She looked up again and sighed. ‘Yep. Has been for years. Was in a secure home before that.’
‘Okay, so hadn’t you heard from him in a while then?’
‘I’d ignored his letters. I guess he gave up trying ’cos I never wrote back. I think it’s been two years since I got one.’
‘You mentioned Brett the other day. It sounded as though you were afraid of him finding you? Why is that?’
Steph’s eyes widened. Her words rushed out: ‘He’s a murderer.’ She wiped her hands on her thighs, up and down, up and down. Then she looked up. Tears had appeared, bulging at her lower lids; her face had taken on a cold, hard, mask-like quality. ‘And he’s my brother.’
Connie sat back in her chair. Had she heard right, that this ‘Brett’ was her brother? How could that be? The background information she’d been given couldn’t have been wrong, surely?
‘Steph, I’m a bit lost,’ she said tentatively. ‘I didn’t think you had any siblings.’
‘Well I do. Spent a long time wishin’ I didn’t, but I do have a brother.’
Connie shifted in her seat. She’d have to go over the file, check this out with Miles Prescott. She was Steph’s psychologist; Miles should’ve given her all the relevant information required to carry out her job. Why leave out significant details pertaining to her family. What else had been omitted?
Connie suddenly had a dozen questions she wanted to fire off, but held back. Steph obviously wanted to talk, or she wouldn’t have shown up today. She allowed the silence.
‘He was ten when he did it. The fire.’ She screwed up her eyes tight, her lips were drawn in a straight line. One knee bounced as if on a nerve. ‘The little weirdo torched the house while we slept.’
Poor Steph. What a terrible event.
‘How did you escape?’
‘I hadn’t been asleep long, could hear him padding down the stairs, wondered what he was doin’. After he didn’t come back upstairs, I went down to check what he was up to. He was always messin’ around wi’ matches, lighters and the like. Weird thing wi’ fire. Didn’t trust him. I thought I smelled smoke as I got outside their room. But it didn’t sink in.’ Steph tapped her temple with her forefinger. ‘I assumed he was up to no good downstairs. I’d no idea he’d set the fire in their room. Stupid. If I’d just sussed it then …’
‘You couldn’t have known. It’s normal for us to think about what we might have done after any situation. It was a traumatic event for you, Steph. Don’t blame yourself.’
‘I could’ve warned them earlier. Stopped him dying like that.’
‘Your dad?’
‘She got out, somehow. Don’t know how, she was badly burned. Has never spoken since. Not a word. I think Dad panicked.’ Her breathing shallowed. ‘He was at … the … window …’
‘Take some deep breaths, Steph.’ Connie leaned forwards, put her hands on Steph’s, breathing in slowly, out slowly, along with her.
‘I watched. I watched him burn. And that murdering creep watched too.’
‘I’m so sorry, Steph. To witness your dad dying, it’s a terrible thing to have experienced.’
‘Well, it wasn’t quite like that, I mean – it’s not as bad as if he’d been—’
A tap at the door stopped her. Connie jumped up, apologising for the interruption, and strode across the office. She hadn’t buzzed anyone in – was the damn thing broken? She poked her head around the door, it was her next client. She told him she’d be five more minutes, asking him to wait downstairs. She’d have to wrap things up with Steph. Unfortunate timing.
‘Sorry, Steph. Look, I’ve got my next client waiting, but I could see you again tomorrow so you can continue?’ Connie raised her eyebrows, but carried straight on without waiting for Steph to answer. ‘Unless you don’t want to risk it. I mean, I understand your position, but you could be a while waiting for another psychologist …’
‘Um. Well, I don’t know, really.’ She looked lost, her eyes darting about. ‘Yeah, okay. I’ll come tomorrow.’ She got up and headed for the door. Before she left, she turned. ‘But I am gonna need to swap as soon as poss, if you don’t mind.’
Connie nodded. Hopefully she’d be able to get to the bottom of the letter tomorrow. And if the reassignment to another psychologist took as long as she assumed it would, then it might be that she could complete all of the ten sessions anyway, so she’d still have the opportunity to unravel Steph’s story. But she’d be able to continue only if her connection with the Ricky murder didn’t bring any further media coverage to her door. She’d have to do everything she could to make sure it didn’t.
Lindsay Wade blew out air slowly from her puffed cheeks. That wasn’t a conversation she’d been planning on having this early in the investigation. Had she convinced her?
‘That sounded heavy.’ Mack wheeled a chair towards her desk, sitting the wrong way on it, leaning his head on his crossed arms over its high back.
‘Yep. Connie Summers. Running scared, I’d say.’
‘Oh? How come?’
‘Said this situation and her perceived involvement has already impacted negatively on her practice – one of her current clients is in WP and is freaking out about the publicity her shrink is getting, threatening to change psychs. Miss Summers obviously doesn’t want her client to be put at further risk, so doesn’t want any further involvement.’
‘But you persuaded her to continue, by the sounds of it?’
‘Only if we contact her via phone. No more visits to her consultancy.’
‘Ah well, that’s better than nothing.’
‘Hmmm. But you can tell so much more by watching body language.’
‘Skype her then.’
‘Hey, Mack. That’s quite clever for you.’
‘Sarcasm is overrated.’
Lindsay checked the time on the laptop. ‘Right, let’s get to the briefing.’ She grabbed the files piled on her desk and pushed up from her chair. It was the second time in as many years that she’d been in Coleton police station, using their rooms as incident rooms. Her base was Middlemoor, in Exeter, but she’d been keen to take the lead on this case. Make up for before. So, back to Coleton it was.
‘The pattern of mutilation is interesting.’ The slides moved across the huge white screen projected on to the back wall of the incident room, gruesome shots like those in the god-awful Saw movie that Lindsay had never been able to sit through. She was surprised that any of the prison staff had even recognised this guy when he landed on their doorstep. She pointed to the next slide. The most horrific. She cast her eyes around the room. Some of the team had turned away. ‘Yeah, not good, is it?’
‘T’was some angry crackpot who did that,’ a voice from the back declared.
‘Actually, I’m not so sure.’ Lindsay took the pointer stick and placed it over the enlarged picture of Eric Hargreaves’ torso. ‘I know it looks a total mess at first glance. But look at the way the body has been quartered. It’s precise. I don’t think someone with anger issues did this. It’s too controlled.