In Her Eyes Sarah Alderson (e book free reading txt) 📖

Nate leans forwards and presses a button on the desk in front of us. ‘Number one, if you could repeat the line on the piece of paper.’

I notice now that they’re all holding a small scrap of paper. The man holds his up in front of his face. ‘June,’ he mumbles. ‘Get over here.’

‘Louder please,’ Nate orders.

The man repeats it. I close my eyes and try to focus on the timbre of his voice. He sounds too gruff, too old and the words are too muffled through the mask to hear well. When I open my eyes I find Nate watching me. I shake my head.

‘Number two please, step forwards and repeat the line,’ says Nate.

Number two takes a slouching step forwards, glaring in our direction. Even though there’s mirrored glass between us, I can’t shake the feeling he can see through it and is fixing his gaze right on me. He talks quietly at first and Nate has to ask him to speak up.

‘June, get over here,’ he says louder, a hint of amusement in his voice as though he’s smirking beneath the ski mask.

I study him hard. He’s about the right height but he’s stockier than either of the men who attacked us. He reminds me of a pit bull. And the man who took June upstairs, the leader, he said get like git.

‘No. It’s not him,’ I say.

Nate makes a mark on a clipboard. I frown and study the man again.

The man who dragged me off the bed and shoved me down the stairs, the man that I hit with the chopping board . . . I remember his hand around my leg – the iron strength of his grip. ‘Can you get him to say something else?’ I ask Nate.

Nate looks up. ‘What?’

‘Get him to say: Where are you taking her?’

Nate presses the button and leans into the microphone. ‘Number two, please repeat the following line: ‘‘Where are you taking her?’’ ’

The man pauses and then delivers the line flatly.

Nate’s holding his breath and despite her outward cool I can sense that the lawyer is holding hers too. ‘Ava?’

I think it’s him. I think it’s the man I hit with the board . . .

‘Is it him? Do you recognize the voice?’ Nate asks.

‘Sheriff,’ the lawyer says in a warning tone.

‘I . . .’ I stop. If I admit I think it could be, then where does that leave Robert? Will it confirm his guilt? And I’m not sure, anyway, how is it possible to tell? ‘No . . .’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s not him.’

I glance at the lawyer and see she isn’t bothering to hide her smile.

‘OK, let’s move on to number three,’ Nate says, scowling. He speaks into the microphone and gives his orders and we go through two more suspects but now I’m rattled. They all sound similar – muffled and indistinct. By the time we get to the final two I’m more confused than ever. All the voices have blended into one. I admit that I can’t be sure about either of the final suspects and Nate dismisses them all.

I know he’s disappointed as he sighs loudly, especially as we watch the lawyer stride from the room smiling smugly.

‘Which numbers were they?’ I ask Nate.

‘Number two and number six.’

‘Six? The tall one?’ I ask.

Nate nods.

‘But he’s too tall. Neither of them were that tall.’ I can feel my heart starting to beat with something like elation, relief filling me with helium lightness.

Nate frowns at me. ‘Maybe you got that wrong in the heat of the moment. Witnesses often give confusing statements. Your husband said one of the suspects was between five ten and six feet one.’

I shake my head. ‘No. I made a real effort to remember everything I could about them and I know his height because Robert’s six foot one, and the man who attacked him was shorter. They were both shorter.’

‘Maybe you made a mistake. It happens.’ Nate leans against the table, his long legs stretched out ahead of him. He looks tired, I notice, dark shadows beneath his eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a while either.

‘What happens now?’ I ask him.

‘We’ve still got their alibis to check out.’

‘So you might still be able to charge them?’ I ask.

He gives a non-committal shrug.

‘And what about Robert?’

‘He still won’t talk,’ Nate tells me. ‘Which isn’t helping him any. If he would tell us what he was doing meeting them it would make this easier. A no contest plea means he’s going to prison. You realize that, don’t you? And he’ll still stand trial for the conspiracy to commit murder charge.’

Murder. Every time I hear it I shudder.

‘Come on, let me see you out,’ Nate says, ushering me to the door. There’s no hand on my lower back this time.

‘Can I see him?’ I ask.

‘He still won’t accept visitors,’ Nate answers.

We reach the door to the reception area. ‘I’ll keep you posted on what happens,’ Nate says.

I nod and make to turn away but then I remember something.

‘Remember the guy who said he was a journalist? The one you confronted at the hospital? His name was Euan Shriver. At least that’s what he told us.’

Nate nods.

‘I Googled him on the way here – he doesn’t exist. I called the Santa Barbara Herald and they’d never heard of him. And I couldn’t find a single trace of him online.’

Nate rubs a hand across his eyes. ‘Shit,’ he mumbles again. ‘OK, well, we both got a good look at him. I’ll get a uniform to check the hospital security tapes. See if I can pull something on him. Find out who he is.’

‘Don’t you think that’s important?’ I press. ‘I mean, what if he’s who we’ve been looking for this whole time? What if he’s one of the men who broke into the house?’

Nate nods. ‘Maybe, yeah. It’s a possibility. But at the same time he could just be a journalist digging for dirt. He could have given a false name so he didn’t get into trouble.’

‘But what if—’

Nate