Read Online Follow Me by Angela Clarke - Free Book Online Page A

issues?’
    Freddie’s mum always warned her daughter:
one day that temper of yours will get you into real trouble.
Pleading with her to think before she spoke. Unfortunately, the mention of her gossiping boss and the stone-cold reality of being arrested for murder meant Freddie returned to type. ‘The lying cunt!’
    ‘He said that you seemed very – and I quote –
“agitated”.
’
    ‘A word with four syllables! I’m surprised he managed it.’ Freddie could just imagine how much Dan relished dishing the dirt on her.
    ‘Mr Peterson said you left early.’
    This was getting ridiculous. ‘I did: to follow you guys. Tell him why I was there, Nas! Tell him about the paper!’
    ‘You didn’t say anything about any paper, Freddie.’ Nasreen looked at her hands.
How My Best Friend Became My Best Frenemy.
    ‘The suspected murder weapon is visible in the photo you sent Sergeant Cudmore.’ Moast slapped an enlarged version of the screenshot onto the table.
    Winded from the blood, Freddie turned away.
    ‘The knife is no longer at the scene, because you took it with you after taking this photo,’ he said
    ‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’ She had to make them listen. This was insane.
    ‘Did it make you feel good cutting him?’
    Her stomach turned. ‘Stop it! Listen! I know about the murder weapon. I mean, about it being in the photo. That’s why when I saw it on Twitter I sent it to Nas.’
    ‘On Twitter? The photo was on Twitter?’ Nas cut in.
    ‘Lies!’ Moast slammed his hand down on the table. The cup of cold coffee spluttered. ‘Mr Peterson said you take antidepressants.’
    ‘What the hell! That’s private. They’re for anxiety!’
Horrible Bosses: The Reality.
    ‘I think you’re a fantasist,
Ms
Venton.’ Moast leant toward her. ‘Built this whole thing up in your head. Mardling came to your cafe. You took a dislike to him. Found him and killed him. This Twitter rubbish is a distraction. You screwed up: you got cocky, sent this photo to Sergeant Cudmore. And now we’ve got you.’
    ‘Wait…wait…’ Freddie tried to sort things in her head. ‘You’ve had me in here all this time, and you haven’t been looking for the sick freak who put that up online?’
    ‘Stop it with the lies, Venton.’ Moast stood, slamming his chair into the wall. Nas and Freddie jumped.
Bully-boy tactics.
There was a knock at the door, which broke the tension in the room. Freddie heard Nas exhale.
    Moast stormed across and swung the door open to reveal the nervous-looking copper who’d been sick at the crime scene. ‘I’m trying to conduct an interview in here, PC Thomas!’ Freddie’s heartbeat roared through her body.
    ‘Sorry, guv,’ the copper stuttered. ‘I need a word.’ He glanced at Freddie. ‘It’s about the case.’
    ‘Interview suspended at eleven forty-seven pm. Cudmore, outside. Now!’ Moast’s voice shook the room.
    Nas clicked the tape recorder off and jumped up and all three of them disappeared behind the slamming door. Freddie looked at the dent the door handle had made in the wall and realised she was gripping her chair so hard her nails were cutting into the plastic underside. She didn’t realise she was so easily intimidated. This guy was a prick.
    There was the noise of squeaking footsteps and a very audible ‘Fuck’ from outside. The door opened and Freddie tried to see out into the hallway, but only caught sight of another grubby, once white wall. Nasreen and Moast came back in, he running his hand over his cropped hair, she carrying a newspaper.
    ‘Give me that.’ He took the paper from Nasreen. ‘Interview with Freddie Venton, Thirty-first of October, continuing at eleven fifty-two pm.’ Moast tapped the tape recorder. ‘It seems you weren’t lying about being a journalist.’
    The Post
, still folded, thudded onto the table between them. Emblazoned across the front was: ‘#Murder: Troll Hunter Death Link to Twitter.’
    ‘The splash!’ Freddie reached for