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

Everything was set up. Sanderson repressed a sigh. Warren looked as though she might like to lean across the table and punch Abbie in the nose. Abbie was thankful for her resistance. Very professional.

“Fine,” Abbie said. “You need more than half an hour, we can do the interview at the pub. Have a few drinks, a few laughs, it’ll be very productive. What do you say?”

There was a long, long silence. Somehow, Abbie resisted breaking it.

Sanderson said, “Are you done?”

“You know, people often ask me that when I finish talking?”

“Shocking.”

Abbie laughed, then winced. Before she could stop it, her hand went to her side, where a bruise was already beginning to rise.

Sanderson pointed as Abbie took the hand away. “We will talk about that.”

“What’s to talk about?” Abbie said. “I was attacked at knifepoint. Beaten half to hell. You guys came along, and I managed to fight back, to put the knife into this bastard’s leg. Gave you guys a perfect chance to arrest him. Not that you were interested.”

“We have people searching for your attacker. We’ll take your statement regarding the matter later. For now, can we begin the interview?”

Sanderson reached for the tape. Abbie almost let him. Fears played across the back of her mind. Having played the humour card, she needed to ask something real and couldn’t tell which way it would go.

She thought of gloved hands pulling at her things and knew it was worth the risk.

“Stop,” she said, as Sanderson prepared to press start.

“We should start the tape,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to miss anything pertinent.”

“I have a request.”

This time Sanderson did sigh, perhaps expecting another bit. A glance at Warren told him she believed mother could be gained by indulging Abbie any longer.

Luckily for Abbie, Sanderson ignored Warren. With a roll of the hand, he indicated Abbie should go for it. Quickly.

“You’ve taken my bag—“

“We have every right to search your possessions. You’re under arrest. We have a warrant. If you would like to see it—“

“Forget your warrant,” said Abbie. “There’s a book in there. The Stand. It’s precious to me. I understand you’ll need to be thorough in your search, but I would appreciate it if you took some care when handling the book.”

“We always take care,” said Sanderson.

“You take a kind of care,” said Abbie. “This is serious. I’ve not asked for a lawyer. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but you be careful with that book. I mean it.”

Sanderson considered. In Abbie’s eyes, he must have seen her request was no joke.

“Why is this book so precious to you?”

Abbie considered clamming up, but what was the point? In mentioning the book, she had piqued his interest. If she refused to give him a proper reason for dreading its ruination, he would be as inclined to tell his team to go harder on it than easier.

“It belonged to—“ Abbie almost choked on the name. Already she had to dry her eyes. “Violet. It belonged to my sister. She died a decade ago. Wasn’t even eighteen. It’s all I’ve got left of her, and I know it’s stupid but please… make them be careful.”

Revealing all this was a risk. When speaking to Eddie in the early hours, Abbie had told him she believed most people stayed on the right side of the line to remain as innocents. This was her true belief. Most police officers were honest people just trying to do their job. They wanted to make the world a better place. As in any profession, there were vindictive bastards among their number. People who liked to hurt those they were investigating, whether said person was guilty or innocent. Abbie had met a few. She was guessing Sanderson wasn’t one. She hoped she was right.

Sanderson watched Abbie dry her eyes again. He thought a little more, then turned to Warren.

“Tell whoever’s searching Abbie’s bag they are to check The Stand as thoroughly as they need to, but must ensure it remains in the same condition in which they found it.”

Warren stared at Sanderson. Believing the request to be a waste of time, she could not understand why Sanderson wished her to indulge it.

“Please,” said Sanderson. Though he outranked Warren, it took this plea for her to rise from her seat and leave the room.

“She’s not happy,” noted Abbie.

“No. But she’ll do as I asked. If you’re worried.”

“Thank you. Now, what do you need to know? I don’t think I can help but—”

Sanderson forestalled her with a hand. “When Warren returns.”

“That’s a waste of time. You’re getting it all on tape. Why don’t we just—“

Forestalled her again. “When Warren returns.”

They waited.

It was 10.39 am.

When Warren returned, Sanderson offered everyone a drink. Abbie said no. Warren asked for water. Sanderson left.

When Sanderson returned, the room was silent. He placed glasses of water in front of Warren and himself. After each cop had taken a sip, in turn as though it were some kind of relay drink race, Sanderson, at last, started the tape.

They went through the preliminaries—name of the officers, name of the accused. Abbie was again asked to confirm she was waiving her right to have an attorney present.

“I am.”

“You know if you can’t afford an attorney, you can make use of our duty solicitor. They are independent of the police, and it won’t cost you anything.”

One call to Ben and Abbie would have an eye-wateringly expensive lawyer to fight her case. That was probably the smart play. She was running out of time. For some reason (she was an idiot?), she couldn’t do it.

To Sanderson, she said, “My mother told me never to trust a freebie.”

“Suit yourself. Shall we begin?”

“Let’s,” said Abbie. “Let’s begin with why I’m here. After all, it’s already been established I couldn’t have killed Danny. Have you found evidence to suggest I was in any way involved?”

“No,” said Sanderson.

“Well, then. “

“But we do have compelling evidence to suggest you might have killed someone else.”

There was no denying