Bad Sister(58)

‘You do know you’ve put me in an awkward situation here, right? I should take you off the case—’

‘No. Please don’t do that. There’s no need for that, really.’

‘I don’t want to. But you need to get your act together, or I’ll have no choice.’

‘Understood. I’m sorry, this is the last thing I wanted.’

Lindsay knew that. She also knew Mack was a good detective and she needed him. ‘As punishment, you can trawl through all the evidence thus far relating to the prison officers, but taking particular interest in a Niall Frazer.’

Mack groaned, pinching his nose between a thumb and forefinger. ‘Okay. But why?’

‘Connie told me he’d got in contact with her just after the Hargreaves murder, hadn’t spoken to her for a year prior. And his name is on her list.’

‘Oh, yeah. And it’s his full name. Lucky him.’

‘Check his whereabouts at every crucial point, but if they check out, if he has an alibi – check them out thoroughly, too.’

Mack turned to leave.

‘Oh, and Mack?’

‘Yes, Boss.’

‘You need to give Connie a chance to explain, I don’t think you’re in full receipt of the facts.’

‘Meaning?’

‘You said that she went ahead and terminated the pregnancy, without giving any thought to Gary’s wishes.’

‘Yeah.’ His neck reddened, the anger returning.

‘Well, you’re wrong. She didn’t have an abortion. She miscarried the baby.’

Mack paused by the doorway. ‘And you believe that?’

‘Yes, Mack. I do.’

‘Why?’

‘Women’s intuition?’

‘Huh. Don’t give me that sexist bull, Boss.’

‘Okay then. I just believe her.’

‘I reckon she has some kind of hold on you, Boss.’ He gave a wry smile, then turned and left.





CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO


Connie


Connie collapsed full length on the sofa, her hands interlocked and covering her face. Her body was weak, all energy sapped. She might stay there, not move, for days. Sod the new consultancy, her new life. What was the point? Every time she took a step forward, someone blocked it. Pushed her back. Her dad was right. She was a disappointment – Luke would’ve been successful. The perfect child would’ve transformed into the perfect adult. Not her. She was a disgrace. A let-down. Her life was a joke, and the fact she got to live it and Luke didn’t was unfair. No wonder her dad wasn’t interested, he couldn’t bear to witness what a mess she was making. It hurt him to see her and not his perfect Luke.

Fuelled by an abrupt anger, Connie propelled herself up and paced the lounge. She could take control. For far too long she’d allowed herself to be a puppet, let others use and walk over her. Let herself be a scapegoat for anyone who could get away with it. If she was to ever feel any better about herself, give herself a chance to be anything, she had to stand up for herself. Others could only control her if she allowed them that power.

‘Come on, Connie, take the damn control back,’ she berated herself. Somehow it felt better to say it out loud.

Amber brushed up against her calf, almost knocking her over. ‘Hello, baby.’ She lifted her, snuggling into the long white fur. A cat supposedly had nine lives. Perhaps she did, too. Only one way to find out. She texted Niall. Asked if he would meet her for coffee. Although it was late afternoon he might still be at work. It depended which shifts he was doing this week. She said if he was free they should meet in town. She didn’t want him to come to the house.

She needed to be certain there was nothing untoward about his contacting her after Hargreaves’ murder. Clearly Lindsay had taken his appearance as some kind of suspicious timing. She didn’t want to believe that. But, then, hadn’t she also had her reservations about him? Either way, she’d rather be safe than sorry. The night they’d spent together had resulted in an awkward parting the next day, and now Connie was curious as to why. Yes, she was going to take control.

After sending the text from her personal phone, Connie picked up her work mobile. She should give that new client a call; she’d yet to respond to the voicemail he’d left. Sitting down with a pad of paper to take the details, Connie rang the voicemail box, listening, pen poised.

‘Hi, I want to arrange some sessions with you. I’m new in the area, and have a need for counselling … ’ There was a long pause, then the voice started again, ‘I’ve had a lot of trauma in my life and now it’s essential I make a fresh start. For that to happen, I’ll need extra help. Can I see you as soon as possible?’ His voice was soft, although the way he spoke immediately made Connie think he was reading from a pre-prepared script. It was stilted, the wording not as natural as a conversation would be. The caller left a number, which Connie scribbled down. A mobile. She dialled it.

‘Hello, this is Connie Summers, psychologist, you left me a message to arrange an appointment?’

There was no response, but Connie could hear breathing.

‘Hello, is this a bad line?’ She held the phone out, checking the signal. She had four bars.

‘No. The connection is fine.’ His voice was flat. ‘I can hear you clearly.’ He fell silent again.