Eye Snatcher Read Online Free Page B

to dull them down, tune them down, over the years. Came with the territory of meeting so many men every day. But the socially anxious teenage girl lived on inside her.
    And that teenage girl reared her ugly head in the darkest of situations.
    She pulled open the door. Prayed for relief. Prayed for some kind of good news, even though she wasn’t much religious and she’d done way too many bad things in her life to ask for God’s forgiveness already.
    She could tell by the way the chubby one looked at her. The flat half-smile he gave her. But she wouldn’t believe him. Not until she heard it. Not until he said the words.
    “Mrs Betts? Jean Betts?”
    Jean nodded. Looked from the chubby one to the skinny one and back again, looked at their blank, distant faces. “My… it’s not my boy, is it? It’s not my Sam?”
    The chubby one looked at his companion and gulped.
    “I’m Detective Inspector McDone and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Richards—”
    “My Sam. Please. Please tell me he’s… tell me he’s okay. Please.”
    Another pause. Another awkward look between the officers.
    “I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Detective Sergeant Richards said. “Can we come inside please? It’d be better if we sat down.”
    Jean wanted to protest. Wanted to fight and kick up a fuss.
    Instead, she nodded. Sniffed back her tears, wiped the corners of her eyes.
    She led the two police officers into her living room towards the sofa.
    When they told her the news about Sam Betts, the rain blasting against the window, she didn’t scream. Didn’t cry, like grieving mothers did in clichéd stories.
    She just froze.
    Her life stopped, right there.
    Everything changed.

FIVE
    Jean Betts didn’t say much about her son’s death.
    Brian sat on her cream leather sofa with a cup of tea in hand. It was weak and sugary even though he’d specifically asked for no sugar. Rain pattered against the front window of the cottage, specks of it spitting through the single-glazed frames. The place was nice. But much like anything nice, it was dulled by the events that had occurred. It was ruined by the things that had happened to Sam Betts.
    Because anything nice could never be nice again with that kind of news.
    Brad was beside McDone. Jean’s little Yorkshire Terrier, Clara, sat pressed up against his lap. She stared out of the window, sad little eyes. Every time a car or someone went by, she lifted her head and her thin tail wagged from side to side, then she lowered her head again and sighed when she saw it wasn’t Sam.
    “What time did Sam leave to walk Clara?” Brian asked.
    Jean sat on the edge of the single chair at the other side of the room. She gripped onto her brew, hands shaking, but she hadn’t taken much more than a sip of it either. Her wide brown eyes stared at the fireplace, stared into space. Brian couldn’t imagine ever being told about Davey what she had about Sam. He didn’t want to imagine it.
    But he’d broken enough bad news to parents over his career that he knew Jean Betts was in a severe state of shock.
    “Mrs Betts?” Brad asked.
    She blinked. Looked over at Brad, then at Brian, as if noticing them for the first time. “Yes. I… Sorry. I…”
    “You don’t need to apologise,” Brian said. “Just take your time. I have no idea how difficult this may be for you, but the more you give us, the more we can do our job. What time did Sam leave to walk Clara on Wednesday night?”
    Jean Betts gulped. Took in a quivery breath and nodded. “He… Usual time. Time he always takes her. No, later. Later than usual. About half six. But it was… it was going dark and I knew… I shouldn’t have let him go. I knew I shouldn’t…”
    She shook her head. Didn’t crumble into tears, just shook her head. Stared in a trance again.
    “And what time did Clara show up?”
    Another gulp from Jean. Rapid blinking as she tried to wrap her head around the question. “She… About a couple of hours later. Eight,