Every Second Counts

Chapter Twenty Eight

I DISCOVER THERE ARE THIRTY Sam Withers, of which several are on Facebook. Typing in his address leads to a few articles. His wife has been the victim of a hit and run. She was found by her parked car in the middle of a country lane. The police have no witnesses. Originally there's a mystery surrounding her death—she was on a narrow country lane—her husband didn't understand why she would be there in the first place. There is a more recent article that shares personal information, inferring that his wife was involved with a man in the same area where she lost her life. Sam Withers has two young children and my heart goes out to the little ones.

But, I know Reuben Houston and Sam Withers are responsible for her death. I set my printer on Print and watch the screeds of printouts eject relating to the death of Sam Wither's wife then I pour over them. And there it is, one of the more recent entries Withers (F) £40. 9/3. Once again, her death in September last year, doesn't match the date of March in Houston's document. Obviously he needed to change his original plan.

The sun is streaming in and I make myself a coffee, sit back down on the floor and look over all the printouts in my possession. Floppy comes over to join me and when I stroke her silky ears, Floppy's swishy tail knocks over my coffee...over me and over one of the printouts. Fuck! As I mop the coffee off the printout the words smear a little.

I put everything away except the coffee stained printout which I leave on the tiles and hope the sun's rays will dry it while I take a much needed shower.

'Naughty girl,' I growl. She drops her head forward and whimpers. I giggle at Floppy's reaction to being told off—just like a kid. I pat her head, 'No hard feelings, not your fault,' and am rewarded with a slobbery tongue. I wonder again whether Floppy was trained prior to my mother buying her or was it my parents who trained her. Did they envisage a future where I may be in danger?

* * *

Floppy comes into the bathroom and barks a couple of times. With steam everywhere, she looks like a wraith wolf. 'What's the matter, girl?'

'Hey, Athena, it's me. Carter,' I hear him call out just as he knocks on my bathroom door.

I'm about to holler, 'Don't come in,' but remember that could be detrimental to Carters good looks, so I call out in a singing voice, 'Don't come in, I'm in the shower. Won't be a moment.'

While I dress I wonder how the hell I could have left my door unlocked. And, why Carter Johnson thought he could just swan in when he felt like it. By the time I leave the bathroom well and truly fully clothed I am about to give him a piece of my mind. Obviously I stop when I see the pizza and coffee he has bought me.

'Door was open. Well, not open, you understand. But I did knock several times and heard old Floppy whine from within so I knew you were here and being well protected.' He says and I see his cockeyed grin starting to form when he gestures to the pizza. 'Last time I was here, I did note your fridge was pretty much empty. Thought you could do with fattening up.'

I sense he is on edge the whole time we tuck into a Roberta pizza and it isn't until we have finished and given Floppy the remainder when he says with barely a hint of tease, 'You've been a bad girl, haven't you?'

When I glance at him I note there is something less palatable in Carters demeanour and I match his stance with one of my own, 'In what respect?'

He fishes into his jacket pocket and brings out the printout covered in various shades of coffee. 'What the hell is this all about?'

I shudder. Then my face turns scarlet. My mouth opens and I'm about to put this nosey asshole in his place when he puts a hand up in the stop sign, and with panicked eyes he gestures toward Floppy.