The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

with the good police officer. On the face of it, the story was ridiculous. But it was well-rehearsed. And the nightmares were real. Those involving people like Eddie were fine. The others were the problem. Often she would wake in tears or panting. It was true she had to leave her home to deal with them. She didn't go looking for people. She would drive far too fast. She needed to be alone. She needed to find somewhere far away from people. Then she needed to scream.

Sanderson considered her story. It was a massive coincidence that Abbie might suffer one of these nightmares, travel to a random town, and meet the Dean brothers right before one of them ended up dead, but that didn't mean it wasn't true. People who said they didn't believe in coincidences were idiots. Life was nothing but a string of random events. You turn right instead of left to dodge temporary traffic lights and end up in a car accident. You return home from work hours early because you forgot your phone and discover an affair. You roll into a random town, get involved with two fighting brothers, and end up as part of a murder investigation.

That was life.

Okay, so in Abbie's case, it wasn't coincidence. But that wasn't the point. And Sanderson didn't know it wasn't coincidence. That mattered.

"Expensive way to deal with nightmares," he said, at last. "Petrol. Hotel rooms. Not to mention time off work.”

Abbie had a prepared response to this. "I'm a freelance company growth and lead generation consultant. It pays silly money, and I choose my hours to a degree. Not to mention, I have no dependents. I live alone. Trust me, money is no issue."

"How nice that must be."

Without declaring it, Abbie chose no comment. She had made her point. He might not like her responses, but there was nothing he could do about them. If he decided to run a background check, he would learn she was telling the truth about the home, the job, the dependants. Her clients, if contacted, would supply glowing references. And why not? Abbie was a wonderful person.

"You've been very helpful," Sanderson said at last.

Abbie doubted he meant that. She knew he was frustrated. There was something off about her; he couldn't trust everything she said. But he didn't have enough to arrest her, nor was he sure she deserved arresting. She had divulged almost all she was going to. His best bet was to start investigating and hope he picked up more information about Abbie, any involvement she might have had with Danny's murder, along the way.

But first, there was one more question he wanted to ask.

Sanderson leaned forward. "There is just one more thing I wanted to ask."

"His name is Francis Roberts."

This time, the mouth couldn't hold the straight line. The shock was there, evident for anyone to see—even someone without Abbie's talent for reading expressions.

"How did you know what would be my question?"

"Easy. I've been in this town only a few hours, and it's clear the shadow of Francis looms large. From what Eddie told me, I guessed he'd be too afraid to tell you with whom Danny was in trouble, however hard you pressed."

"Maybe you should have kept tight-lipped," said Sanderson. "Maybe you should be afraid."

Abbie shrugged. "Not my thing."

Sanderson leaned back and released a breath. Francis Roberts was the last name he wanted to hear. It took him a few moments to realise he'd allowed the professional front to drop, and he sat up straight in a hurry, putting his hands on the table.

"I don't suppose you have any evidence Francis was involved in this, do you?"

Abbie shook her head. "None."

Sanderson considered. Looked at his file, which he had never opened, then fished in his pocket and pulled out a card.

"How long were you planning to stay in town?"

"Into Tomorrow," said Abbie. "Maybe the day after. Probably not."

Definitely not. Whatever happened, by the end of tomorrow, Abbie would have no business left in town. The only question was: would Eddie have business left full stop?

Sanderson placed the card on the table and slid it to Abbie. "I need you to stay, at least for the time being. We might need to ask you further questions."

Abbie nodded, collected the card. "Okay."

"That's my number," said Sanderson. "We have yours. You think of anything else you suspect might be relevant, you'll give me a call, yes?"

"Sure."

"And if I have further questions, well, maybe I'll be your first incoming call."

"Wouldn't that be exciting?"

"I'm sure you can't wait," said Sanderson. "Now, let's get you out of here."

Sanderson showed Abbie out. On the steps of the police station, she paused and replayed his expression when she had mentioned Francis Roberts. That name, that man, he really did loom large over this town. A black cloud always threatening poisoned rain. Abbie wondered how long it would be before she met Mr Roberts.

And found herself quite intrigued by the prospect.

Eight

Before they split, Sanderson suggested to Abbie that she steer clear of Eddie, given his beliefs about her involvement with Danny’s murder. This seemed like wise enough advice, and Abbie told Sanderson so. She did not tell him she would have to disregard it, because Eddie’s life was in danger and she needed to save him. Of that, he would disapprove.

But she wouldn’t disregard the advice immediately. Given the clock had just ticked past eleven, she could not afford to leave it too long, but turning up right after leaving the police station would not be smart. Instead, she would attempt to sort her sleeping situation for the night, then she would have some lunch, then, maybe, she would visit Eddie. If nothing else came up.

The sleeping situation was a pain. Abbie had paid for two nights at Glenda’s hotel, but Sanderson said her room would be cordoned off for at least as long. He did not offer to reimburse her. Perhaps because she’d revealed her consultancy job paid silly money.

Having liked Glenda, Abbie returned to