The Woman in Carriage 3

THE WOMAN IN CARRIAGE 3 A TOTALLY ADDICTIVE AND GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER WITH A JAW-DROPPING TWIST ALISON JAMES BOOKS BY ALISON JAMES The Woman in Carriage 3 The New Couple The Guilty Wife Her Sister’s Child The Man She Married The School Friend Detective Rachel Prince series 1. Lola is Missing 2. Now She’s Gone 3. Perfect Girls AVAILABLE IN AUDIO The New Couple (Available in the UK and the US) The Guilty Wife (Available in the UK and the US) Her Sister’s Child (Available in the UK and the US) The Man She Married (Available in the UK and the US) The School Friend (Available in the UK and the US) The Detective Rachel Prince series 1. Lola is Missing (Available in the UK and US) 2. Now She’s Gone (Available in the UK and US) CONTENTS Prologue Part One Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Part Two Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Part Three Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Part Four Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Epilogue The Man She Married Prologue One Hear More from Alison Books by Alison James A Letter From Alison The New Couple The Guilty Wife Her Sister’s Child The School Friend Lola is Missing Now She’s Gone Perfect Girls To all the survivors out there, and to those who helped them survive. PROLOGUE Hattie leaps back instinctively, staring in horror at the motionless body slumped near her feet. Her breath shortens and her vision begins to swim. Because this is not a stranger. She knows this person. Stumbling backwards, she quickly grapples for the emergency button to summon the guard. What happens next is a blur. There is commotion in the corridor; feet running, shouting. Someone searching for a pulse, for a breath. The train grinds to a halt and sits immobile on its tracks, next to a large playing field. Her fellow passengers stand up to peer through the windows; their expressions confused or irritated. Hattie is ushered back to a seat, some distance from where she was originally sitting. The guard takes down her details, saying something about talking to the police, but she’s barely able to take in what he’s saying. She stares past him, her limbs shaking uncontrollably, as paramedics appear on the train, then, minutes later, leave again, taking their equipment with them. After what feels like an eternity, the two carriage doors at the rear of the train are opened, and Hattie and her fellow passengers are evacuated through them. There’s a general murmuring, and some throw curious glances back at the train. About a hundred of them are shepherded down a slight embankment, along a track and through a gate onto the main road, where marked patrol cars and an ambulance are stationed. A police officer tells them they have to stay where they are, ignoring the mutters PART ONE ONE HATTIE The lights in the tube carriage flickered on and off and, as it snaked round a bend, an empty McDonald’s cup rolled across the floor and into the space between Hattie Sewell’s feet, splashing the dregs of a strawberry milkshake onto her shoes. The sweet, rancid smell made her feel queasy, as did the jerking movement of the train. She’d had precisely ninety minutes of sleep in the past thirty-six hours, and despite six paracetamol tablets and several strong black coffees, she was still riding the wave of a hangover. Plus, she was still dressed in the clothes she had put on yesterday morning, when she’d set off for work, and they were now creased and grimy. Mostly because she had slept in them. The train stopped abruptly between Green Park and Westminster stations, and Hattie glanced anxiously at the time on her phone – 18.44. She really wanted to be on the 18.53 train from Waterloo. It was the fast service, and if she missed it there wouldn’t be another train to Summerlands for forty minutes. Unless she caught the stopping train that took twice as long. And in her current state, she couldn’t face that. After a couple of minutes, the tube lurched forward again, and five minutes later it pulled into the Jubilee line’s Waterloo stop. Pushing her way through the crowds, she charged up both escalators, taking two steps at a time and tutting impatiently at anyone standing her path. The 18.53 always left from