

He chuckled, leaning back in the chair. “No. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this.” His gaze turned
serious. “I don’t think you killed her, but I do think you know more than you’re telling us, which is
unfortunate. Her killer is still out there, and you’re sitting here defending him. It appalls me that you would
defend the person who stalked, kidnapped, and attempted to murder you.”
Abigale inhaled sharply. Flashes from that night bombarded her thoughts, but she pushed them away with a
hard blink. “I’m—I’m not defending him.”
“Yes, you are. By not giving us a name, you’re withholding information—which is a criminal offense by the
way—and you’re protecting him by doing so.”
“I’m not meaning to do anything, Detective,” she muttered. “I have no desire to protect him.”
Detective Collins leaned back in his chair. “Then why aren’t you telling me what I want to know? Wouldn’t it
be so much easier for you if you just told me?”
“Yes, it would be easier,” replied Abigale. “But I’m not going to tell you. I’m done talking. I want my
lawyer.”
Collins shook his head. “You aren’t a suspect, Ms. Fern. Therefore, you don’t require a lawyer.”
Abigale laughed coldly. “Really? That FBI agent seemed to think I was a suspect. He was about to arrest me
an hour ago. I’m not that stupid, Detective.”
He was silent for a moment. Abigale stared into his eyes, her arms crossed over her chest. “I didn’t kill Julia
Holland,” she told him firmly, her voice steely calm. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
Detective Collins said, “You seem very certain about that.”
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