Page 67 of One Left Alive
‘Good, what happened?’
She filled him in on the last fifteen minutes and he stood up. ‘I’ll go and check outside.’
‘No point, whoever it is has gone.’
‘Who do you think it was?’
‘Stan, maybe? Although he’s usually too drunk at this time of night to stand straight, never mind hide behind a tree and stay perfectly still. You?’
‘Morgan, it’s not me. I have no reason to try and scare the life out of you. Why would I want to do that?’
She knew he was telling the truth. ‘Sorry, it was just a bit weird you turning up at the same time.’
He looked down at the empty glass in his hands. ‘I was worried about you. I felt bad. I’ve totally pushed you in to the deep end for your first week. Then when you didn’t come back, I couldn’t settle, and thought I’d better check in on you. I might be an arsehole, but I’m a caring one.’
A laugh escaped her lips and she felt better. She pushed the rolling pin down the side of her chair.
‘I also had a phone call from Declan. He said you’d been to see him and made some excellent observations. He thinks you’re okay and believe me he doesn’t like many people. Wendy has been to the hospital and took samples of Bronte’s hair. They’re on the way to the forensic lab in Chorley as we speak.’
‘That’s great.’ She stood up; her legs didn’t feel as wobbly. ‘Would you like another drink?’
He passed her his glass and she refilled both of them.
‘I’d better call a cab.’
‘You can sleep here if you want, the chair is really comfy. I don’t have a spare bed, but I do have spare bedding. I’ll drop you off at yours in the morning so you can shower then we can both go to work. Save you messing around with taxis.’
‘Thank you, that’s really kind of you but I’m a bit old to be sleeping on chairs. My back will be breaking by the morning. I’ll ring for a taxi.’
Morgan had to stop herself from blurting out that he could sleep in her bed. He’d think she was too forward.
‘No worries, I can still pick you up in the morning. Do you want some food before you leave?’
‘No offence, I’m starving but your fridge contents leave a lot to be desired.’
‘Ah, but you haven’t seen my store cupboard. I can rustle up a tuna pasta bake and there’s a garlic bread in the freezer.’
Ben laughed and nodded. ‘All right, sounds perfect.’
She didn’t tell him she had an ulterior motive and was trying her best to keep him here as long as possible. She didn’t want him to go; she liked his company and there was no way she was telling him she was scared to be alone.
Forty-Three
Greg Barker was pacing up and down the front office of the police station. He’d been waiting fifteen minutes and his blood pressure was rising by the second. The sliding doors opened and in walked that cheeky bitch who’d come into his house yesterday and all but accused him of murder. If that got out, he’d be finished; it didn’t matter if it wasn’t true. He stared at her and the much older man next to her. She smiled at him and he couldn’t stop himself.
‘I want to make a formal complaint about you.’ He stepped too close to her. He knew he was out of order, but the tight ball of anger inside his chest didn’t care.
The woman stepped away from him, still smiling. In a polite but firm voice she answered him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Barker; if you take a seat I’ll speak to you.’
‘Take a seat? Are you having a laugh? I’ve been here fifteen minutes already, waiting for someone. I’m a very busy man.’
The older man stepped in front of him. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Ben Matthews, I’ll take your complaint. Just let me get in and you can come into that interview room over there.’
Greg nodded. ‘Don’t be long, I’m not waiting.’
He watched as they buzzed themselves through the double doors leading into the station. Christ, he was furious. He’d lain awake all night thinking about her accusations, then got up with the worst indigestion he’d ever had.
The door opened and he stepped in. The woman wasn’t anywhere in sight, thank God.
