Free The Stranger on the Train by Abbie Taylor Page A

it’ll come back.”
    â€¢ • •
    The two of them didn’t have much to say to each other after that. After Rafe had left, the pain in Emma’s jaw worsened, spreading upwards to her entire head. Lindsay commented on her pale face and slitted eyes and persuaded her to take two painkillers. Emma went to bed and lay, fully dressed, on top of the duvet.
    She held Gribbit, puzzling again over what had made her think of Antonia like that. Something had sparked that flash of recall, but what? And there was that image of her mum again, watching television in the house in Bath. Why did she keep seeing that? The scent of sour milk rose from Gribbit’s fur. Think, Emma. Think! There was the sense that her mind had recognized something important, and jumped with shock so that the memory had been knocked out of place. But no matter how hard she drew at it, it refused to come back.
    A tap on her door.
    â€œEmma?” Lindsay’s dark head peeping around. “Are you feeling any better? DI Hill would like a word before he leaves.”
    Something in Lindsay’s voice made Emma sit up.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
    â€œNo, no.” Lindsay wouldn’t look at her. “Nothing’s happened. It’s just a few more questions. If you could come to the sitting room for a moment.”
    Emma fumbled, trying to get her legs out from under the duvet. Now what? She managed to escape from the bed and followed Lindsay out into the hall.
    â€œPlease.” Lindsay held the door open to the sitting room. “Come and sit down.”
    She accompanied Emma to the couch and gently pressed her shoulder until she sat. Then Lindsay sat down beside her. Detective Inspector Hill squashed himself between the arms of the chair opposite. He looked so enormous sitting there. Ritchie, who was fascinated by men, would have gazed at him in awe. At this giant, who could have fitted little Ritchie twice over into one of his pockets without anyone even noticing he was there.
    Lindsay touched Emma’s hand.
    â€œTry not to take this personally,” she said. “Sooner or later, we ask this to almost every family in your situation.”
    â€œAsk them what ?”
    Detective Hill cleared his throat. He said: “I was intending to discuss this with you earlier, before we were interrupted by Mr. Townsend. I had a long talk with your GP this morning. When we were looking through Ritchie’s medical records.”
    â€œMy GP?” Emma was confused. What did Dr. Stanford have to do with this?
    Detective Hill leaned forward. He clasped his huge hands in front of him.
    â€œMs. Turner,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you. Is there any chance at all that you may have done something to your son?”
    Emma stared at him.
    â€œI don’t understand,” she said. Her cheeks grew hot. “Ritchie’s been kidnapped. You know he has. Why are you asking me this?”
    â€œDr. Stanford has told us a few things,” Detective Hill said. “She was reluctant to do so, but given that you had allowed us to view the records, she felt she had no choice. She thinks you may not be telling us the truth about all of this.” He paused. “In fact, based on a visit you paid to her recently, she’s worried that you may have harmed Ritchie.”
    Ha-ha-harmed . The “Ha” sucked in her chest. You may have Harmed Ritchie.
    â€œEmma?” Detective Hill’s eyes were very cold. They bulged at her, laser blue. “Do you remember your last visit to Dr. Stanford, eleven days ago?”
    â€œMy last—”
    A fizz rose in Emma’s belly. In a second, she was back there in the surgery. The lurid coughs from the waiting room. The gravel rattle of rain on the window. The stench of socks and antiseptic.
    The expression on Dr. Stanford’s face. Sitting there, so shocked and upright behind her desk.
    Emma