Hit and Run by Maria Frankland (best book recommendations txt) 📗

you have to be so unpleasant? You always have been towards me.”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He folds his arms and surveys me as though I am something he stepped in.

Tears prickle the back of my eyes. I get so sick of being judged and blamed. Especially by people who hardly know me and can’t see beyond the drinking. “I’ve just come from the police station.” I try to keep my voice steady. “I want to know what grounds you think you have for blaming me for Rob’s fraud.”

“I’m not discussing that with you. It’s a police matter.”

“What proof do you have, to drag my name into it, Mr Bracken?”

“I know what type of person you are Fiona.” He uncrosses his arms – the veins in them and in his neck bulge.

Nobody, not even Mum, has ever looked at me with so much venom in their face.

“You’re manipulative, devious, and grasping. I’ve watched over the years, as you’ve brought Robert down to your level.”

“That’s not true.” Being evaluated in this way is not doing me any good. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. But if I can get him to drop me off his radar, I have a chance of getting my money back. We could even join forces against James Turner.

“I’ve seen your behaviour with my own eyes. Your sort is capable of anything. Especially when it comes to ripping others off.”

“Yes, I’ve been drunk a few times.” I sink to a seat in the waiting area. The little girl that wants to be liked is surfacing. It’s the way he looks at me. Like he can see to my core. He’s making me feel like a piece of crap. “That doesn’t make me party to fraud.”

“You might not have committed it yourself. But I’ve worked with Robert for many years, and this is not the sort of thing he could or would have acted alone with.”

“So you assume I put him up to it.”

“The funds have gone into your bank account.”

“That still doesn’t implicate me.” I hold eye contact. “And I resent the insinuation that because you believe Rob wouldn’t have acted alone, that it had anything to do with me. Anyone could have helped him. That’s if anyone else was involved.”

“He didn’t have the gumption to have dreamt this up himself. It definitely has a woman’s touch. He’s betrayed me in the worst way possible.”

“So he’s taken you for well over a hundred grand. Why didn’t you have him arrested?”

He looks thoughtful, as though he’s considering what to divulge to me. “I wanted to deal with it internally. To keep it quiet and out of the local media. This sort of thing can blow a business apart.”

“My heart bleeds. Maybe when you go around treating people like you do, it is bound to come back and haunt you.”

“Look. I don’t want you in my building. I’ve got nothing else to say to you.”

“I’m not leaving till I have some answers.”

“You can either walk out or I can throw you out. And I won’t rest until they have charged you for what you helped your husband to do. You’ll do at least a couple of years for that sort of money.”

“You’ve no proof, and if you don’t stop trying to blacken my name, you’ll have more to worry about than your precious company.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The top of his lip curls.

“You had far more cause to run my husband off the road than me, Mr Bracken.”

The tension in his shoulders visibly softens. “I was here. My staff have already accounted for me. You’ll have to do better than that.”

I rise from my seat and stand in front of him again. We’re nearly nose to nose. I can smell his sour breath. “Keen cyclist yourself, aren’t you?”

His face darkens, and he’s quiet for a moment. “Are you threatening me?”

I smile. “Stop throwing your nasty false accusations around, Mr Bracken, then maybe things can return to normal.”

“I just want my money back.”

“Don’t we all? I’ve lost nearly everything too.”

Something in his expression changes towards me. “If you don’t get off my premises now Mrs Matherson, I’m going to call the police. And I will, of course, be informing them you’ve been here.”

“It’s a free country.” I walk out into the sunshine. My next port of call is the garage which I’ve Googled and learned is open seven days a week.

I pull into the last space on the forecourt. As I lock the car, I notice a young man bent over a computer in the office at the front of the building. I press the button with an Attention sign above it and the man jumps at the sudden disturbance. Normally, I’d make a joke in such circumstances but say, “remember me?”

A puzzled look crosses his face. He’s very tall, about six foot three, and gangly. He looks like how I would imagine Jack to look when he gets older. “No. Should I?”

“Were you working last Monday morning?”

“Yes, why?” He stretches as though he’s been sitting for a long time and rubs his neck, smearing oil onto it.

“At eleven o’clock?”

He frowns and seems to appraise me more closely. He’s in his early twenties, if that. Then a look of realisation appears to come upon him. “You’re the woman that…” He seems to glance around the garage then, as though looking for backup.

“That what?”

“I fixed your tyre.” He looks worried now. Out of his depth. “It had a blowout. My boss. He’ll be back any minute.”

“Was your boss around last Monday morning?”

His eyes dart from me, to the doorway, to the clock, then back to me again. “No, he was out on a recovery.”

“I asked you when I arrived if you remembered me and you said no.” This is good. I just need to get him to tell that to DI Green. All of this trouble I’m in is a load of crap. They will not pin it on me. Except