Bad Sister(98)

‘Hah! Yeah, I thought you might. Speak in a bit, then.’

If one good thing had come out of all this, it was her friendship with Lindsay. Despite the moral and ethical challenges Connie’s involvement in the case had created, Lindsay hadn’t allowed her usual ‘by-the-book’ approach to stop it from forming. And, if the phone call was anything to go by, she was keen to keep it going.

Connie walked to the window and stared out at the people going about their business. Was Luke still out there? Her dad had been angry that he’d broken cover – gone against the rules – had, in his mind, put himself and the family in danger. But Connie didn’t think that way. He’d broken his cover to protect her.

Connie took comfort in the thought he might be watching over her.





Epilogue


A cool wind whipped the long grass as he walked across the moor and stung his face as it caught him head on. It was cold, but the sun was getting higher, and sweat began pricking under his armpits. He’d taken an hour to walk to the tor.

Haytor.

He’d read about the Devon moors when he was in the YOI. There was something fascinating about them. Dark. They held secrets.

It held his.

He climbed the granite rocks, reaching the top easily. He let the wind buffet him as he stood on the edge looking down at the sheer drop. If he leant over a bit more he’d be able to see the smaller rocks below.

How simple. One push and he’d be over the edge. One small leap and he’d be flying.

Joining his stepsister and nephew.

He took a step back. Crouching down, he retrieved a bottle from his rucksack and sat on the rock. A chill permeated his trousers. Unscrewing the lid, he swigged from the bottle, coughing as the harsh taste of vodka burnt the back of his throat. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

He lifted his chin and shouted, ‘Cheers, sis.’

Enough.

Scrambling to his feet, he made his way to the edge again.

But he wouldn’t let her win.

He clambered back down the side of the tor, careful with his footing. A couple walking their dog came into view at the foot of the incline. He hoped they would hurry up and walk on by. He wanted to be on his own.

He waited until they were small blobs on the horizon, then made his way to the place. The exact spot where Jenna and Dylan had been found. Staring at the area they’d fallen on to, he could envisage their bent and twisted bodies.

She shouldn’t have lied.

Tugging at his jeans pocket, he pulled out a crumpled photograph. He looked at it for a long while, then placed it into a crevice by the rocks where Jenna’s body had fallen.

He sat down beside the photo – a smiling Jenna looking up at him from the only family picture that’d ever been taken of the four of them. Jenna on the left, then him, his dad slightly behind. With her. Taking his Zippo lighter, he flicked it, watching as the small flame danced. He shut the lid. Then flicked it open again. He continued with the motion until he felt ready.

Leaning forwards, he touched the flame against the photo. The left edge blackened, then caught. The flame licked the corner, then spread, obliterating her face.

‘I forgive you, Jenna.’ He watched until the photo was destroyed. He was calm now. ‘You had to die, though. It was only right.’

He smiled as he watched the ashes of the photo lift and get carried along by the wind. ‘I always told you it ends with fire.’





Author’s Note


This novel is a work of fiction – however, there are some real locations mentioned. For example, I talk about the wonderful historic town of Totnes in Devon – a place I know well. While real, I’ve used it in a purely fictitious manner, and to this end, have slightly altered some of the geography to fit my story.