Guilty Conscious by Oliver Davies (best ereader for students .txt) 📗

her, I suppose. Please go easy with her.” She turned then and walked away, heels clicking.

“Sir?” Mills asked. “I’ve got Altman’s statement.”

“I’ve got a café we can try,” I replied, “where Billie Helman works.”

Nine

Thatcher

As Mills drove us across the city, I took a look at Altman’s statement. According to him, Edward Vinson had arrived for their meeting at just after five and had stayed there until just gone six. He’d been, other than receiving some slight criticism on his essay, in a fine, usual mood. Altman praised the boy, using many of the same compliments his parents did. He was smart, bright, though Altman did suggest he could have taken his work more seriously.

“Very opposing opinion from Professor Greenberg,” I muttered, closing Mills’s notebook.

“Oh?” He replied.

“Definitely not a fan of his,” I told him. “She called him manipulative and mean, seemed to believe Stella and Billie’s side of things.”

“She appears to be the only one.”

I hummed in agreement. “She teaches criminal psychology,” I informed him.

He gave a short laugh. “Maybe we should be heeding her more closely than the others then.”

“Maybe, but she stayed in touch with Billie, sees her on Friday afternoons at the café. So, she could be a bit biased herself, just the other way around.”

“If she was of the opinion that it was the sort of thing Edward would do,” Mills answered, “it’s worth bearing in mind, right?”

“Right. His father did say he wouldn’t have ever needed to assault a girl, I’m guessing, to get what he wanted. Maybe he wasn’t used to hearing no.”

“Maybe something went on with him, and Billie and Stella just got caught in the crossfire,” Mills added.

“Only one who can tell us for sure is Billie. All we can get from the rest of them are ideas and opinions shaped by their very favourable loyalty to Edward. Billie should help tip the scales,” I said.

“Might be worth tracking down her father as well then,” Mills added, pulling to a park on the side of a road, opposite the café, blue and painted with birds. “See if he had a particular feeling either way.”

“Greenberg said he’s not in the picture anymore. The girls moved out, so it doesn’t sound like he was exactly on their side,” I reminded him, climbing from the car. The lunch rush slowly faded, and the café was quiet. That was useful. Nothing more annoying than having to track down a suspect in the middle of a busy place.

We walked to the café, the door opening with a ding of the bell above us. Only a few tables were occupied inside, the customers bent over books or laptops. The general atmosphere of the place was relaxed, with soft music playing from the speakers. A shelf of pastries caught my eye as we walked over to the counter where two people chatted happily.

The older of them, a woman with streaks of grey in her dark hair, turned to us and smiled.

“Good afternoon, gents. What can I get you today?” We dug out our warrant cards and placed them on the counter where the other customers wouldn’t see them.

“We’re looking for a Belinda Helman,” I told her. “Billie.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and she took up a defensive stance. “Is she in trouble?”

“No. We just have a few questions for her about an investigation we’re working on. We think she can clarify a couple of things for us.”

The woman relaxed a bit but didn’t take her eyes off us as she nodded to the man beside her. “She’s in the backroom. Send her through.”

He nodded and strode off, and the woman held out her hand. “I’m Agnes Lamb, and I own the café.”

“it’s lovely,” I told her.

“Very relaxing,” Mills agreed. “We’ll have to come back when we’re not working. The Inspector here has a taste for Danishes,” he said. Agnes smiled.

“Has Billie worked here long?” I asked.

“She was part-time back when she was a student,” Agnes replied. “I took her on full time when she dropped out. All in all, three years? She’s a fab girl. I’m training her up to take over for me one of these days.”

The back door opened, and the man returned, a girl trailing after him. She was the same age as Edward and the rest, but with something more grown-up in her eyes and mannerisms. Ashy hair was tied back in a long plait, and her green eyes were lined with makeup, contrasting her complexion. She folded her arms as she walked over.

“I’m Billie,” she said in a low voice.

“Hello, Billie. I’m Detective Inspector Thatcher, this is Detective Sergeant Mills. We wondered if we could have a quick word with you?”

“What’s it about?” She asked, her clear stare unwavering.

“Edward Vinson,” I replied calmly. Her expression shifted, and she looked down at her doodled red Converse before looking back up at Agnes.

“Mind if I take a few minutes?”

“Go ahead,” Agnes assured her. “We’re quiet anyway, love.”

Billie nodded and led us over to a quiet table near the back of the room by a fish tank with fake fish floating around. She sat and kept her arms folded, looking at us both with a direct, unbothered stare.

“What about him?” She asked, already growing annoyed.

“He was found murdered last night,” I told him, “in his university room.”

Billie’s hands dropped; her eyes widened. “What? He’s dead?”

“Yes,” I confirmed.

Billie let out a heavy breath and sank down in her chair, her eyes darting around, struggling for words. “Crikey,” she eventually breathed, looking back up at us, reading something on our faces. “You’re here because of Stella?” Her voice cracked on her sister’s name, and I felt pained to have to bring this all up again.

“We are,” I said in a gentle voice.

She sighed and picked at the chipped black nail varnish on her fingernails. “How much do you know?” she asked tentatively, not meeting our eyes.

“We know that you took her to a party with your friends on Halloween,” Mills said. “We know you lost her at one