Buku Forget Me Not by Claire Allan

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Forget Me Not by Claire Allan

Author:Claire Allan [Claire Allan]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Published: 2019-04-11T16:00:00+00:00

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Forget Me Not by Claire Allan

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elizabeth

The paper sat in front of me. My words, stark, in black and white. A picture of my beautiful daughter. Ingrid Devlin had at least been true to her word. She hadn’t gone into any salacious detail about Laura’s death – just that she’d died unexpectedly at a tragically young age.

 

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Forget Me Not by Claire Allan

 

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Forget Me Not by Claire Allan

Author:Claire Allan [Claire Allan] , Date: June 15, 2019

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Author:Claire Allan [Claire Allan]

Language: eng

Format: epub

Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Published: 2019-04-11T16:00:00+00:00
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Elizabeth

The paper sat in front of me. My words, stark, in black and white. A picture of my beautiful daughter. Ingrid Devlin had at least been true to her word. She hadn’t gone into any salacious detail about Laura’s death – just that she’d died unexpectedly at a tragically young age.

I knew it was journalist code for ‘killed herself’ – everyone reading would know that – but at least it wasn’t spelled out. My fears that there’d be lurid details of how she’d done it were assuaged, for now at least.

Had I made DI Bradley angry with me? I didn’t know, and part of me felt guilty for talking to the press, but what choice had I been given? I’d done this to protect my grandchildren. To protect my son-in-law. To protect me, if I was honest. Not that I felt ashamed of how she died. Ashamed maybe that I hadn’t seen how bad she was feeling. That I hadn’t seen how much she needed me.

No, that wasn’t shame. That was guilt. People would judge me for letting her slip through the net. They’d blame me. It had already happened before.

I wasn’t surprised when the police knocked at my door later. Nor was I surprised that my phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and that journalist after journalist walked up through the farmyard and knocked on my door.

‘I have nothing more to say on the matter,’ I told them all. Each eager reporter with their phone set to record. ‘Any statement from now on will be issued through Ingrid Devlin at The Chronicle and you can contact her if you have any further queries.’

They looked disappointed. As did the police. Constable King arrived and sat opposite me at my kitchen table, barely touching the coffee I’d made for her.

‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered. ‘She didn’t give me much choice and I was just so frustrated by it all. If anyone else had been hurt, I’d never have forgiven myself.’

Constable King was as pleasant as she could be about it, I suppose.

‘The difficulty now is that our investigation lines have been rammed with calls from people wondering if they’re at risk, or what measures they should take, or just trying to find out all the insider information. The team is flat out trying to sift through all that.’ She rubbed her neck, the tension obvious in her face. ‘We fear the attention might make the killer bolder. They might thrive on it, take risks.’

I felt wretched. Had I inadvertently made things worse?

‘They’re very clever,’ Constable King continued. ‘They’ve left us no clues. We still haven’t been able to locate Clare Taylor’s phone or laptop, and nothing of use showed up on the records from her phone company.’

‘I’ve done this all wrong,’ I said and I could feel my composure slip.

I was just a stupid old woman. It wasn’t the first time I’d been called that, but it was the first time I truly believed it.

‘You’ve been manipulated by a very clever journalist,’ Constable King soothed.

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