Bad Sister(55)

She’ll get hers, along with the others. The opportunity I have now is priceless, so I guess it happened for a reason.





CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE


Connie


Mack’s abrupt exit from the room left Connie stunned. She sat, brow creased, mentally running through the last few minutes of the interview. His response when he saw the picture seemed over the top – flying out like that, why?

Elbows on the table, her head in her cupped hands, a sudden jolt of memory hit her.

She had always thought Mack was familiar. But she’d assumed she’d come across him professionally. Now, she remembered. The morning after she’d slept with Gary, she’d crept downstairs, and, about to let herself out of the front door, had heard an exaggerated cough. She’d turned to see a man sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper in front of him, mug in hand – a look of disapproval plastered on his face.

Gary was Mack’s son.

She could see it now – the height, the square jawline, the eyes. Damn. This was awkward. So that was the reason for his animosity towards her? Just because of a one-night stand? Hadn’t he ever had one? And why was it her fault? It took two, after all. She had met Gary on a night out, where he was openly flirting with not just her, but half the bar, too. He was up for it. He hadn’t thought of the consequences either. They were both irresponsible.

Her stomach fluttered. Did Mack know about her pregnancy?

Connie got her phone from her bag and checked the time. She’d already been at the station for an hour, and so far had made zero progress in finding out who the mystery photographer was. Now, sitting alone in the small room, she began to wonder if she’d been cut out of the loop. Maybe they didn’t want her assistance now. They were looking at her through different eyes – she was in photos with an ex-con. That didn’t look good. Yet Mack hadn’t even asked her about it. As for the photo of her dad, well, that was weird. What was the point of that? How was she meant to know who some random guy in a photo with her dad was? He was always having meetings with various people, the man could’ve been anyone. Unless the police believed that the photo was meant as a threat, taken and sent to them as a sign that her dad would be harmed. But why? None of it made sense.

Connie got up and stretched. Was Mack even coming back, or should she leave the room and go and find him? She looked to the door, willing it to open. She’d much rather get this over with – dragging it out like this was torture. But that was probably what Mack was anticipating. He was enjoying making her as uncomfortable as he possibly could.

She thought about Jonesy. As he was in the photos with her, it was obviously not him taking them. But it was odd how he kept popping up, being in the same place she was. There was a possibility he was behind it, getting the photographer to take the photos. Connie mulled over the reasons he might have for doing this. Blackmail sprung to mind. If he’d been keeping up with the news, or had heard about Hargreaves through his contacts, he’d know that the last thing Connie needed was to be associated with ex-cons. He might be planning to ask Connie for money to prevent any further implications. But if that was the point, then surely he wouldn’t have sent the photos to the police. There would be no need for Connie to pay him to keep them to himself if they were already in the hands of the law. As a drug user, perhaps the lengths he’d go to in order to fund his habit were more extreme than she’d imagined. Would he also go as far as killing Hargreaves for money?

If Jonesy was in any way responsible for Hargreaves’ murder, then her being photographed with him was bad news. If Lindsay and Mack suspected that she had arranged for Jonesy to kill him, then these photos were highly incriminating. But they wouldn’t find any further evidence that corroborated that theory. You couldn’t find evidence where there wasn’t any.

Unless that evidence was faked. Or, at the very least, manipulated.

Finally, the door opened. Connie sighed in relief – it wasn’t Mack returning.

Lindsay, her face tired and drawn, entered and took the seat opposite Connie.

‘Things seem to have taken an interesting turn,’ she said.

‘I’m not sure I’d agree with the interesting part.’

‘First question I want answered is why were you with Trevor Jones?’

Connie shifted in her seat. ‘I wasn’t with Jones. When those photos were taken, I was at Coleton train station. I’d got off my usual train following my day at work in Totnes. I was literally halfway over the bridge, the one that goes across the tracks, heading for the exit, and I saw …’ Connie faltered. She hadn’t told them about the memory stick. As far as she was concerned it had nothing to do with them, with the investigation, so why should she? Now, though, in order to give credence to her account, she was going to have to tell Lindsay about the stick, and the man who’d given it to her. More questions would follow and she’d be getting deeper into the shit.

‘Go on, please finish what you were saying.’ Lindsay opened her hands, palms up, inviting her to keep going.

‘I saw a man, standing against the railing of the bridge. For some reason, it scared me. No one else had got off the train and I couldn’t see anyone else around. He was wearing an overcoat, which was odd, because it had been such a warm day … anyway, he seemed to be waiting for me. I suppose I panicked, and I put my head down and continued forward. He moved too, in my direction – and that’s when he bumped right into me. The shock took my breath from me. I was afraid, and I almost collapsed. I was hanging on to the rail when someone put their hand on my other arm and asked if I was okay. That someone was Jonesy.’