The Lonely Places by J.M. Morris

Author:J.M. Morris [Morris, J. M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-48064-4
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2002-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

AT THE CORNER OF the Square a police car was waiting, its engine silent, its lights extinguished. The policeman led me to it, his grip so tight on my arm that I was sure his fingertips would leave bruises.

Was this it, then? Had they allowed me so much leeway before finally now deciding to put a stop to it? What were they going to do? Make me disappear like Alex?

I was scared and nervous, but at least that was better than a minute or two ago when I'd been terrified.

As we approached the car, it revved into life, the engine clearing its throat before settling into a purr, the headlamps casting cones of light before them. In the backseat a shadow leaned across and opened the door.

“Get in,” the policeman said, placing a hand on my head and forcing me to bow into the car.

I obeyed without protest, deciding to remain silent for now, to argue my case at a more opportune time. I wondered how they'd found out that I'd broken into Alex's flat, unless they'd been keeping me under constant surveillance. I suppose the fact that they felt they needed an excuse to arrest me ought to have given me hope, but I was worried by the accusation of burglary. Did that mean they knew I'd taken the diary and the address book, or were they referring to something else?

The inside of the car smelled cloyingly of meat. Burgers. My already nervous stomach turned slowly over again. I wanted to ask for some fresh air, but I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of refusing. So I sat silently, staring between the two front seats at the world beyond the windshield, and tried to concentrate on not feeling ill.

The policeman who'd arrested me removed his helmet and also got in the back, forcing me to shuffle into the middle, squashed now between his considerable bulk and the slighter frame of the man who'd opened the door. I didn't look at either of the men, but I was aware of the pudgy policeman draping his arm across the back of the seat so that his hand was touching my hair, and of his warm, meaty breath on the left side of my face. I had the impression he was gazing at me, waiting for me to acknowledge him.

“So we meet again,” the man on my right, the one who had opened the door, said.

I jerked my head in his direction and realized it was the young, horsey-looking policeman I'd given the missing persons form to.

I went cold. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

“Been a naughty girl, haven't we?”

I faced front again, hoping in vain that if I ignored him he would get bored and leave me alone. He shuffled closer to me and sniggered. It was the snigger of the little man who had always craved the power and authority of the big and had now finally been given the chance to wield it.

“Playing hard to get, are we?” he jeered and—as the car pulled out into the road—reached toward me.

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