Bad Sister(73)
‘Connie Summers.’
Lindsay lifted a single eyebrow in a high arc. ‘That’s your big idea?’
‘Yes, Boss. It begins and ends with our Ms Summers. We’ve just not been listening to the right bits of her story.’
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Connie
Connie fussed with the items on her desk, moving them, straightening them – anything to give her fingers a job – stop them trembling. She glanced at the clock. Still an hour before Brett arrived. After she’d called him, asked him to come back for a full session, Connie had made some enquiries. As per usual, Miles Prescott’s team had been unhelpful. She’d tried the local probation office, her theory being that if Brett was newly released and staying in this area, he’d likely have a probation officer assigned to him. She couldn’t see that someone like him, and at his age, would be released straight from the YOI with no licence.
She’d been in luck; she’d been able to get the details of Brett’s probation officer and finally, this morning, she spoke directly with her. Laura, a new PO and therefore incredibly cooperative, had given Connie lots of information. If only Miles had taken a keener interest when it mattered, things would’ve turned out differently. But then, he was on the opposite end of the scale – knocking on the door of retirement – he couldn’t have been less helpful if he’d tried.
Brett had been transferred from the youth offending team to probation services because he’d just turned eighteen. Laura had listed numerous incidents involving Brett while he’d been within the secure home and the YOI in Manchester. Mostly, they were fire-related, often occurring in the middle of the night. She went on to explain that Brett had been diagnosed as suffering with childhood pyromania, which was uncommon, but all clinical evaluations pointed towards it: revenge-seeking, social disorder – he’d been expelled from school and possibly had ADHD or adjustment disorder, although that had only been hinted at, never formally diagnosed. Perhaps he’d slipped through the net. But looking at it all now, everything ticked the box for pyromaniac. The exact underlying cause changed over the years. Different professionals each having their favoured theory. One thing agreed by all, however, was that Brett used fire as an impulsive act of stress-relief.
Everything Laura told Connie reinforced Steph’s story, and it fitted well with the timing of the fire that devastated the family house. The fire that destroyed a family. The fire Brett had been responsible for, unlike Miles’ assertion otherwise.
It seemed pretty cut and dried.
How did Brett expect her to believe he was innocent, that Steph had lied?
This and many other questions bombarded Connie’s already battered brain as she fought to keep control of her own emotions this morning. Yesterday’s admission from Niall, that he had been passing snippets of information to Kelly Barton, still grated. Hurt. Even though she’d had doubts about his intentions, deep down she hadn’t really thought he’d sink that low. Somehow it felt like an element of karma was coming into play here. She was getting punished. Thing was, she wasn’t at all certain what for, exactly, and who else was dishing it out.
Still playing for time, Connie headed downstairs to the reception room and made a coffee. Standing at the lower window, she watched the people that went by, all going about their business, largely unaware of others. Was the hoody-man out there somewhere, watching? She hadn’t noticed anyone since the day after Steph’s death, so maybe he really had been waiting for her – had been the one supplying her cannabis. She was unlikely to ever find out who he was, or what he’d wanted now. The trail had ended; no new leads. She closed her eyes, an image of Steph and Dylan on the pirate ship that Monday lunchtime coming to her. How could it be that a day later they were gone? For a moment Connie was lost, her focus blurring as cars drove by.
It was surprisingly quiet inside the building, given that it was situated in the main shopping street of Totnes. It was an old building, the walls thick, so most of the noise was filtered. It was like being in a giant cocoon: quiet, comforting, and protective. Until Brett came in; he’d break the seal, crack open the shell and it wouldn’t feel quite as safe. The bang of a door shutting upstairs startled her – a breeze from her open office window obviously blowing it closed, bringing her back to the moment. She quickly swallowed the last of the coffee and nipped to use the toilet off the reception room.
With both hands leaning on the small basin, Connie stared at herself in the mirror. Her face seemed swollen. Lack of sleep, lack of decent food, lack of hydration, all adding to a look of pallor, a dullness to her skin. She needed to visit a spa, go and get a facial or beauty treatment. Spoil herself. Would Lindsay go with her, so they could have a girly day together? Connie laughed out loud, and shook her head. Stupid thought. She’d like it, though. She’d spent more time with Lindsay than any other female friend for, well, she couldn’t remember the last time. It’d definitely been over a year ago. And she couldn’t really count the other women she’d worked with in the psychology department – they were different, not exactly friends, more colleagues. It was about time she made the effort to socialise, to make time for a proper friend – one who could be a constant in her life. Could Lindsay fit that role?
Connie took in a large breath. It was time to get organised for her client. Her stomach dipped violently, a mouthful of lukewarm coffee regurgitating into her mouth. She must call Lindsay, tell her that she was about to have a session with Brett, and that, if she didn’t call back by eleven, to assume something had happened. Something bad, and she should send someone over.