Bad Sister: ‘Tense, convincing… kept me guessing’ Caz Frear, bestselling author of Sweet Little Lies. Sam Carrington

‘I know more than you think.’ She spoke without looking at Steph, not wanting her to see the pain in her eyes. ‘Anyway, go on.’ Connie straightened, was back on track. This was Steph’s session, possibly her last if she didn’t consider it safe to visit any more; she couldn’t let her own past creep into it.

      ‘Well, perhaps this’ll show you that I’m not making it up.’ Steph thrust the piece of paper into Connie’s hand. She was reminded instantly of DS Mack doing the same on Monday. She hesitated. Once she opened this paper and read its content, she was involved. She opened it. The writing was a scrawl, barely legible:

       It ends with fire. We should all burn together.

       I’m coming to see you.

      For a moment, Connie didn’t know what to say. It seemed pretty cut and dried – if she’d received this, she would’ve taken it as a threat as well.

      ‘You’re going to hand this to Miles?’

      ‘What’s he gonna do about it?’

      ‘He can find out where Brett is, if he’s been released. Keep an eye on his movements?’

      ‘If he’s been released?’

      ‘Well, isn’t it possible that someone else could have posted this to you. For him?’

      ‘I guess. But now I think about the way he worded the other letter, he said why didn’t you come see me? Not why aren’t you coming to see me? I think he must’ve been out then. And the older letters from him were all postmarked from the YOI. But not these.’

      ‘And you’re sure this is Brett’s handwriting?’

      ‘What are you getting at?’ Steph’s brow furrowed.

      ‘Could it be possible it’s from one of the gang members connected with your ex-boyfriend, not Brett?’

      ‘Well, that don’t make any sense, does it? It ends wi’ fire. Only one person who’d say that, Connie.’ She was shouting now, her face reddening.

      ‘It’s okay.’ Connie reached across and touched Steph’s shoulder reassuringly. ‘When did you get that first letter again?’

      ‘Yesterday. But Miles must’ve got it before then, to be able to send it on to me.’ She played with her hands. ‘I’m thinking Brett’s already here.’

      ‘I doubt that. He wouldn’t know where to start looking for you.’

      For a second or two those words seemed to calm her. But then she shook her head, her eyes wide and glaring. ‘I’m looking for him. At every turn, I’m expecting to come face to face wi’ him. On the street corner, in the local shops. In my house. But I don’t even know what he looks like any more, haven’t seen him for eight years. What if I don’t even recognise him? He could kill us before I even knew it was him!’

      Connie inhaled deeply. This was getting difficult; the intensity of Steph’s fears were increasing rapidly. She wasn’t sure how she could reduce her perceived danger without appearing as though she wasn’t taking her concerns seriously.

      ‘We really need to speak with Miles—’

      ‘He won’t believe me.’ Steph got up, heading for the door. She turned, shaking her head. ‘Like you don’t.’

      Connie remained in her chair. Chasing after her would be futile; nothing she could say would change Steph’s current anxiety state. Miles was only person who could do that.

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       DI Wade

      Lindsay read through the transcripts again. The interviews with prison staff had yielded a list of Hargreaves’ known associates. The security team informed them of the SIRs that had been handed in relating to him; these security information reports mostly detailed the names already given to them, but also contained overheard conversations between Hargreaves and other prisoners – some drug-related, and some from staff members who’d been on the receiving end of a veiled threat or remark, or intimidating behaviour. All relatively normal stuff as far as the staff were concerned. A lot of the prisoners had similar reports. None of the information flagged up any major warning signs, and there was no obvious individual who might have been instrumental in his escape at his mother’s funeral. Lindsay tasked a small team to check out the names on the list.

      They’d questioned the officer Hargreaves had been handcuffed to when he escaped, and, as yet, he was holding up under pressure, giving nothing but the original story. He’d been dragged to the entrance of the cemetery, where bolt cutters and a knife were hidden, and threatened by Hargreaves to help him release the cuffs. Despite another prison officer coming to his aid quickly, it still appeared that Hargreaves had had time to get away. Somehow that didn’t make sense to Lindsay, but everyone was sticking together and there was no other evidence to the contrary at this point.

      ‘So, what are we up to today, Boss?’ Mack flashed her a toothy grin.

      Lindsay considered this for a moment. The pathologist was due to carry out the post-mortem this morning. Although they’d got a lot from the preliminary findings, it would be interesting to discover the not-so-obvious. Hargreaves’ wounds were externally gruesome, in-your-face mutilation obviously meant to shock, but she wondered if there would be any surprises – what might be lying beneath the surface waiting to be found.

      ‘Fancy a trip to the mortuary? I got us an invite.’

      ‘Oh, how could I resist such an invitation?’ Mack drew himself up to his full height. ‘I bet you’re a bundle of fun on a date, aren’t you?’ He grabbed the keys and headed for the door. ‘Come on then, Ms Macabre. Let’s get over there.’

      It was Lindsay’s first time in the morgue since Erin Malone. The smell as she entered through the double doors instantly brought back the memory of the murdered teenager. Was this post-mortem going to be any easier to watch because this victim had been a criminal, not an innocent like Erin? He was a person, after all. Like Erin, he had had a family, friends. Had he been a good man once, and then merely taken the wrong path? He’d attacked women. He’d shown no remorse. Was this his punishment? But did anyone deserve to be hacked up, spread open and left on display?

      ‘You okay, Boss?’

      ‘Yep. Fine. Just eager to find something out about our murderer. I’m hoping he’s left us a bit of himself behind.’

      ‘Yeah, that would be helpful.’

      The pathologist greeted them, all smiles and joviality. He’d been equally jolly on the phone, telling Lindsay that he’d recently taken up the post following his predecessor’s retirement and was eager to be of assistance in the murder case. ‘Welcome DI Wade, DS Mack. I’m Dr Lovell. You can call me Harry.’ He swept up to the metal gurney theatrically. ‘A fine morning for it!’ He waved an arm, indicating around the windowless room.

      Lindsay cringed.

      ‘Putting on a bloody show for us, then?’ she whispered to Mack, who looked to be suppressing a giggle behind his hand. Laughing in the morgue wasn’t professional. Still, Harry had lifted the tension; the anticipation of the event was now quashed a little.

      Eric Hargreaves’ body looked fake; like a dummy someone had made for Halloween, or one carefully crafted by the special effects teams for TV shows like Silent Witness. His skin appeared pale and waxy until you took in the injuries. They had a purple-red tinge to them. The flaps of flesh hung to the sides of his torso like chunks of meat hanging off a slaughtered pig in a butcher’s shop, exposing his bent ribcage – a structure meant to protect his heart – now broken and useless. The whole scene looked surreal. That was the only thing that enabled Lindsay