Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

to attack, he could either dive towards her and try to knock her down, or dive away, collapse to the floor on the other side of the bed, and go for his shotgun. If he tried either, firing immediately would be Abbie’s only chance.

"I don't think you've told me your name," said Louis, as Abbie reached the bed. "Bit unfair, given you know mine."

Abbie crouched on the balls of her feet but ensured the gun was nice and visible to Louis.

"I once had a gun on this guy, and he asked me how old I was," said Abbie. "He thought general chit chat would disarm me, so when I answered, he tried to put a knife through my throat. You may notice my neck is unblemished by scars. On the other hand, this guy is no longer active on social media. Or anywhere else."

She opened the bottom of the two bedside table drawers. Beneath a blank notebook, she found a handgun. Silver. Sleek. Bigger than hers.

"My name's Abbie."

She closed the bottom drawer and opened the top; routing through the underwear, she found no knives nor another gun. She extracted a pair of boxers adorned with pineapples. Chucked them to Louis with a smile.

"They were a father's day present from my younger son," said Louis. "And I really did just want to know your name. No tricks."

Abbie stepped back. With a boot, she tapped Louis' discarded jeans and shirt like Darth Vader attempting to verify Obi-Wan’s demise by stamping on his empty robes.

"I left the gun in the bottom drawer," said Abbie. “I’ll not remove the shotgun from beneath your bed. Take those as signs I don't believe you're a danger. In fact, I think our friendship is blooming nicely, like a beautiful flower."

As Louis scrambled to put his boxers on beneath the duvet, Abbie chucked him his jeans, his shirt, his socks, after which she returned to the armchair and settled herself as Louis continued to dress.

"If our friendship is really coming along as you say," said Louis, now pulling on his jeans. "will you tell me why you don't believe I killed Aurora? After all, I'm the obvious suspect, aren't I?"

"Are you?"

"Sure. For starters, as you've pointed out, I was furious at Alice after Niall died, which makes me the only person with a motive. And for seconds, Aurora had her head bashed and her throat slit, but there was no material evidence on the body. Someone did a grand job cleaning her up. A professional, the police thought."

"And you're a professional killer, are you?"

"I'm a professional criminal. I have experience working outside the confines of the law. I'm not a killer, but if I was to commit that particular crime, I would cover it up as well as I do everything else."

Abbie laughed as Louis buttoned up his shirt.

"What?" he said.

"Isn't it strange," she said. "I come here representing Alice, the woman whose daughter died, yet I seem to be on your side while you support your accusers. Why is that?"

"Why do you think?" said Louis.

"Because you're curious," said Abbie. "You're playing devil's advocate because you want to know how I've reached my conclusion."

"Which you're reluctant to divulge. Why is that?"

"Not reluctant," said Abbie. "I'm just being difficult like you're being difficult playing devil's advocate. I guess we're just a pair of difficult people."

Shirt buttoned, Louis had removed the duvet and was pulling on his socks.

"I guess we are."

Abbie rose. Louis jumped.

"Sorry," Abbie said. "That chair is so comfortable. I don't like being that comfortable; it makes me uncomfortable. I’ll stand."

"Okay. Can I?"

"No, best you stay where you are. Why don't I think you killed Aurora. That's what you want to know?"

"It is."

"And I'll tell you. First, a question. You and Alex, did you become an item before or after Aurora died?"

"I don't believe we’d even spoken before Alex lost her sister."

"Okay, great, so there's a reason for that, probably important, we'll return to it."

"Sure."

"As for why you didn't kill her..."

For the first time, Abbie looked away from Louis to the bedside table. On the hardwood upon which Louis had twice knocked was a framed photo displaying three beaming faces.

"You're a father to two teenage boys," said Abbie. "Aurora must be around the same age as Jacob, correct?"

"They were in the same year at school," said Louis. "They shared a few classes."

"Okay, fine, you said the killing was professionally cleaned up, so you might have murdered Aurora in the heat of your anger, then, coming to your senses, done a thorough clean up job. If you did it, that's the only way it could have worked, except it doesn't work for me because you're a father. So I don't think was he angry enough about his brother to murder Aurora? Instead, could he look at Aurora, even consumed by rage, and not think of his children? Would you not have thought that Aurora was innocent like Jacob and Kyle were innocent? More than that, would you not have considered revenge? By murdering Alice's teenage daughter, you’d be inviting a retaliatory strike against your sons. Even if you happened to bump into Aurora at the height of your anger, and even if murder crossed your mind, I think your sons would have prevented you from acting. Fatherly love would have prevailed over brotherly anger. What do you think?”

Now dressed, Louis crossed his legs on the bed and sat up.

"I think you're right," he said. "Had my anger lasted long enough to get me to the night of Aurora's murder, and did I believe it acceptable to kill teenagers anyway, which I don't, my sons would have prevented me murdering her."

His eyes followed the pacing Abbie.

“I think so,” she said. “Wouldn’t be true of everyone. There are some psychotic people out there with minds dark enough to slaughter children though they have children of their own. Even if they know their children will be targeted as a result. But those people don’t tend to run criminal organisations and earn enough money to buy six-bedroom