Twice before, a subject of Abbie’s prophetic dream had faced their final confrontation on the morning of day two.
Had two just become three?
Abbie had failed to save one of the two morning victims.
Had one just become two?
“Who?” she said. The police offices looked at each other. “Who?”
They looked at her. Trying to deduce whether she was feigning surprise. Warren believed that was precisely what Abbie was doing. Sanderson seemed less sure.
“Can you confirm for me where you were between 11 pm last night and 3 am this morning?” said Sanderson.
Abbie stared at the detectives. Between eleven and three. Most of that time, she had been with Eddie. But Jess had seen her husband this morning. He’d gone for a walk. He’d been alive since Abbie last saw him. Definitely.
Abbie opened her mouth to say so. Stopped herself. Sanderson raised his eyebrows.
“Around eleven,” she said, forcing her voice into a calm tone, “I dropped off a boy named Michael at his home. Afterwards, I returned to my hotel, where I remained until around 11.40.”
She paused. Sanderson and Warren were watching intently. Waiting for her to trip up. When she mentioned leaving the hotel, a faint look of surprise crossed both faces, plus some added annoyance on Warren’s. Abbie knew why. They had expected her to say she had been tucked in bed all night. That would have been stupid because Glenda had seen Abbie return between two and three am. The detectives had no doubt already spoken to the hotel’s owner. Abbie had no desire to lie about her whereabouts the previous night. Even if she had, she would have concocted a story that explained her absence from the hotel during these unexplained hours.
No one interrupted. Abbie said, “At midnight, I met Eddie Dean. I was with him until shortly before I returned to my hotel, which would have been between two and three am.”
At the mention of Eddie Dean; total surprise from both police officers. Enough to confirm Eddie was not the deceased.
Leaning forward, jabbing the table, Abbie said, “Who’s been murdered?”
“Tell me,” said Sanderson. “Why would you have been with Eddie at that time of night? Or any time. Last I heard, Mr Dean believed you were responsible for Danny’s death.”
“Well, you should work harder to keep on top of the town goss, shouldn’t you?” said Abbie.
“What would his wife think if she knew of your midnight meeting?” added Warren.
Frustrated, Abbie shook her head. “Jess knows. Why don’t you ring her or him and check my alibi for yourself? I think you’ll find it holds up. And while one of you is doing that, the other can tell me whose murder I’ve been arrested for. Is that not my right?”
Sanderson and Warren looked at each other. The latter wanted to reveal nothing, but the former took charge.
“Okay,” Sanderson said. “A deal.”
“I don’t need to do a deal,” said Abbie. “I’m not sitting here justifying myself to you when I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done wrong. How am I to know anyone has even been killed?”
Warren rolled her eyes. Abbie didn’t rise to the bait.
“I get it,” said Sanderson. “So will you listen a minute, without getting irate, and we can move things forward?”
Abbie nodded. There was nothing to be gained in throwing up obstacles for the sake of it. Time was ticking. She needed to get out of here.
“If you explain why you were with Eddie around midnight last night,” continued Sanderson, “we’ll get someone to verify the alibi. While that’s happening, I’ll let you know who we suspect you of murdering. How does that sound?”
It still didn’t sound great. It required Abbie to put herself out there without guarantees. But she was the one locked up, arrested. If she didn’t do things their way, they could leave her a few hours then try again. Abbie couldn’t let that happen. If Abbie was to have any chance of saving Eddie, she had to give more than she would usually and be more honest than made her feel comfortable.
Leaning forward, tapping the table, Abbie said, “According to Eddie, Danny Dean and Leona Roberts were having an affair. Eddie believes Leona’s responsible for Danny’s death. Either because she ordered his murder, or because Francis killed him in a jealous rage.”
Warren whistled. Sanderson said, “Well, that is some—“
This time it was Abbie employing the forestalling hand. “Don’t get distracted. I’m here to explain my alibi. I’ve no interest in discussing Eddie’s theories.”
Unhappy with this push back, Warren was ready to argue. After touching his colleague’s arm, Sanderson nodded for Abbie to continue.
“Eddie asked to meet me last night. Until we were together, he didn’t reveal he was taking me to a bungalow he believed belonged to Leona. Only when we arrived did I realise he planned to confront her. He figured I’d help protect him if she brought heavies, hence the invite. Instead, I talked him down. Persuaded him he had nothing to gain and everything to lose. After that, we talked, and it turned out there would have been no confrontation anyway because Leona wasn’t there when we arrived, nor did she turn up.”
Abbie sat back. Allowed this to sink in. She had been creative with the truth. No outright lies had been told, but there were some pretty grievous omissions. She had confessed to going to the bungalow but had not mentioned that they broke in. Admitted that Eddie sought a confrontation but had not revealed Eddie’s desire to kill Leona. She had omitted entirely any mention of the money or Leona’s baby. None of this was pertinent to Abbie’s alibi, and she didn’t want to get Eddie in trouble.
“Well,” she said, after a period of silence, “are you going to check it out?”
Nodding, Sanderson looked to Warren. “We have the Deans’ number on file. Get someone
