S is for Stranger: the gripping psychological thriller you don’t want to miss!. Louise Stone

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      I looked at the floor. ‘I can’t remember.’

      DI Ward leant forward in her chair and brought her face nearer mine. I could smell stale coffee on her breath. ‘You don’t remember?’

      I nodded. ‘OK, once. Just over three years ago. I had just moved out or, more like, Paul dumped my stuff in the garage, filed for divorce and I had been forced to find a place of my own.’

      ‘So Amy ran away because it was all too stressful? Not uncommon.’

      ‘To look for me,’ I admitted sadly, my voice trembling slightly. ‘Please. I don’t want to talk about it.’

      ‘But why didn’t Amy come and live with you?’

      ‘I quickly,’ I started, the lump in my throat about ready to burst, ‘found out that Paul convinced Amy I had left out of choice and that I didn’t love her. He likes playing mind-games.’ The DI blinked. ‘Look, throughout this, I’ve tried to make it as easy on Amy as I can. Paul keeps using his trump card, my drinking, but I haven’t drunk a drop now for,’ I stopped briefly, ‘eighteen months, twenty-nine days and,’ I looked at my watch and laughed self-consciously, ‘around six hours. You become highly aware of time when you’re … Well, you know.’ I looked up at the detective. ‘Cafcass were due to interview her next week to ask her where she wants to live. She told me she was going to tell them that she wants to live with me. And now she’s gone, Detective.’ I looked at the DI, my eyes blurred. ‘I have to find my child. I love her so much. She’s meant to be with me.’

      The detective nodded, stuck out her lower lip. ‘Yes, so you attend AA?’

      ‘I’m dry, but I keep going to prove how hard I’m trying, for the courts. I thought about readmitting myself to the Priory but I’m done with therapy.’

      The detective arched an eyebrow. ‘Readmitting?’

      I glanced at her. ‘Yes, I admitted myself when I was twenty-one. I was there for three months, and then again after Bethany died.’

      ‘Why the first time?’

      ‘Drink.’

      She raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Uh-huh.’

      ‘Yes. My parents died in June ‘89. I took it,’ I paused, ‘badly.’

      The DI thought about this, scribbled something in her notebook.

      ‘So did your drinking ever affect your ability to look after Amy? You seem to think that Paul could use it against you.’

      I swallowed hard. ‘I once forgot to pick her up from school.’

      ‘Why?’

      I sighed. ‘Is this really relevant to finding my daughter?’

      ‘I’m just trying to get a clear picture here, that’s all.’ DI Ward waited.

      ‘I had felt stressed one morning, I often feel stressed at work. I asked my boss for an extension, went to the park and had a couple of drinks. That’s it.’

      ‘So you were drinking and you forgot to pick Amy up?’

      I looked at the table. ‘I fell asleep.’

      ‘Then what happened?’

      ‘Paul had to get her. He was angry,’ my eyes smarted, ‘but not as angry as I was with myself.’

      DI Ward nodded and stuck her pen through the spiral of her notebook. I could see her mind at work.

      ‘Sophie. Tell me, have you had any arguments recently? Would anyone want to hurt you or your daughter?’

      ‘No, I don’t have any friends and the only person, other than my work colleagues, left in my life is Paul.’ I looked at the ground, felt my cheeks warming up, and counted the ingrained stains on the carpet, three at a time. ‘Thing is, when you’re an alcoholic, your friends don’t stick around much. I guess, in some ways, I’ve distanced myself from the past. It’s dangerous letting yourself get dragged back. It’s like living two separate lives.’ I paused, ran my tongue along my bottom lip and looked up. ‘I’ve got Faye, though.’

      ‘Faye?’

      ‘She was my parents’ cleaner but, really, a friend too. She was around when they died.’ I nodded. ‘I guess she’s the only one who really gets me, knows where my mind’s at.’

      ‘OK, what about at university? As you clearly think it’s relevant to this investigation, what about relationships then? Anyone who might have some sort of vendetta?’

      ‘No.’ I shook my head firmly, then I remembered. ‘Well, other than Polly.’

      ‘Polly?’ The detective arched her brow.

      ‘Bethany started getting these weird notes at university. The words were always made out of cut-up newspapers. It was obvious that she couldn’t stand mine and Bethany’s relationship. We were close, you know. And she wanted a part of that.’

      ‘And her name was Polly? Polly what?’

      ‘Actually, we never knew who it was. She always signed off “P” and because Bethany had this really weird doll that her father had given her as a child,’ I pulled a face, ‘it was like something from a Stephen King movie that I had called Polly, I joked that Polly the doll was behind the notes.’

      DI Ward gave a small shake to her head. ‘And have you heard from this person since?’

      ‘Since Bethany died, no.’

      The DI scribbled something down. ‘Your parents. How did they die?’

      ‘Car crash.’ I swallowed hard. ‘There one minute, gone the next. Your entire family gone in a minute, can you imagine that? How you can lose everything so quickly?’

      DI Ward’s lips moved almost imperceptibly at the corners, and she shook her head.

      ‘You asked about arguments,’ I continued, ‘and I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt Amy. She’s eight, for god’s sake. Who wants to hurt a child?’ Then with a sickening realisation, I said, ‘Do you think someone’s hurt her?’ Clutching the sides of the chair, I repeated my question. ‘Do you think someone wants to hurt her? I mean, it’s one thing to hurt me, but Amy …’

      The DI looked apologetic. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest that at all. No, for the time being, we assume that she is OK.’

      ‘What now, Detective? This is my little girl we’re talking about.’ I surveyed the room and picked at a loose button on my coat. ‘Look, are you going to spend your time asking me these pointless questions or find my little girl?’

      ‘We have officers out looking,’ she confirmed. ‘Listen, what you said about your friend, about a murder, I want to believe you.’

      I sat up.

      ‘But your memory seems hazy, unsure?’

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