Having given Sanderson and Warren enough time to draw their conclusions, Abbie leaned in again.
“Travis tried to blackmail Francis, but Francis wasn’t having any of it. He, Travis, then tried to blackmail me, but I found him, took back what he stole, then embarrassed him by chucking him out of Clarissa’s place. What do you think that would do to this particular teen?” Abbie shrugged again. “I don’t know, but I reckon it might make him reckless and desperate to prove, to himself, that he could make a plan work. He would still be thinking blackmail, and having struck out with Francis and me, where would he go next?”
Once more, she gave them enough time to process this and start making conclusions, then hit them again.
“You knew Travis had stolen from me, and I’d thrown him out of Clarissa’s place a couple of hours before someone killed him,” she said. “You knew I was out of my hotel around the time he died, but that isn’t enough to arrest me. You must have something else. One more thing which you might see as the final nail in my coffin.”
Raising a hand, Abbie lifted her hair, waved it in front of the cops, hinting at her guess.
“A witness,” she said. “They didn’t see me because I wasn’t there. They must have seen someone and reported what they saw to the police. What might they have seen that could have led to my arrest? My guess: a tall, slim woman with dark hair leaving the scene of the crime. Now, I don’t know what Leona looks like. If you did receive such a witness statement, I could have a good guess.”
Before Warren or Sanderson could so much as consider this, there was a knock at the door, and a constable entered. Rising with a glare at Abbie, as though she had caused the interruption, Warren went to greet the arrival.
They whispered for thirty seconds. Abbie tried to ignore the throbbing in her side, brought on by Ronson’s boot. Tried not to worry about what the constable was saying. Did he get through to Jess or Eddie? Was he telling Warren that Abbie’s alibi had been verified or that they might as well keep her until tomorrow because no one could find the Deans?
Warren returned. Sanderson looked her way.
“Well?”
Warren nodded. Abbie resisted the urge to puff out a breath in relief. Which was lucky because Warren followed her nod by saying to Sanderson, “We need to talk outside.”
Sanderson looked to Abbie, who said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll see myself out.”
Sanderson rose. “We’ll be back soon.”
“No, no, no,” said Abbie. Her cool escaping. Before she could grab the reins, it was gone. “You can’t leave. I have an alibi. I haven’t done anything wrong. I didn’t kill Travis.”
“We’ll be back soon,” said Sanderson.
Before Abbie could argue, both he and Warren were gone.
Abbie was alone, with no idea what would happen next.
It was 11.06 am.
The clock would not stop ticking.
Abbie spent almost all her days and nights alone. Mostly, she was used to it. Usually, it was fine. She liked her own company.
In that interview room, after Sanderson and Warren departed, it was like torture.
Having feared one loose piece would bring tumbling to the ground her house of cards, circumstance had now set Abbie's house ablaze. Of her plans to stop Francis at midday and, in doing so, save Eddie, all that remained was ash.
This town had brought Abbie's past back to her like a reversing truck, travelling way too fast. Abbie hadn't moved quickly enough to escape being crushed.
Memories of Violet, Paul, her parents, and her baby continued to tumble through Abbie's mind like a landslide. Overlaying these were questions pertaining to today.
Had Michael reached Eddie in time, or was the dad-to-be even now travelling to meet Francis?
Having stabbed Travis to death in a moment of rage, where would Leona turn next?
Was Ronson still on the loose, looking for Abbie, ready to try again to kill her?
Could Abbie save Eddie, save Bobby, save Michael?
Was it already too late?
With Abbie on the edge of madness, of hurling furniture at the walls and screaming into the void, Sanderson returned.
Upon entering the room, he saw only a placid Abbie, sat in her chair, her palms flat on the table.
To the detective, Abbie said, "Nice coffee break, was it?"
Without responding, Sanderson sat. Gone were the files and the bag. Gone was the tape recorder. He crossed one leg over the other. He tapped his chin, but, unlike the tie adjustment, this didn't feel like a game. This was contemplation. Sanderson was unsure.
"Jessica Dean confirmed your alibi," he said at last. "We were unable to speak with Eddie. Jessica tells us he went for a walk early this morning and has yet to return. She confirmed he went after Leona last night. She fears he's gone after her again. Though she didn’t say as much, I believe her greatest fear is not that Eddie is looking for Leona, but that he has already found her.”
"Let's hope he hasn’t," said Abbie. "After all, we know what Leona's capable of."
Sanderson looked to the table, to where had lain the photo of Travis' body, though it was no longer there.
"Leona is tall and slim, with dark hair," said Sanderson. "In fact, the two of you bear a striking resemblance."
"But I'm prettier, right?"
"I believe Mrs Roberts was once a model," said Sanderson.
"I don't like what you're implying."
Ignoring this, Sanderson continued, “We can confirm someone who shares physical characteristics with Leona killed Travis, and we can probably get Clarissa to confess Travis had stolen Leona's bag. That's enough to bring Mrs Roberts in, but she'll have an alibi."
"So you don't think she's guilty?" said Abbie.
"Not what I said," said Sanderson. "Francis will click his fingers, and seventeen alibis will appear as if from nowhere. Wonderful trick. Like a magician. She's a clever woman. There'll be no evidence on the body."
"No offence," said Abbie, thinking of
