The Bad Things: A gripping crime thriller full of twists and turns

‘Great. We might go to the cinema later.’

‘Okay.’ Alex hung on, hoping for some introductions, and trying not to stare at the girl who was gorgeous. Curvy figure, masses of auburn curls, brown doe-eyes which she turned on Alex now, her bee-sting lips curved in a smile. Her nose, slightly too large and a tad crooked gave her face character.

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Gus said in that dismissive voice, giving her a fierce look, which meant she was supposed to leave.

‘Okay,’ she said again. ‘Enjoy yourselves, won’t you?’

She backed out of the room, and, although she was sorry not to be introduced to the girl, she was pleased that the presence of Gus’s friends meant he wouldn’t be able to quiz her on how the interview with Jackie Wood had gone.

She made herself a coffee and sat in the kitchen, sipping it slowly and watching the wind blow through the bare trees in the back garden. All that was needed was a bit of tumbleweed rolling on through. It was how she felt. Empty, spent.

Come on.

She needed to concentrate on the interview in the context of the article she would be writing; make herself forget about any personal connection between her and Jackie Wood.

Okay, so she’d discovered the woman had a boyfriend. Who? Surely someone local; and it was odd that Jackie Wood hadn’t given up his name then or now. He might have been able to help her by providing some sort of character reference. Did he get cold feet? Not love her enough? Just wanted to have his name kept out of the whole mess, plain and simple? And she couldn’t say she blamed him. Or maybe he had something to hide. Or Jackie Wood did. But now? Well, if she’d told her about him now it might make her seem more human to the readers. Elicit some sympathy, maybe.

Alex took her notebook out of her bag and started to write. It was the way she preferred to work, recording her first impressions on paper. Then she’d listen back to the interview. So what were they? She wrote. I felt sorry for her. Why? Her time in prison? That and her life as it is now. Compared to then, when she had a life. But she doesn’t deserve life now. Why not? Because she’s guilty? Is she? Before she realized what she was doing, she had underlined that last sentence twice. Her pencil had gone through the paper.

She needed a drink. She was guilty. Definitely. Judge, jury, the media – had all found her guilty. There was no question, no question at all. And her mission was to find out where Millie was buried. Then they could give her a proper burial. And the other thing she had to do was to write the bloody article. And then there was the diary. A bloody diary. She slumped back in her chair.

The front door opened. Voices. It slammed shut.

‘Hi.’ Malone came into the kitchen and kissed the nape of her neck, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. ‘Gus let me in,’ he said pointedly, before walking over to the fridge and taking out a can of beer. ‘Want one?’

Alex shook her head. ‘Glass of wine, though?’

He popped the can and took a deep swallow. ‘Okay,’ he said, wiping the foam moustache from his top lip, before going back to the fridge.

Did she mind how familiar he was around her house, treating it as his own? She supposed not, otherwise she wouldn’t have allowed it, but still…

She was irritated. Her back itched and she wanted to squirm around on her chair. What did she really know about Malone? Damn all, really. Despite all the time she’d spent interviewing him she didn’t feel she had got to the bottom of what made him tick. She knew he was holding back. There had been the tales of derring-do and infiltrating gangs and all that. She knew he was in his forties and bloody good-looking. And he’d told her he’d been born and spent his early years in a town near Dublin, before moving to England. But what made him risk his life like that? And although he said he’d finished with that kind of life – could she trust him?

And even if she didn’t trust him, what was she doing bringing him into Gus’s life?

‘Here you go.’

He handed her a cold glass of something white. She took a gulp and immediately felt better. Not sure that was a good thing.

‘How was it then?’

Alex froze, her glass halfway to her lips ready for a second swig. What did he know? She hadn’t said she was going to see Jackie Wood, so how had he found out? Gus? Surely—

‘Hey.’ There was laughter in his voice. ‘No need to look so worried.’

‘Worried?’

‘You look like a rabbit caught in headlights.’

‘Oh?’

‘Look. I don’t know where you’ve been, and I don’t particularly want to know. But my guess is that you’ve been somewhere interesting and spoken to someone important and I sort of thought it might be to do with your work.’

Alex looked at him: calm, steady, strong. No, she didn’t know him that well, but she did know that he cared about her and that if she let it, their relationship could grow into something special. And she hadn’t had anyone to make her feel safe for so many years. She had built a wall around her and Gus and not let anyone breach it. Perhaps now was the time to let the cracks widen that had come with Malone.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. ‘Jackie Wood.’

‘That’s who you went to see?’ He gave a low whistle. ‘Wow, no wonder you’re uptight.’

‘I am not uptight. Well, maybe a little. You mustn’t tell anyone. If it got out where she was living then I’d be done for.’

‘But I don’t know where she’s living; you haven’t told me,’ Malone pointed out, probably quite reasonably, she supposed.

‘True,’ she said.

‘And I won’t mention it again.’ There was a pause. ‘So what did she say?’ Malone sat back, balanced the ankle of one leg on the knee of the other. Perfect relaxing pose.

She shook her head. ‘Malone.’

‘Come on, Alex, spill the beans. You know I won’t say anything. I’ve worked under the radar, as well you know.’

Alex pursed her lips. Blew out some air. ‘Said she didn’t do it.’

‘Do you believe her?’

She rubbed the rim of the glass with the tip of her finger. ‘Not really.’

Malone lifted an eyebrow. ‘Some doubt there, though?’

‘I suppose I’m not entirely sure. She was pretty convincing.’

Malone put his drink down, went over to her and took her hand. ‘Look. If I can help at all, I will. I’ve got contacts. Friends, you know?’

‘Friends. Do I really want to know, Malone?’

He gave a twisted smile. ‘Probably not. But then you wouldn’t need to know; you could leave it to me.’

She gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘I’m going back to see her tomorrow. For the final part of the interview.’ She looked down at Malone’s hands. Began to stroke the signet ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand. ‘I’m sort of hoping that she’ll have had time to think and that she’ll trust me.’

‘And she’ll just happen to tell you where Millie is buried? Why should she do that? It would send her back to prison, wouldn’t it?’ His expression was kind.

‘I thought I would tell her that I wouldn’t tell anybody where the information had come from. Plead protecting my sources, that sort of thing.’

Malone cupped her chin. ‘Is that going to work? Post Leveson? There are other people involved in this, you know. Sasha for one. Jez. Gus, too. And if she does tell you, it’d be tantamount to her admitting killing the twins. You’d have to tell the police.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘I’m not telling the police. She has to be able to trust me on that. My only consolation there is that she has already served fifteen years. Not enough, but I’d accept it, if we could only know where Millie is. I just want to know, that’s all.’

He kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘No you don’t, you want retribution. Love, Millie’s gone. Buried in some wood or field. This woman is not going to put herself at risk by telling you anything.’

Deep down, she knew Malone was right.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ll put in a couple of calls to some people I know, see if she said anything in jail. See if Jessop said anything before he topped himself.’

‘Jessop?’

Malone gave a shrug. ‘I know it’s a while ago, but people who’ve been inside have long memories. It’s worth a go.’

Alex took his hand. ‘Thanks, Malone.’

‘Now,’ he got up, stiffly, rubbing the small of his back, ‘I’m too old for squatting down on my knees. I suggest you go and write up at least the first part of your article while it’s fresh in your mind.’

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