Bad Sister(61)

‘You seemed keen to see me. What’s brought you here today?’

Brett stared, unblinking. He sat forward in his chair – his head and shoulders reaching across the desk, encroaching in Connie’s space. She shifted, wriggling back in her seat to gain a few inches.

He smiled. ‘I think you know.’

A prickle of fear began at the base of her neck. She rubbed at it with her hand, attempting to brush it away. Her earlier confidence that she was doing the right thing by seeing Brett before informing the police waned. She was alone with this young man. And now, seeing the intensity etched on his face, she felt foolish.

She swallowed. ‘I’d prefer you to tell me. That’s how I usually begin these sessions.’

‘Fine. I’ll tell you why I’m here.’ His posture didn’t change; his upper body remained forwards, his head uncomfortably close to hers – his gripped hands on the desk.

‘Good, that’s good,’ Connie managed, though her throat felt tight, as if hands were clasped around it.

‘I don’t know what Jenna told you. But I can guess.’ He sniffed hard, the sound of mucus being drawn up and into his throat making Connie want to gag.

‘Do you mean Jenna Ellison, who, by the way, was Stephanie in her new life—’

The suddenness of his laugh stopped her. His head was thrown back and the booming sound echoed around the room.

‘New life? Wow, wasn’t she the lucky one?’

‘I fail to see how she was lucky. You do know what happened, don’t you?’

‘I’m not here to convince you she was lucky, just know that she was, and is.’

‘What’s this got to do with you being here, then? I assumed you’d be traumatised by her and Dylan’s deaths.’ Her voice was clipped.

‘I am, I guess.’ He shrugged. ‘But no, that’s not why I’m here. Not why I’ve come to you, Connie.’

Connie’s heart took on a rhythm she wasn’t sure was normal. She took some breaths in through her nose, silently, trying not to show her anxiety.

‘Okay, so why are you here?’

‘To tell my side. It’s that simple. I want to be given the opportunity to tell everyone what she was like.’ His honey-brown eyes focused intently on her. He didn’t blink.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not sure I can allow that. I think you’d be best off looking for a different counsellor. Steph was my client, and I don’t think it’s appropriate, given what I know—’

‘Ah! That’s just it, Connie. What you know is not the truth.’ His dark eyebrows lifted high, disappearing beneath his fringe.

Connie got up and took big strides to the door, opening it and standing to the side.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you. If you wouldn’t mind …’ Connie waved her hand towards the exit, waiting for Brett to leave.

‘But you can. You’re probably the only one who can, now.’ His eyes darkened, his body slouched. Was he going to refuse to leave? But, to her relief, he pushed up from the seat and made a move to the door. Connie’s hands trembled. As he walked past her, he looked like a frightened young boy. But she knew differently. Brett Ellison was a killer.

He turned just as Connie was about to close the door, putting his hand against it to prevent her shutting it.

‘I didn’t do what she said.’ His hand fell away.

Connie took advantage of this and slammed the door. She put her ear to it, she didn’t hear movement. Then his voice again, loud. Urgent.

‘It wasn’t me who started the fire, Connie. She lied. You have to believe me.’

Connie leant hard against the door. Would he force his way back in? She listened intently, hoping to hear his footsteps descending the stairs. When she heard the front door slam she blew out the air she’d been holding. She rushed to the window and watched as Brett crossed the road and disappeared out of sight.

That wasn’t the conversation she’d been expecting.

Of course he would deny everything that Steph had said; it was easy now, with her out of the way. No one to disagree. He had free rein.

Had that been his plan all along? Get rid of Steph, the only other person who truly knew what’d happened that night. Dementia had robbed their mother of the memories and their father seemed to have died in the fire.

Now Brett could rewrite his past.

But then why bother coming to Connie? To convince her he was innocent? Steph’s death had been ruled a suicide, and the responsibility for the loss of Dylan’s life was firmly placed on Steph. No one else was implicated. Yet. Connie was sure once she went to the police with the psychiatric report on Steph and told them about Brett’s release prior to Steph’s death, they might actually take her concerns more seriously. But did Brett somehow know that Connie thought he was involved?

Was he here to find out how much Connie knew?

And if she was willing to keep digging to find out the truth?

In which case, she needed to be careful. Young Brett might do anything to eliminate those who knew what he’d done.





CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX


Then


‘What are you starin’ at?’

The boy’s face flushed, suddenly aware of his mistake. He’d watched as she towel-dried herself after showering and continued to stare as she began to dress; taking in the loose skin hanging from her upper arms, her squidgy, wrinkly belly. He quickly turned away from her, not wanting her to see his embarrassment, and moved away from the open bedroom door.