Читать книгу Bad Sister: ‘Tense, convincing… kept me guessing’ Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 15

Tuesday 6 June

Connie’s night had been restless; the shock of the situation, the worry of the repercussions sinking in and taking up residence in her tired mind. There’d been no hope of solid sleep.

The 6.00 a.m. alarm rang out for the third time. She reached across, smacking it into silence. Connie stretched out, her body at a diagonal on her double bed. She could do that. With no one else to take up the space it was one small joy she could relish. It was one of the few pleasures of being single. A string of short-term encounters, some failed blind dates set up by well-meaning colleagues, and a more recent, and more complicated date that had unexpected results, didn’t add up to any kind of satisfaction in that area of her life.

After a hastily taken shower, Connie took a sachet of ready-made porridge and tipped it into a not-so-clean bowl from the side of the kitchen worktop. It’d do. As usual she overcooked it in the microwave, the sludge-like consistency spilling over the top of the bowl. She attempted eating it before it’d cooled sufficiently, and the roof of her mouth bubbled in a painful blister. Get it together, Connie. She’d worked so hard to get to this stage in her life; independent, having her own business, she couldn’t allow a lowlife criminal and an annoying reporter to ruin her success. And then there were the police.

She’d told DI Wade that she wouldn’t be of any help – past the fact she’d written a report twenty months ago – but they felt that as she ‘knew’ Eric Hargreaves, he might have disclosed something from his background, associates that could be critical in the investigation. Why couldn’t any of the other psychologists from Baymead help with their enquiries? And there were other employees from the offending behaviour programmes department that’d had dealings with Ricky. They had access to her report, her notes and emails. The police didn’t need her. Not really. Why were they so keen for her to be involved? So they had a scapegoat if things didn’t go their way? She’d been that before; she wasn’t willing to be one again.

How much weight were they giving the discovery of her name on Ricky’s hand? Did they think it was related to his murder or just a coincidence? They obviously had to follow any lead, and a name on the body was bound to need investigating, particularly when that name had been instrumental in the prisoner’s previous release. Although they seemed to have found that out very quickly, given she’d changed her name since then.

The words from last night’s report spiked her memory. An inside source. DI Wade and DS Mack had known about her past with Ricky before she’d mentioned it, so someone must’ve jumped right in and told them. Did the police think she was involved in Ricky’s murder? Some kind of revenge attack, payback for messing her life up? Surely not. Maybe they were concerned that the murderer had put her name on Ricky’s hand as a warning and that was why they were so keen to pay her a visit. Admittedly, she’d had a flash of panic that it was a sign that she was ‘next’ as soon as she saw the picture of Ricky’s hand, but she’d dismissed that as paranoia. It was too subtle, and by all accounts, the person who killed Hargreaves was far from that. No, it didn’t fit. There had to be a different reason her name had been found on a dead man.

These thoughts clouded her mind for the entire journey to Totnes, the weight of them seeming to make her head heavy. When DI Wade had asked her to be an advisor, she’d been reluctant, not wishing to commit. She’d said she’d think about it. Connie’s assertion to her mother that she was working with the police had served to allay her mother’s fears – but for Connie, the thought made her stomach contract. The Hargreaves mess had caused her enough trouble and Connie was doubtful she’d be much help now that he was dead – she probably wouldn’t be able to tell DI Wade anything she didn’t already know. If she didn’t get involved any further, then she could forget all about it. No harm done. No further damage to her career. Or her well-being.

The earlier weight lifted as she walked through the side streets. All would be fine, she’d decline the invitation to be an advisor. She finally raised her head as she crossed the road to her office.

Steph was sitting on the steps, slumped against the wall. Had she come back to finish yesterday’s session?

‘Sorry, I know I haven’t got an appointment … but I’m worried.’ Steph dipped her head, fiddling with the zip on her hoody.

‘No problem, Steph. I’m free until ten.’ Connie unlocked the door and walked through, waiting for Steph to follow. Pulling herself up from the steps, Steph turned to face Connie, but didn’t make any move to cross the threshold.

‘I think I’m gonna ’ave to change shrinks.’ She stared into Connie’s eyes. ‘Sorry, but you’ve drawn attention to yourself – your face on TV for all to see. You’re too dangerous to me now.’