Beside a Narrow Stream by Faith Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

the police?’ Wide grey eyes watched her nervously and Hillary once again withdrew her ID card.
    ‘Yes. I’ve just got a few routine questions. Can you tell me what you were doing yesterday, from around four o’clock onwards?’
    Monica Freeman blinked her big, fine grey eyes and looked about to object. Then she seemed to change her mind. ‘Well, at four I was still here. I worked until six, then I went to Mum and Dad’s. I usually have dinner there once or twice a week. It keeps us in touch, and well, the wages here aren’t much so I appreciate the free meal. We had meatloaf,’ she added, with just a touch of ironic belligerence. ‘I stayed with them until about nine or so, then came back here, to the flat.’
    ‘You live alone?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Did anyone see you return to your flat? Neighbours, the caretaker?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And your parents live … where?’
    ‘Deddington. Look, do you mind if I ask what this is all about?’ She wore her long hair held back in a pony tail, and when she moved it swung around the back of her head like a live thing. She didn’t have many curves, but her face wasintriguing, with high cheekbones and a very sharp chin and delicate lines to her jaw. Hillary could well understand why a good-looking young man would be attracted to her. They must have made a fine-looking, even eye-catching couple.
    Hillary nodded to herself as she took apart the witness’s words. The first part of the evening sounded like a solid enough alibi, and before she left here she’d make sure that Monica Freeman had indeed worked until she’d said – but parents often lied for their children, and after nine she had no alibi at all. So she was firmly in the frame.
    ‘It’s about Wayne Sutton. He’s your boyfriend, I understand ?’ she said, a touch more gently now.
    Monica Freeman opened her mouth, then slowly closed it again. Her eyes, already large, seemed to grow bigger. ‘What’s happened to him?’ she asked, her voice quiet, almost whispering . ‘Did he crash his car?’
    Hillary wondered what sort of driver their victim had been if both the women in his life instantly assumed he’d had a car accident. According to the data she’d so far accumulated, Wayne Sutton had only been 25-years-old at the time of his death, so perhaps the assumption was understandable. As a beat officer, Hillary had quickly learned, and only too well, that young men and fast cars should be kept far apart.
    ‘No, he hasn’t been involved in a traffic accident, but I’m afraid I have some very bad news, nonetheless,’ she said softly.
    Slowly Monica Freeman leaned back against the high table, her hands shaking as they clasped the edges of it.
    ‘The body of a young man was found in a meadow just outside Deddington this morning. His mother has identified him as being Wayne Sutton. I’m sorry.’
    Monica Freeman nodded. ‘Oh,’ she said blankly.
     
    About a half an hour later, Hillary drove a short distance up the road, where Monica’s parents, Victor and Pauline, owned and operated a small garden centre. She found them both in ahandkerchief-sized outside area that was crammed with every climbing plant imaginable – something of their speciality, Pauline Freeman quickly informed her.
    She was tall and lean, like her daughter, but her hair was a riotous mass of brown curls. Monica’s ash-blonde looks and triangular face came courtesy of her father’s genes, Hillary noticed, when Pauline called him over to join them.
    Yet again, Hillary brought out the ID. ‘I’ve just come from speaking to your daughter,’ Hillary began, and saw by the quick look of surprise they gave each other that this was news to them. Hillary was just a little surprised herself. She’d expected Monica to call them and tell them the news straight away.
    Why hadn’t she?
    ‘Our Mon’s not in any trouble I hope,’ Pauline Freeman said, half-laughing, half-worried.
    ‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ Hillary lied. Being a suspect in