Free Safe House by Chris Ewan Page A

major way, at least. But in a discreet, persistent way. So don’t think for a minute they won’t jump at the chance to take you into custody. That’s where we’re heading, get it? That’s where we’re taking you right now. We have people waiting. It’s all set up.’
    Lena drank some more of the tea and closed her eyes to think. When she opened them again, the man was still there. He was crouched forwards, his elbows resting on his spread thighs, his palms pressed together, as if in prayer. He waited for a rolling swell to pass under them before speaking again.
    ‘Look, if you’re sitting there thinking there’s some kind of problem with the evidence, you’re wrong. The police have your fingerprints on a syringe and a glass vial they found in your underwear drawer. The vial contains cyanide. And the syringe has traces of the victim’s blood.’ The man tightened his hands into fists. He clenched hard, like he was squeezing lemons. ‘Then there’s the vodka. They tested it and found it was laced with a sedative. Same sedative as was in the bloodstream of the victim. They also found a cash receipt for the off-licence closest to your apartment. The receipt was for vodka. Same brand. Same volume. Time of purchase syncs with the estimated time of death.’ He sucked a fast breath in through his teeth. ‘Now, I’ll be honest with you. There’s a problem with the CCTV in the shop. But the guy behind the counter remembers a blonde buying the vodka. So the police showed him a headshot and he gave a statement that you’re the blonde he remembers.’
    Out of nowhere, a huge boom and the cabin plunged wildly. The man’s bunk fell away and Lena was pitched up until she was towering above him. Tea sloshed around in her mug and her buttocks slipped on the scratchy blanket she’d spread beneath her. She braced her feet on the frame of the man’s bunk as he smacked into the wall and flailed for a handhold. The cabin door slammed closed. All around them, the stiff metal structure creaked and groaned and trembled. Then, all too slowly, the ship heaved itself back on to its axis and the door swung open.
    The man glanced at the doorway. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand. ‘Maybe you’re planning to tell them you didn’t have a motive,’ he said, after a pause. ‘But you should know they don’t care very much about motives when they have hard evidence. And just think about who the dead guy was. Think of the ways he could have betrayed you. The threats he could have posed to you. And then there’s the kicker.’ The man pointed his finger at her. ‘You ran and you hid. For two whole months.’
    Lena felt no urge to protest her innocence. If the man really was in a position to help her – if he held a role with that level of power and influence – he would already know the truth. And if he knew the truth, then he wasn’t on her side. She couldn’t reveal anything to him. Not even how terrified she was. It was safer to act as if she didn’t care.
    ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ the man said. ‘Don’t be sitting there thinking that Melanie Fleming is going to come good for you. She’s not. You can trust me on that. So you really should be worried. And if you’re not, the best thing you can do right now is tell me why.’
    Lena swallowed the last of her tea and set the mug down by her side, wedged in between the mattress and the metal bunk frame. She rested her fingers on her swollen wrist and stared hard at the man. Stared through him, really. He’d given her plenty of information. Some of it confirmed what she already suspected. Some of it was new. But there was one thing she was absolutely sure of – the man had no idea about the secret she and Melanie had shared. He had no awareness of the chance, however slim, that she was clinging on to. It all came down to the plumber. Everything depended on how observant he might have been.

Chapter Eleven
     
     
    I returned to the cottage with Rocky. The broken