A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  It was two hours later, and Rona, with Gus beside her, was sitting in the foyer of the local police station, waiting for Magda to finish giving her statement. Kevin, even more dazed after the bump on his head, had been taken under police escort to have it checked at A&E. With luck, she thought, his temporarily diminished responsibility at the time of the murder would make for a more lenient sentence. His children would need him.

  She leant her head back against the wall, feeling thoroughly drained. It had been a traumatic day – the long, anxious drive, the confrontation with Kevin, and Magda held at knifepoint. All she wanted now was a hot bath followed by bed, but they had yet to find somewhere to spend the night.

  She was startled out of her reverie by her mobile, its low battery warning flashing. Max! She glanced round, but no one was paying her any attention.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, there, sweetheart! What have you been up to today?’

  She fought down hysterical laughter. What should she tell him? That she and Magda had driven a hundred and fifty miles to confront a murderer, and been held at knifepoint in a locked room? That . . .?

  She drew a steadying breath. ‘Sorry, darling,’ she said, ‘my battery’s about to give out. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’