Killing You Softly by Lucy Carver Read Free Book Online Page B

the
    edge of a cliff and just fell and kept on falling.’
    We stood in silence, listening to the wind in the trees until Alex got hold of his runaway emotions and reined them in. ‘How could she be dead? I’d only talked to her three days
    before. We had coffee. We went shopping. She was fine.’
    ‘I’m so sorry.’
    ‘You’re sorry; everyone’s sorry. And you know what, Alyssa? I’m sorry too. I should’ve been there and it wouldn’t have ended up like it did. I
    should’ve gone with Scarlett to the party.’ This last thought brought him to another halt – as if his mind had hit one final bump and gone up in the air like the bike had done.
    He came crashing down into permanent silence.
    And I couldn’t think of anything to say in the dark wood. Instead, I brushed his dirty cheek with my fingertips, swept the mud from his jacket and let him cry.
    Detective Inspector June Ripley was impressive in her press conference. There was the usual desk with its row of microphones, and she was flanked by fellow officers on both
    sides.
    In her dark suit with shiny buttons, with her glossy black hair neatly bobbed and her small, even features maintaining a steely, unemotional focus, it seemed she’d been destined to join
    the police force since birth. You would have found no Cinderella tiaras or Tinkerbell wings in five-year-old June’s dressing-up box. No, she would have been a caped crusader with a
    light-sabre, putting right all the wrongs of her tiny world.
    I was alone in my room, lying in bed watching the press conference on my laptop. The scarily professional inspector gave us the facts all over again – Scarlett’s body had been
    found in the canal close to the lock. A murder investigation was underway and evidence removed from the scene. An intensive search of the surrounding area was continuing in an attempt to discover
    the murder weapons, believed to be a ligature plus a heavy, blunt instrument. Inspector Ripley spoke quickly but matter-of-factly. She appealed for witnesses to come forward.
    ‘We know that Scarlett attended a New Year’s Eve party at a nearby address and that she left alone at around one in the morning. There is evidence from CCTV footage that she
    stopped outside The Fleece pub near to Ainslee Westgate train station to talk to a man judged to be in his late teens – Caucasian, over six feet tall, dressed in a dark jacket, knitted hat,
    jeans and trainers. CCTV also tells us that Scarlett, alone again, approached a taxi rank outside the station, but was unable to find a cab. She then walked off in the direction of the canal
    towards a path that would have been a shortcut to her home.’
    I listened to the detective’s every word – learned that the police were satisfied that no one had left the party with Scarlett, which fitted Ursula’s account, but who was the
    guy she’d talked to outside the pub? Had the camera caught him from in front or behind? Had anybody there actually seen her with him?
    Then my personal line of enquiry was rudely interrupted.
    ‘Go away! I don’t want you! I hate you!’ Galina screeched from below the window. She lapsed into furious Russian and didn’t let up – so much so that I got out of
    bed and went to look.
    There she was, out on the front lawn, caught in a pool of yellow light cast by the lamp over the stone archway leading into the quad, waving her arms at Mikhail. ‘Leave me alone, stupid,
    stinky idiot!’ she yelled in childish English after she’d run out of insults in her native tongue.
    The bodyguard remained inscrutable throughout, hands behind his back, soaking up the abuse.
    ‘You hear me? Why don’t you and Sergei leave me alone?’
    Because they’re paid not to, was my thought. I leaned over the array of expensive cosmetics for a better view and it was only then that I noticed that two of the small, diamond-shaped
    panes in the leaded window were broken and a cold wind was whistling in.
    ‘What are you – peeping Toms?’