Bad Sister(76)

A blur of movement to her side caught her off guard. Something solid, a body, slammed against her shoulder. With the wind knocked from her, she fell to the floor, her head banging down, hard.

Pain shot from her shoulder to her head. As the room began to fade, darken, Connie heard the front door slam.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT


DI Wade


When Lindsay walked through the upstairs office door, DC Clarke in tow, she found Connie, a wet tea towel pressed against her head, slumped over her desk.

‘Jesus, Connie. You should see a doctor, get that checked over.’

‘I’m fine, really. It wasn’t that bad, the carpet cushioned my fall.’

‘You could have a concussion.’ Lindsay moved around the desk and put her hands either side of Connie’s head.

‘Ow!’

‘Sorry. Look at me, Connie.’

Her pupils were even, she looked as though she was focusing on her face, and she could follow Lindsay’s finger. That was a relief, at least.

‘Stop fussing, I’m not suffering from concussion, I’m just pissed off – hurt pride and all that.’ Connie pulled her head back from Lindsay’s grip.

‘What happened, who was it, did you see?’

‘Blimey, Lindsay, is that how you question all your witnesses?’

Connie’s call to the station had been vague – an intruder had pushed her to the ground and could Lindsay visit. She’d decided to take Clarke along, rather than Mack, and they’d rushed there, blue lights and all.

‘Is there any CCTV covering your building?’ Clarke asked, his notebook open ready to jot down the details.

‘No. I didn’t see the need for that as well as the buzzer system for the door. It is only Totnes. Meant to have one of the lowest crime rates in Britain, apparently.’

Lindsay gently shook her head. ‘Lowest. Not non-existent. You should still take precautions.’ She left Connie’s side and asked Clarke to stay with her. She was going to do a sweep of the building. Although the intruder had gone – Connie said she’d heard him leave – she needed to make sure, check the perimeter, ensure he wasn’t still hanging around outside. She’d also check around to see if he’d left any evidence behind.

‘Where were they hiding, do you reckon?’

‘Downstairs toilet. Could’ve sworn I heard noises in there when I was standing at the top of the stairwell. But he – I’m pretty certain from the force it was a man – came at me from my left, as I was facing the toilet, so he must’ve been hiding around that wall, leading to the kitchenette.’

‘Okay, I’ll have a look. You sure you don’t need medical attention?’

‘I’m sure.’ Connie smiled up at her. She looked so vulnerable, yet she had a tough quality about her, too. She confused Lindsay a bit. Or perhaps she was merely confused by how Connie made her feel: one minute she wanted to chastise her, the next, protect her. Lindsay returned her smile, then headed to the lower floor.

The intruder had left no sign of forced entry; she’d checked all access points. It looked as though Connie had been right. It was Brett, and he’d stayed inside after their session. Waited.

But why?

If he’d wanted to attack her he could’ve done it immediately, there was no reason to wait. No one else had been in the building at the time.

Lindsay paced up and down, a thumbnail jammed between her teeth, biting down on it rhythmically. Connie said he’d come at her from her left, shoved her to the ground. Then run off without doing anything else? It was as if he hadn’t wanted to hurt her; that hadn’t been his goal. So what was? She walked back to the toilet door and cast her eyes inside. It was a tiny room, toilet and small handbasin. As she tucked her head around the door, she saw it.

A round mirror above the basin.

Now she was inside she could see it properly. Writing. She pulled the light cord and the word was displayed clearly.

‘Connie!’ Lindsay shouted up the stairs. ‘Come look at this.’

She pushed her hands into her trouser pockets and stood back from the room.

‘In there, on the mirror,’ Lindsay motioned with her head.

‘What the hell’s that?’ She heard Connie say from inside.

‘I hoped you’d know.’

‘No. Ah, hang on. Have you got a mirror, Lindsay?’

Lindsay scoffed, ‘Er, no.’ Did she look the type to carry a handbag with a compact inside? ‘But it’s on a mirror, Connie.’

Connie nudged past them and ran up the stairs, her heavy footsteps pounding on the staircase. Lindsay shrugged her shoulders in a return gesture to Clarke’s raised eyebrows. What was Connie doing?

‘The word looks weird because I think it’s backwards,’ Connie said as she came back down, out of breath. With a compact mirror in hand, Connie went back into the toilet and held it up against the wall mirror.

‘Yep. There you are.’

‘What? What does it say?’

‘This is personal.’ Connie’s hushed tones filtered from the toilet.

‘I’m pretty sure what is written isn’t that long,’ Lindsay said.

‘Oh, haha. No, Lindsay. One word meant as two. Personal to me.’

Lindsay shuffled inside. Connie’s eyes had reddened, her nose turned pink. She was going to cry. She laid a hand on her arm.