One Little Lie: From the best selling author comes a new crime thriller book for 2018. Sam Carrington

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       CHAPTER THREE

       Connie

      ‘It might not be such a bad idea,’ Lindsay said, sitting on the sofa with one leg tucked under her, both hands nursing her second mug of coffee.

      ‘Really? After everything that happened there? After leaving because of the fallout?’ Connie took a long, drawn-out breath. Even thinking about it was increasing her anxiety levels. Although if she was being honest, those levels had been elevated ever since listening to Jen’s message yesterday. The decision to leave her lead psychologist position at HMP Baymead had been the best move for her – she’d been off sick for months before she resigned, the fear of making another error of judgement too much in the end. She’d needed to feel as though she was contributing to something good, so made the focus of her new practice counselling those who’d been affected by crime. Victims, not offenders.

      ‘Think about it logically. And, you know – financially …’ Lindsay raised her eyebrows so they disappeared beneath her red fringe.

      ‘Yeah, I need the money. But I’m really not sure it’s worth putting my well-being at risk by going back in there. When I left, it was for good.’

      ‘Okay.’ Lindsay shrugged. ‘Say no, then.’

      Connie narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you trying reverse psychology on me, Wade? That’s not your area.’

      ‘No. Although, I am quite good at it. Picked it up from the best.’ She wrinkled her nose and smiled.

      ‘Well, stop it.’ Connie got up from the sofa and walked to the window. A crisp, white layer of frost covered the ground. She shivered. She wasn’t ready for this. Not ready, nor willing to go backwards.

      ‘How many reports is Jen asking you to complete?’

      ‘A few.’ Connie made quotation marks with her fingers.

      ‘So what’s that, in terms of time within the prison walls?’

      ‘Three, maybe four days. I’d only need to see each prisoner for two sessions, I reckon. Then the rest could be done at home.’

      ‘So not even a week. Easy money, then.’ Lindsay’s voice softened. ‘I’m here, you know, to support you. It wouldn’t be like before.’ She got up and strode towards Connie, embracing her in a quick, tight hug. ‘I must get going – don’t want to be late for the morning briefing. Mack will take the lead without me, and I can’t have him feeling too important.’

      Connie listened as Lindsay’s footsteps hurried through the house, grabbing her coat and bag. She heard the jangling of keys, then the slam of the front door. She didn’t relish the silence of the house when Lindsay wasn’t in it. She watched from the window as Lindsay got in her car and drove off, waving, as she always did.

      Lindsay didn’t understand the battle Connie was having inside her head. Not fully. It wasn’t only the thought of going back into the prison causing her anxiety, it was the responsibility of compiling the written reports. What if she got it wrong again? And by worrying about being too positive about the prisoner, she’d probably err on the side of caution and perhaps not give a balanced, objective report. Just in case. Whatever way she played it, she would be wrong. And she wasn’t prepared to chance having another person’s life – or death – on her conscience.

      Connie flung herself back on the sofa and lay with both arms crossed above her head. The money would come in useful. Lindsay was right about that. Having her as a support, knowing she’d have someone other than her mother to lean on, was reassuring. Lindsay hadn’t let her down – she’d been through the Hargreaves situation with her. She’d been the detective inspector on the case, and, after the initial frostiness between them, they’d come together for the common cause.

      And then Lindsay had saved her. Literally saved her life.

      She trusted Lindsay implicitly.

      Connie pushed herself up. She’d give herself another day or two to consider it before calling Jen. For now, she had her own work to focus on. Her new client yesterday had been a woman whose son had been convicted of murder four years ago, and she’d presented with huge guilt issues. Her life had been upturned, she’d been hounded from the town she’d lived her life in, and although she was making progress in Totnes, she couldn’t get over the knowledge her own flesh and blood – a boy she’d brought up – could’ve ever committed such a heinous crime.

      After the initial consultation, it had become clear to Connie that she had an ethical dilemma on her hands. Her new client, Alice Mann, had spoken of her son’s crime and an alarm of recognition rang in her head.

      Her son was Kyle Mann.

      And Connie knew him.