the stairs. When they reached the front door of the building, Mack stooped to pick up some post. He held it out to Connie, and she threw it on to the tub chair. She’d deal with that tomorrow. Her mind was on the scene she was about to be subjected to. She’d never even seen a dead body before. Her dad had categorically refused to let her see Luke; she’d been too young, he’d said; her memories of him should be when he was vibrant and full of life. Not as he was on the cold slab. He’d said something similar to her mum. Connie remembered her putting up a fight; she’d wanted closure, felt the only way to get that was to see her son. But in the end her dad had succeeded in convincing her that she would regret it. It was just a shell. Luke was gone.

It looked as though her memories of Steph and Dylan were not going to enjoy the same protection.





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN


Connie


To distract herself from the task ahead, Connie bombarded Lindsay and Mack with questions during the car journey to the hospital morgue. But it wasn’t just distraction. She needed to know more.

‘Have you looked in her house – found anything suspicious?’ She leant forward from the back, pushing her upper body between the front seats, looking from Mack to Lindsay.

‘Can you put your seatbelt on please, Connie?’ Lindsay took her eyes off the road ahead and shot Connie a harsh look.

She shuffled back and clunked in her belt.