Bad Sister(48)

But now, as they drove away from Connie’s house and Mack relayed the phone conversation he’d had whilst they were at the morgue, Lindsay wondered if, yet again, her judgement had been off. Were her personal feelings causing her to narrow her focus?

There was clearly more to Connie Summers than she’d considered.

‘Okay, guys! Some hush, please.’ Lindsay perched on the edge of the melamine desk, scanning the room of officers. Everyone stopped talking and faced her.

‘We have positive IDs on both bodies from Tuesday’s suspected suicide. It’s now confirmed, they are Stephanie Cousins and her four-year-old son, Dylan. We have no reason to believe the incident is suspicious or that anyone else is involved. I’ve prepared a report for the coroner and the post-mortems will be carried out now they have been identified. We expect the findings to be suicide for Stephanie and unlawful killing for Dylan.’

The room was silent. When a child was involved, especially in circumstances such as this, the mood of the team was often heavy. A number of the officers had children themselves.

‘Moving on.’ Lindsay lifted the briefing sheet from her lap, desperate to also lift the atmosphere. ‘We’ve had a delivery.’ She paused, looking out at the expectant faces. ‘An anonymous envelope was left at reception.’ A low mumble broke out. Lindsay could feel their excitement. The photos contained within the envelope were significant to the Hargreaves murder case. The officer who’d been in receipt of them had been extremely hyper when he’d called Mack to inform him of the latest development.

But Lindsay didn’t share that excitement. As far as she was concerned, this was going to cause added grief, and it gave her an unpleasant taste in her mouth. As much as she wanted to stretch this out, prevent the disclosure for longer, she knew she had to update the team. The officers shuffled, muttering to each other, and Lindsay heard some tutting. She couldn’t put it off any longer.

Putting on latex gloves, Lindsay reached for the evidence bag which lay on the desk beside her, and slowly retrieved a large A4 brown envelope. She was aware of how still the room had become. From the envelope she pulled a photograph: one of the two that had been included – she was holding the other one back, for now. She sighed, holding it up so everyone could see it. There was an outbreak of whispers, then louder comments.

‘We don’t know who took it.’ Lindsay raised her voice above the others. ‘But you might recognise one of the people in the photo.’

‘It’s Connie Summers,’ Clarke said.

‘Yes,’ Lindsay tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, ‘and the person she’s with is ex-prisoner, Trevor Jones.’

‘What’s the significance, Boss?’

Lindsay stood, photo still in one hand. ‘The photo is date-stamped 6th June, so the day after the body dump. And see here?’ She pointed with a gloved finger at Connie’s hand. ‘She appears to have been handed something by Jones. She seems to be attempting to conceal it. But, whether she is or isn’t taking something from him, our initial concern is,’ she glanced over at Mack, ‘that, despite having left the prison service, it’s clear that Connie Summers is associating with ex-prisoners. And the burning question is, why would she be doing that?’





CHAPTER FORTY-NINE





He was always the one that everyone looked up to. When he spoke, everyone listened. You didn’t mess with my old man. If you were brave enough, or, as he’d say, stupid enough to cross him, then look out.

He never forgot.

Never forgave.

He’d just bide his time until the right moment. It might be a day. A week. Even months or years. He was patient. Waited until the opportunity and the resources aligned.

Then WHAM.

He never left a trace.

And now it’s down to me. I need to be the same.





CHAPTER FIFTY


Connie


Thursday 15 June

Getting out of bed had been a challenge. Connie had wanted nothing more than to pull the duvet over her head and lie there all day – not facing the world. That would’ve been the easiest thing to do. Her sleep had been fitful. Visions of Steph’s and Dylan’s bodies slammed her unconscious and jolted her awake, sweat-soaked and afraid. The fear kept her from settling back to sleep, so she’d switched the lamp on, taken her notebook and made a start on the list.

The damn list.

She stared at the thirteen names now, as she sat facing the wrong way on the train. Going backwards made her queasy. But it was that, or squashing up beside an obese man, whose body took up three-quarters of the empty seat next to him.

Thirteen names.

Connie imagined the look on Mack’s face when he perused it. Would he question her about each man? She guessed he would – they needed to ascertain whether any of them could be a possible suspect for a revenge attack on Hargreaves. She still felt it was ludicrous to even consider that any of her ‘acquaintances’ would be bothered enough about her professional demise that they would take such extreme action.

But, as a psychologist, she had to admit she would be asking similar questions of someone else. There was a possibility that, if one of the men had certain traits, or a personality disorder, he might have taken far greater an interest in her and her life than she’d even realised. One of them might have felt compelled to act to ‘save her’ or ‘even the score’ by eliminating Hargreaves – the source of so much angst, depression and hurt. Scanning the names, some of which were only first names, she highly doubted any of them had such traits. But then, some of them she’d only known one night. What if they knew her better than she knew them?