The Far Side of the Sun by Kate Furnivall Page A

imitation of embarrassment. ‘He was with me all night. Until six o’clock this morning.’

‘Are you sure he didn’t sneak off while you were asleep?’

She touched her throat and watched their gaze follow her hand, She covered one cheek with her palm, awkward and uncomfortable.

‘I’m sure. I’d have known immediately.’ Scarcely more than a whisper. ‘It’s a very narrow bed.’

It was the big detective, Calder, asking the questions. She made herself look straight back at him, so that he wouldn’t think she was lying or avoiding his sharp inspection, but how do you look at a man who hurled you to the earth and pinned you there? How do you look at him and not spit in his face?

The questions went round and round in circles until her tongue started to stumble and her words wouldn’t come out straight any more.

‘How did you meet Hudson, Miss Wyatt?’

‘What do you know about him?’

‘Why did he find a house for you after the fire?’

‘Was he looking for somewhere to hide?’

‘Did he ever talk of Sir Harry Oakes?’

‘Did you know about the gold coins?’

‘Has he ever mentioned Morrell?’

Then back to the beginning. All over again.

‘How did you meet Hudson?

‘Do you know he carries a gun?’

A young officer sat beside Calder taking notes and wearing a pin-sharp suit that shouted his ambitions and made Calder’s look as though he’d slept in it. But it was Calder whose questions felt like sticks poked into her flesh. She kept the lies to a minimum. Stay with the truth, as near as possible. Remember each lie. But her mind was splintering. The room grew hot and his eyes felt like pokers. He offered no water, no respite, no time to regroup her thoughts.

‘Hudson said that you know more about Morrell than you are telling us,’ Calder said suddenly.

She froze. Flynn wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

‘He told us that he believes you stitched the wallet into his mattress. You were the only one, he said, who had the opportunity.’

She banged the flat of her hand on the table. ‘You are lying to me.’

Calder didn’t flinch. His grey eyes were steady on hers and he sighed dispiritedly, which was worse than the lie.

It had to be a lie. Had to be.

‘Please, Detective Calder, may I visit him now in his cell?’

Slowly he shook his head and in a brief flash she saw him again with Ella Sanford, when she caught them together, his broad hand claiming her shoulder.

‘No, Miss Wyatt, not yet.’

‘When?’

‘When I say so. For the moment he sees nobody but his lawyer.’

Dodie lowered her face into her hands. Flynn was alone in a police cell, unable to help himself. His lock-picks and gun stripped from him, along with his stubborn pride in his own strength. He had nothing now. Except what was in his head. In his heart. In the intricate depths of him. Staring legal execution in the face for a crime he didn’t commit. What did that do to you? A single sob escaped her lips, but when she heard the detective push back his chair she lifted her head warily.

Hold on, Flynn. Hold on to me
.

Calder was standing at her side, a tall presence right next to her, but his eyes had changed. They were the silvery grey eyes she had seen in Ella Sanford’s kitchen, a real person’s eyes, instead of the ones that seemed to be standard issue to policemen along with their uniforms.

‘Go home, now, Miss Wyatt.’ His tone matched his eyes. ‘I will let you know when you can visit Mr Hudson.’

She turned her head away from him and stared at a poster on the wall. It had a picture of an airman with the words
Keep us flying. Buy War Bonds.

‘The landlord is lying,’ she stated. He had refused her offer of money point-blank but she had seen the fear in his eyes. He had been threatened. ‘Question him again.’

‘You should not be talking to witnesses.’

‘If I don’t, who will?’

‘It’s our job to do so,’ the young officer said pompously. ‘Leave it to the police. You don’t know what