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.
Barton Moss Secure Care Centre, Manchester
Hey sis,
Why don’t you come visit? No one comes. I don’t understand what happened, how the fire killed Dad. I don’t remember. Please come see me. I don’t like it here.
Brett x
Brett,
Why aren’t I coming to see you? Are you serious? You set a fire. You killed him. You could’ve killed me as well. You can’t get away with this ‘I don’t remember’ crap. You know full well how it happened. The real question is why. Why did you do it?
What did you think would happen to you? Of course you were gonna be sent away, who the hell would want you in their house after that? NO ONE would feel safe. Ever again.
You need to stay in that place forever.
I can’t forgive you. I can’t come see you ’cos I never want to look at your face again.
Jenna.
PS Don’t expect any other family to come either. They all feel the same way.
The man propelled his hand forwards.
‘I’ve gotta give you this.’ His voice, gritty, like something was caught in his throat.
Connie felt the warmth of his hand as he pressed it against hers, too shocked to move it away as he shoved something hard into her palm before striding off in the direction he’d been walking, across the bridge.
She expelled a short, sharp breath – it hurt her lungs, her trachea, as it burst out of her. Her ears rang. She was close to fainting. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out, her vocal cords paralysed with fear.
She grasped the handrail. Her upper body folded over, her chest touching her thighs. By the time she’d recovered enough to right herself, the man had disappeared.
‘You all right, Miss?’ the voice in front of her asked. She felt a hand steady her.
‘Yes. Yes, thanks. I’ll be fine.’ She looked up.
Jonesy. She removed her arm from his grip.
‘You looked like you were about to pass out. Been drinking, Miss?’ He laughed.
Connie feigned laughter, but averted her eyes. She gripped the unknown item the man had given her in her right hand, afraid to open her fingers and reveal its identity with Jonesy there. The shakiness of her legs passed so she moved away from the handrail and carried on down the steps towards the exit. Jonesy followed. She jammed her right hand into her suit-trouser pocket.
‘You sure you’re gonna be okay, I can get you a taxi, if you like?’
She was about to say no, that she was fine to walk. Then a thought sneaked into her head. What if he follows me to my house?
‘I might do that, yes. Don’t worry though, I can manage, they’re right there.’ She pointed with her free hand to the taxis waiting at their rank. ‘Thanks.’ She moved quicker now, making her way to the first car in line. ‘Bye, Jonesy,’ she shouted over her shoulder.
