Читать книгу Bad Sister: ‘Tense, convincing… kept me guessing’ Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies - Sam Carrington, Sam Carrington - Страница 19

So, she wasn’t as ‘out’ of the investigation as she’d planned. Connie closed her eyes, shutting out the faces of the other passengers. She failed to shut out the voices though. The ones in her mind – warning of danger to come. Her head lolled, until it touched the coolness of the window. It bumped gently against it as the train rumbled along the track towards Coleton.

It had become very clear during her conversation with DI Wade that one way or another she wanted her to be involved. Even if she’d point-blank refused, she knew Wade would get around it by bringing her in officially – as a suspect probably. Her name had been implicated – literally. There was a chance Ricky could have written it on himself, but her gut told her otherwise. For whatever reason, the murderer wanted her attention. It was the job of the police to find out why. There was no escaping it, she was already involved whether she liked it or not. It’d been naively optimistic for her to think she could just ‘opt out’.

She would have to find another psychologist for Steph.

The blur of green and brown fields suddenly changed to buildings – the short journey ending. She couldn’t wait to get home, have a long bath, eat the last remaining chicken and mushroom pizza, then snuggle on the sofa with Amber and watch a DVD. She wasn’t even going to entertain the idea of watching news, or any other normal programme. No. It was Ryan Gosling in Crazy, Stupid, Love all the way tonight. And she’d switch the phone off too.

She’d be in her own bubble. The one without Ricky Hargreaves. The one without a murderer who knew her by name.

She heaved herself from the seat and nudged past a few people standing in the way of the exit door. Why did people stand there when there were plenty of seats? They weren’t even getting off. She smiled tightly at a man who grunted as she moved in front of him. I just want to get off the train, she wanted to scream at him. She refrained.

Her heels clacked up the steps of the bridge to the other side of the station. Reaching the top, she hesitated. A figure stood at the other end of the footbridge, leaning against the side. She looked back over her shoulder. No one else had got off at this station. She continued, more slowly, squinting as she went, trying to make out some features. Man? Woman? Teenager? Trainspotter? As she approached, the figure surged forwards. Connie’s heart quickened. Should she turn and go back? No. She was being ridiculous. It was probably someone waiting to meet a friend, a lover, a family member, off the train.

It was a man. Definitely. He wore a trench coat, dark grey. Yet the weather had been hot. No showers. No need for a coat like that.

Unless you were hiding something within it.

Connie cursed her prison background. It’d made her ultra-cautious. Untrusting. Her imagination didn’t need much stimulation to become hyper-sensitive.

Keep walking. Keep walking. It’s nothing. He’s nothing.

She lowered her chin, subtly inching her way to the far side of the bridge, farthest from the man.

Ten feet.

Five feet.

He walked towards her. Moved to the same side of the bridge as her.

Quick. Phone. Get your mobile out.

Too late for that now. It was deep inside her handbag somewhere.

He was almost upon her.

He reached inside his coat with his left hand.

Connie let out a gasp.