_OceanofPDF.com_The_Girl_on_the_Train_-_Paula_Hawkins

anything about Saturday night, anything that might be helpful to us,
would you please call me?” he said, handing me a business card.
As Gaskill nodded sombrely at Cathy, preparing to leave, I slumped
back into the sofa. I could feel my heart rate starting to slow, and then it
raced again as I heard him ask me, “You work in public relations, is that
correct? Huntingdon Whitely?”
“That’s right,” I said. “Huntingdon Whitely.”
He is going to check, and he is going to know I lied. I can’t let him
find out for himself, I have to tell him.
So that’s what I’m going to do this morning. I’m going to go round to
the police station to come clean. I’m going to tell him everything: that I
lost my job months ago, that I was very drunk on Saturday night and I
have no idea what time I came home. I’m going to say what I should
have said last night: that he’s looking in the wrong direction. I’m going
to tell him that I believe Megan Hipwell was having an affair.
EVENING
The police think I’m a rubbernecker. They think I’m a stalker, a nutcase,
mentally unstable. I should never have gone to the police station. I’ve
made my own situation worse and I don’t think I’ve helped Scott, which
was the reason I went there in the first place. He needs my help, because
it’s obvious the police will suspect that he’s done something to her, and I
know it isn’t true, because I know him. I really feel that, crazy as it
sounds. I’ve seen the way he is with her. He couldn’t hurt her.
OK, so helping Scott was not my sole reason for going to the police.
There was the matter of the lie, which needed sorting out. The lie about
my working for Huntingdon Whitely.
It took me ages to get up the courage to go into the station. I was on
the verge of turning back and going home a dozen times, but eventually I
went in. I asked the desk sergeant if I could speak to Detective Inspector
Gaskill, and he showed me to a stuffy waiting room, where I sat for over
an hour until someone came to get me. By that time I was sweating and
trembling like a woman on her way to the scaffold. I was shown into
another room, smaller and stuffier still, windowless and airless. I was left
there alone for a further ten minutes before Gaskill and a woman, also in
plain clothes, turned up. Gaskill greeted me politely; he didn’t seem
surprised to see me. He introduced his companion as Detective Sergeant
Riley. She is younger than I am, tall, slim, dark-haired, pretty in a sharpfeatured,
vulpine sort of way. She did not return my smile.