different trinkets , including r ibbons, hair clips, a ring, and a bracelet . There was also a gold locket. Not just a gold locket, but THE gold locket.
Carly took some long, slow deep breaths, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She could clearly see the engraving on the reverse of the locket. It most definitely said ‘Tracey’ on it.
Think Carly . T hink. What’s the best way to handle this? Try and wake Scott ? But what if he already knows and was covering for Vince ? No , that’s crazy. What if I tell him and he tries to handle it himself; Vincent’s already killed, so what’s to stop him killing the both of us too?
Carly’s mind was working overtime. She quickly closed the case and got to her feet. Lookin g round the bedroom , she noticed a bright yellow sticky notes cube and a pen on Scott ’s bedside cabinet next to the telephone.
I’ll phone 911 . I won’t leave my name. I’ll just tell them to get over hear quick. I’ll leave before they get here.
Just as she was about to lift the receiver Carly had second thoughts.
This is going to drag Scott into it. Poor guy . He’s had it hard enough . I have to leave him out of this. I’ll take the attaché case down to the police station; say I found it in the street , or something.
Instead of picking up the phone Carly picked up the sticky note pad and pen and started to write, “ Scott , sorry but I must do this. I f ound the attaché case. I k now you must have covered for Vince. He killed Tracey Dawn Jackson . I’m t aking the case to police. I w on’t involve you.”
Carly pulled several sheets together off the sticky note pad, and popped them and the pen into to her jeans pocket. Hurrying silently along the corridor, she was happy that she could still hear Scott snoring like an old freight train. Entering cautiously into the room, Carly attached the yellow sticky note to an empty beer bottle that was standing on the coffee table. There ’s no way that he’ll miss that , she sadly thought.
Carly returned to the bedroom to get the case, and then headed downstairs to gather her personal belongings together. She put the attaché case under her coat as she left the C abbage Tree pub for the last time.
ELEVEN
J ust a short way from the police station, Carly suddenly got ‘cold feet’. Questions started to fly through her head as she pondered on how to handle the situation. Spotting a wooden bench she sat herself down to gather her thoughts.
Am I doing the right thing? What will I tell the officer? Will he believe me?
After five minutes of pondering, Carly reached a decision.
Pulling the sticky note pages and the pen from her jeans pocket, she began to write. “T his case belongs to Vincent Halliday. It contains a locket which almost certainly belonged to Tracey Dawn Jackson. ”
Pulling a handkerchief from her bag, Carly placed the attaché case flat on her knee. Then making sure no one was about , she wiped the case thoroughly to remove a ll of her fingerprints from it. The next step was to stick her note to the case, and to wipe the prints from that also. Then, u sing her handkerchief to hold onto the handle of the case , she rose from the bench and walked confidently into the police station.
A solitary overweight police office r was sitting at his desk, feet up, telephone in one hand, and tightly gripping a large sandwich in the other . The contents of the sandwich were sp ewing from the sides and falling onto his shirt. He didn’t notice Carly enter ing the station, so she quietly placed the case on to the counter and left .
God, t hat was stressful . Crossing the street , Carly stepped quickly into the shadows and waited. She left herself a clear view through the open door of the small town police station.
It wasn’t too long until she saw the officer at the counter, scratching his head, as if wondering where the attaché case had come from. As soon as Carly saw him take hold of the case, she turned and hurried to the bus
Carly took some long, slow deep breaths, but her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. She could clearly see the engraving on the reverse of the locket. It most definitely said ‘Tracey’ on it.
Think Carly . T hink. What’s the best way to handle this? Try and wake Scott ? But what if he already knows and was covering for Vince ? No , that’s crazy. What if I tell him and he tries to handle it himself; Vincent’s already killed, so what’s to stop him killing the both of us too?
Carly’s mind was working overtime. She quickly closed the case and got to her feet. Lookin g round the bedroom , she noticed a bright yellow sticky notes cube and a pen on Scott ’s bedside cabinet next to the telephone.
I’ll phone 911 . I won’t leave my name. I’ll just tell them to get over hear quick. I’ll leave before they get here.
Just as she was about to lift the receiver Carly had second thoughts.
This is going to drag Scott into it. Poor guy . He’s had it hard enough . I have to leave him out of this. I’ll take the attaché case down to the police station; say I found it in the street , or something.
Instead of picking up the phone Carly picked up the sticky note pad and pen and started to write, “ Scott , sorry but I must do this. I f ound the attaché case. I k now you must have covered for Vince. He killed Tracey Dawn Jackson . I’m t aking the case to police. I w on’t involve you.”
Carly pulled several sheets together off the sticky note pad, and popped them and the pen into to her jeans pocket. Hurrying silently along the corridor, she was happy that she could still hear Scott snoring like an old freight train. Entering cautiously into the room, Carly attached the yellow sticky note to an empty beer bottle that was standing on the coffee table. There ’s no way that he’ll miss that , she sadly thought.
Carly returned to the bedroom to get the case, and then headed downstairs to gather her personal belongings together. She put the attaché case under her coat as she left the C abbage Tree pub for the last time.
ELEVEN
J ust a short way from the police station, Carly suddenly got ‘cold feet’. Questions started to fly through her head as she pondered on how to handle the situation. Spotting a wooden bench she sat herself down to gather her thoughts.
Am I doing the right thing? What will I tell the officer? Will he believe me?
After five minutes of pondering, Carly reached a decision.
Pulling the sticky note pages and the pen from her jeans pocket, she began to write. “T his case belongs to Vincent Halliday. It contains a locket which almost certainly belonged to Tracey Dawn Jackson. ”
Pulling a handkerchief from her bag, Carly placed the attaché case flat on her knee. Then making sure no one was about , she wiped the case thoroughly to remove a ll of her fingerprints from it. The next step was to stick her note to the case, and to wipe the prints from that also. Then, u sing her handkerchief to hold onto the handle of the case , she rose from the bench and walked confidently into the police station.
A solitary overweight police office r was sitting at his desk, feet up, telephone in one hand, and tightly gripping a large sandwich in the other . The contents of the sandwich were sp ewing from the sides and falling onto his shirt. He didn’t notice Carly enter ing the station, so she quietly placed the case on to the counter and left .
God, t hat was stressful . Crossing the street , Carly stepped quickly into the shadows and waited. She left herself a clear view through the open door of the small town police station.
It wasn’t too long until she saw the officer at the counter, scratching his head, as if wondering where the attaché case had come from. As soon as Carly saw him take hold of the case, she turned and hurried to the bus
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