Bad Sister(47)

‘Drink, come on – take bigger sips,’ Lindsay encouraged with her sharp tone and a gentle push.

Connie held the tea between her shaking hands, the hot liquid sloshing in the plastic cup. She lifted it slowly to her mouth and drank. It was sweet – they must’ve put at least three sugars in. Her mum had always advocated tea with lots of sugar as a counter for shock, too. Connie recalled the time she’d been ironing her dolls’ clothes one day, her mum close by, keeping a watchful eye – when there was a loud bang. The iron had, in Connie’s mind, blown up and she’d dropped it and ran screaming from the room. Her mum had sat her down, given her a mug of tea. Connie had gagged on the syrup-sweet drink, but her mum had insisted she finish it. It’ll help the shock. Was that a real thing? Or just a very British thing: tea and sympathy. Had Lindsay’s mum told her the same?

‘I have to ask,’ Lindsay said, her arm on Connie’s, ‘can you confirm the identities of the bodies for me, please?’

Connie winced at the words. The bodies. No longer people, just husks – like her dad had said about Luke.

‘I can confirm the woman is Stephanie Cousins, previously known as Jenna Ellison. And the boy is Dylan Cousins, previously Dylan Ellison.’ The words had a robotic quality to them. Her emotions were drained; the official identification was complete. Her memory now stained with the sight of her dead client and her son.

‘Thank you.’

‘Where’s Mack?’ Connie asked, looking around.

‘He had to take an important call. Look, I know this was an awful thing for you to have to do. Trust me, if there’d been anyone else …’

‘I know.’ Connie mustered a smile. ‘I didn’t think you’d find any capable family member. I haven’t experienced anything like that before, that’s all, and seeing them both, like that.’ Tears sprung again, this time she couldn’t hold them back. ‘I so wanted to help her, you know? Achieve a new life. That was the aim. Not to have it ended.’ Lindsay’s arm tightened around Connie’s shoulders and she felt a squeeze.

‘I’m sure you did your best for her. You can’t save everyone.’

Connie’s eyes widened, her head snapped around to face Lindsay’s. ‘I clearly can’t save anyone, though, can I?’ She hung her head again, staring at the tea. ‘All I manage to do is mess up lives.’

‘That’s not true.’ Lindsay straightened, her posture official again.

‘The evidence is stacking up against me,’ Connie said bluntly. Bad things happened around her. She was the common denominator – how could she not be to blame in some way? She was jinxed.

The double doors to the room swung open. Mack reappeared, his cheeks flushed red.

‘We need to get back to the station,’ he said as he approached Lindsay.

‘Oh? We had a break?’ Lindsay was off, heading for the exit before realising that Connie was still sat, recovering. She swung back to face Connie. ‘We’ll have to get you home, quickly, sorry to rush you, but—’

‘Sure. No problem.’ Connie stood, wavered for a moment, and then steadied herself.

‘Are you going to be okay? Can I call anyone for you, so that you’re not on your own at home?’ Lindsay said.

Connie snorted. ‘Nope. I’ll be good, there’s not really anyone I want with me.’

‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Mack, still flushed, stood aside as he held the door open. ‘We need that list from you, like ASAP, please.’

Connie noted that Lindsay’s mouth fell open. She’d obviously had the same thought Connie had. Not the most appropriate time to drop that in. She blew out her cheeks.

‘I haven’t forgotten. I can email it through to the station later if you want it that desperately.’ She hoped he caught the terse edge to her voice.

‘Great. Thanks. Right, let’s get you home.’

Connie followed, the sense of dread rising like a tidal wave in her stomach. Immediately after taking a call, Mack was asking for her list of people – men – that she’d had, or did have, contact with.

What was going on?





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


DI Wade


Lindsay felt uncomfortable knowing she was dropping Connie home to an empty house. After what was clearly a traumatic experience for her, she really should have company. It was the second time Lindsay had felt wrong leaving her. What was that about? Why had Connie affected her so strongly? Was it that she saw similarities between them, related to their circumstances? Single woman, living on her own, successful – to a degree – yet with a black mark against her for a past poor judgement call, one which had caused others to question her ability, her skills as a professional.

Lindsay had fought hard against the backlash from her first murder case she’d been on as a DI. Her own judgement had been lacking, and as a direct result of that, a woman had died and a man had been murdered. A family had been left broken. For Connie, her apparently poor decision had resulted in a dangerous man being released from prison and a woman being attacked, raped in broad daylight, metres from her home. Then the man responsible had been murdered. Lindsay felt for Connie, though. As professional women who fought to gain their position in their chosen jobs, they should stick together – not every decision was necessarily going to be the right one; life wasn’t as simple as that.