Bad Sister(77)

‘It’s FORLUKE backwards.’

Lindsay frowned.

‘It’s a message to me. For Luke.’

‘Your brother? The one who died twenty-two years ago?’ Lindsay couldn’t contain her surprise. She watched as Connie slowly nodded, her eyes set on the mirror.





CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE


Connie


Tuesday 20 June

She hadn’t felt much like talking after the discovery of the writing on the mirror. Lindsay and DC Clarke had been really supportive and, although they’d asked questions, they hadn’t pushed her for the details of Luke’s death. They’d been keener to run through the timings – when Brett had left, to when she’d heard the noise, and who else had had access to the building that day. As Lindsay had pointed out, it would be difficult to prove it was Brett with no CCTV – it would be their word against his.

What was ‘for Luke’, exactly? Yesterday, in her shock that Luke’s name had been brought up again, she’d been unable to process it. Now, after tossing theories around her head overnight, she’d come to the conclusion that it could be interpreted in a few ways: maybe it was to do with an act of revenge that had happened, or possibly was going to happen. Or it was a relatively harmless message intended to taunt her, to ensure she’d taken the documents on the memory stick seriously by reinforcing it. Either way, the fact that Brett seemed the likely author of the message appalled and puzzled her. What did he have to do with Luke, with her and her family? Nothing, as far as she could see.

Determined to keep to her plan of visiting Manchester, despite feeling afraid and unsettled, Connie carried on with the arrangements. The taxi was calling in at her mum’s so she could drop Amber off, then it was taking her on to the train station. She’d be in Manchester by 3 p.m. According to his second-in-command, her dad had been ‘unreachable’ at the time she called, in a ‘very important meeting’, so she took it as read that it’d be fine to stay with him. Hopefully she’d give him the surprise of his life, turning up, bag in hand, informing him she was staying with him for the night. It would be nothing to the other surprise she had for him though. She tucked the memory stick inside her laptop case and put it with her overnight bag.

It was time she faced the past. Time to make her dad face it, too.

Long train journeys were always the perfect conduit for thinking. Strangely though, Connie spent most of the time sleeping. Not heavily, but fitfully – dropping in and out. The last few weeks had drained her. Emotionally and physically. That, coupled with the steady noise of the train on the tracks, made her eyelids heavy and her head woozy. Lindsay’s face popped into her mind as she drifted. When Connie had told her she was taking a quick trip to Manchester, Lindsay had thought it a good idea. Said that having some breathing space after what happened would be beneficial. Funny how people came into your life, the way they enter it and why. Who’d have thought Hargreaves would’ve brought her a friend. He’d brought a whole heap of unwanted things too, though. His murder had opened a Pandora’s box.

Nerves fluttered inside her like patters of tiny feet dancing against her stomach wall. Confronting her dad had seemed a great idea back in Devon. Now, standing on his doorstep with no clear idea of what she was going to say to him, how she was going to approach the matter of the memory stick, the message on the mirror, Connie wanted to turn back. A hotel would have been better anyway. She could have had a relaxing few hours before heading to the nursing home, no need to see her dad and get involved in what was likely to be a wasted one-sided conversation. She turned on her heel and began to walk back out down the gravel driveway, her shoes crunching and slipping on the chippings as she went.

‘Darling! This is a surprise,’ her dad’s voice bellowed behind her.

She took a moment to put a smile on her face, then turned to greet him.

There was no going back now.

His expression – blank eyes, mouth slack, his jowls hanging still – had frozen. It didn’t seem to be one of shock, horror, or anything emotional. It was neutral. Gave nothing away. Even the air was still. Quiet. Connie heard herself swallow, the spittle catching in her throat. He hadn’t said a thing since she showed him the content of the memory stick. She was afraid to prompt him. She waited, her stomach clenched, for him to respond.

‘And you don’t have any idea who gave you this?’ Finally, he spoke – although his face stayed the same, facing forwards, not looking at Connie.

‘No. I was shocked at the time, too afraid to look directly at him, so I didn’t take his features in.’

‘Not at all? Nothing? Not hair colour, eye colour, anything?’ His expression broke, his voice urgent.

Connie shook her head. ‘No, sorry.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Suddenly he got up and strode out of the room. Connie followed him.

‘You could start by telling me why whoever made this memory stick is under the impression you are withholding information from me. From Mum.’

‘I honestly have no idea, darling. Like I said before, it’ll be someone I’ve inadvertently crossed in business who has an axe to grind, I expect. It’ll blow over.’

‘Dad. That’s your answer to everything. It won’t blow over. The man who left the message in my building, knocked me to the ground – he hurt me, and could’ve done worse. This isn’t harmless. Someone wants to get to me.’ Connie paused for breath. And then added, ‘Or you.’