The Bad Things: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns. Mary-Jane Riley

voice was earnest, a note of desperation.

      Alex sat still for a moment, then shook her hand off. ‘You were both put in prison. The police didn’t believe you. Nor a judge and jury.’

      Jackie Wood’s mouth twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘You think evidence can’t be manipulated? That the police can’t be corrupted? That a jury can’t be fooled? What are you? Stupid or something? Have you already forgotten that I got out because the evidence was suspect? The expert witness was discredited!’

      Alex clenched her fists, tried to breathe evenly, not wanting to shout at Jackie Wood, not wanting to shake the truth out of her. She knew she had to be careful, treat her as though she were normal and that she thought she had a point. After what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, she got her breathing under control.

      ‘Jackie,’ she began gently, ‘signs of the twins were found both in Jessop’s flat and in yours. Items of their clothing were found in the rubbish bin. So much evidence.’ She wanted to pick up her coffee cup but knew her hands would be shaking.

      ‘I was acquitted.’

      Alex thought she saw a sly look flash across Jackie Wood’s face, then it was gone.

      ‘The particles of dirt didn’t add up,’ she went on. ‘Professor Gordon Higgs was discredited.’ Professor Gordon Higgs. Such a competent name. One you would trust, don’t you think? But he was wrong. Or lying.’ She leaned forward. ‘I wasn’t involved.’

      ‘Jessop was.’

      ‘Jessop was what?’

      ‘Involved,’ said Alex, the lightness in her head threatening to come back.

      Jackie Wood shook her head. ‘I told you. He had an alibi.’

      ‘No, the evidence was too strong.’

      She shrugged. Silence opened up. ‘He kept a diary, you know.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘A diary.’

      Alex tried to look uninterested, as if her words hadn’t made her heart beat faster, the palms of her hands sweat. ‘Oh?’ She hoped she’d hit a casual note. ‘And what happened to it?’

      Another shrug. ‘Dunno.’

      She was lying. Alex knew she was lying, she could feel it in her bones. ‘Why did he keep it?’

      ‘Said he’d always kept a diary, right from when he was young. Always told the truth in it, he said.’

      ‘So,’ said Alex, measuring her words, ‘it might contain details of where he buried Millie.’

      She shook her head. ‘We didn’t kill them.’ She put two fingers either side of her temples and pressed hard. ‘At least, I didn’t kill them. Can you go now? Come back another time.’

      Alex stared at her. She wanted to shout at her. Demand to know what Martin Jessop did, how he did it. Why did he put Harry into the suitcase – what was the point of that? Why they let Harry be found but not Millie. She wanted to grab Jackie Wood around her neck and shake the answers out of her. Shake the whereabouts of Millie right out of that horrible, thin, lying mouth.

      But she didn’t do any of that. She merely leaned forward and pressed the off button on the recorder, trying to stop her hand from shaking. She was going to have to be patient. ‘So who do you think did kill them?’ she asked quietly.

      Jackie Wood leaned back, eyes closed, fingers still on her temples. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. Sometimes I wonder what’s real and what I’ve imagined.’ She opened her eyes, looked into Alex’s. ‘But it’s a long time. Fifteen years. You know?’

      Depression washed over Alex. Was she ever going to get anywhere? Any nearer to finding out about Millie?

      ‘I understand,’ she said, getting up and putting her coat on. ‘I’ll come about the same time tomorrow, is that all right?’

      ‘Yes. It’s been good talking to you, actually. Cathartic. Maybe,’ Jackie Wood hesitated, ‘maybe we could go out tomorrow as well, have a coffee or something? There’s a really good pastry shop in the town. They do lovely doughnuts and things. At least, they look nice in the window. I haven’t dared go in. You know.’ She sounded pathetic. ‘Do you know, I don’t even know how to use a smartphone?’

      For a second Alex got an insight into what her life must be like. Not being able to do, or being used to doing, the things she took for granted. Just simple things like having a coffee. How the world had passed her by. ‘Do you worry that people will recognize you?’

      Her mouth twisted. ‘You don’t think the hair dye does much, then? You think people would know who I am?’

      ‘Why did you come here?’ asked Alex. ‘Why not Scotland or somewhere really far away?’

      Jackie Wood shrugged. ‘Why not? It’s where I grew up. I don’t know anywhere else. Besides, I’m innocent aren’t I? I haven’t got anything to fear.’

      ‘And the caravan?’

      ‘Worried the taxpayers are footing the bill? Don’t be. My parents died some years ago, one after the other. I think the shame got to them in the end. They’d bought this caravan so they could stay in it when they visited me. They loved this town. After they sold their house to pay for my legal bills they had to live in it. When they died it came to me. It was all they had left to show for forty years of marriage. They wanted me to have the best, but the best wasn’t good enough, was it?’ Alex could almost reach out and curl her hand around the bitterness in Jackie Wood’s voice. ‘They were hounded every day by people wanting to talk to them about me, about Martin.’

      ‘That’s the trouble though, isn’t it? The families always suffer.’

      She looked at Alex, obviously trying to gauge if she was being made fun of. But Alex was deadly serious and sidled along the bench, standing and putting on her coat. Jackie Wood sat very still, looking at her.

      ‘I could tell you things.’

      Alex stopped, mid shrug. ‘Oh?’

      This time the look on Jackie Wood’s face was sly. Mercurial; she had changed from someone pathetic to a woman with a secret.

      ‘What things?’ Alex’s heart was beating fast. ‘What things?’ Her voice was louder.

      A quick smile and Alex saw in her face the reason she had survived prison for all those years. She had a shell; a toughness to her.

      She rubbed her scar with her finger, up and down, up and down. At that moment Alex hated her so much that she wanted to slap her, hit her, rake her nails down her face; make her bleed. She had to clench her jaw and her fists to stop herself from launching at her across the bench.

      ‘Things that might make you change your mind about me. Things that happened that you know nothing about.’

      ‘The diary? Is it in the diary?’

      ‘Come tomorrow,’ she said, ‘and maybe I’ll tell you more then.’

      ‘Tomorrow,’ echoed Alex. How could she wait a whole twenty-four hours?

      ‘My scar,’ said Jackie Wood suddenly. ‘Do you know how I got it?’ That slow blinking again. She traced it with her finger. ‘Someone took a shank to me a couple of years ago.’ She shrugged. ‘Probably one of the worst things that happened. I had the usual spit or piss in my tea. Punches here and there. Things stolen. People not talking to me. Even when you’re on Rule 45 other prisoners try to get on it purely to do you. They don’t like child killers in prison. Even ones who are innocent.’ She smiled. ‘Goodbye, Alex.’

      Jackie Wood was in control; Alex had no option but to go.

      She felt weightless, dizzy with Jackie Wood’s words. She tied her scarf around her neck and opened the door. Breathed