Bad Sister(50)

The post. She should open it. It was already a day old; there might be something important that required dealing with urgently. Pushing the list aside, Connie set about opening the mail.

She sifted through it. Mostly it was junk. Then her breath caught.

The large brown envelope was addressed to Connie Moore.

She hadn’t used that name since leaving the prison service.

With fumbling fingers, she ripped it open, pulling from it some photographs and a white sheet of paper. The photos were face down, but the typed words glared at her:

You can’t escape your past by changing your name. It doesn’t work like that.

Connie stared at the words, her pulse skipping. If she didn’t turn over the pictures, if she threw them in the bin instead, she’d never have to know what they were of. She knew she couldn’t do that, though. She’d never stop thinking about them, wondering what they showed. She slammed her elbows on the desk, and held her head in her cupped hands. What was going on? She wanted to scream, release the tension and anxiety that was building to unbearable levels inside her.

She sat back, locking her hands behind her head and bounced against the chair.

‘God’s sake!’

Connie flipped the photos over.

Her stomach flipped too.





CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO


DI Wade


The search for Eric Hargreaves’ murderer had so far brought complications; twists and turns that even with their investigation management system, HOLMES2, made for a procedural nightmare. Lindsay’s head was full of questions as she left her DCI’s office. Despite the updates and new information, they were still lacking anything solid. The team had been working around the clock for the past ten days, following original leads, new ones, checking numerous CCTV feeds, trawling through statements, interviewing persons of interest.

But the latest information made Lindsay nervous.

Her instinct told her that Connie had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The photo of her with ex-prisoner, Trevor Jones, proved nothing on its own. However, her team had disagreed, quickly jumping on the theory that Connie had been involved in getting Hargreaves taken out of the picture – used her past associations with criminals to her advantage, somehow getting them to carry out her act of revenge. Jones had been convicted of aggravated burglary – it wasn’t such a huge leap, especially given his record of violent outbursts while in custody too, to think him capable of doing something on this scale.

It certainly threw a different light on Connie. And if she was in contact with one criminal, could there be more?

Mack and DC Clarke had left early to go fetch Jones, bring him in for questioning.

Lindsay hoped he gave them a plausible reason for him and Connie being together.

Sitting at her desk, her third coffee in one hand, Lindsay scrolled through her emails. The one with the subject heading ‘POST-MORTEM RESULTS’ stood out. Stephanie and Dylan. It was likely to be cut and dried; given the height from which Stephanie had jumped with Dylan, the cause of death was obviously going to be blunt force trauma.

The toxicology report would take longer, probably another six or so weeks. But, reading the report, Lindsay didn’t think that would be of huge significance. She might have had drugs in her system – God knows Lindsay would’ve had to in order to even contemplate such an act – but ultimately the fall was what killed Stephanie and Dylan Cousins.

Goosebumps prickled on Lindsay’s arms. The vision of the bodies lying at the bottom of Haytor was still vivid in her mind, refusing to shift. Such a terrible way to go. Selfish as far as she was concerned. At least Stephanie had had a choice in the matter. Her poor child hadn’t.

How could someone, a mother, do that?

The literal ‘how’ also bothered her as much as the emotional. Had Stephanie pushed her son first then jumped herself? Their bodies had been close together, almost touching. Difficult to tell. They probably would never know – no one had come forward to say they’d witnessed the incident despite a huge public appeal. But another team had been tasked to piece together Steph’s last movements; her own job was to continue the Hargreaves investigation. The niggling questions Connie had asked in the car yesterday about Stephanie’s home and what had been found there, whether there’d been a suicide note, were the only things that prevented Lindsay shutting off from the suicide completely. It was strange that no note was found. But, she reminded herself, not all suicide victims left notes.

The door, swinging back and hitting the wall, jerked her out of her thoughts. Mack stormed through, his face stony.

‘Eh up, what’s the matter?’ Lindsay stood and walked towards him.

‘No sign of Mr Jones at his registered address.’ He slumped on his chair. ‘Waste of bloody time.’

‘Is he still on licence?’

‘Yep, tried his probation officer, too. She said she hadn’t seen him for a week as he’s now only on fortnightly sign-ins.’

‘Okay, well we’re bound to catch up with him sooner or later. If not before, then we can visit the probation offices next week.’

‘A whole week, that’s too long.’

‘We’ll be speaking to Connie about the pictures, so we’ll be able to get her side of the matter. He can wait. Come on, Mack – not like you to be so negative.’

He shrugged, then turned to his monitor, saying nothing more.