Guilty Conscious, Oliver Davies [small books to read TXT] 📗

handmade quilt that I wondered if its owner would miss and an illicit kettle hidden in a cupboard. The next room was impeccably clean, the bed even made with hospital corners, with a few books about war and strategy on the shelves and a model Spitfire hanging from the ceiling.

After that was the boy’s bathroom. We pushed our way in, looking for any traces of blood, dropped or washed away. As Mills walked over to the showers, I checked the sink, looking for any washed-out red, the tiled floor for boot prints or bits of blood stuck in the grout.

Nothing.

We left it, checking the next three bedrooms until we reached the girl’s bathroom, which we entered with slightly less certainty than the previous one, though for no reason. It was the same, and yet, much nicer. A few fake plants sat on some spare surfaces, and the whole thing was infinitely cleaner than the other one. Towels were hung up, dry, or folded neatly. We repeated the search, looking for any traces of blood on the floors, in the sinks or the showers. Nothing.

There were two more rooms, recently evacuated, and a small kitchen that we checked briefly and, content with the absence of a murder weapon, blood stains or a maniacal killer themselves, left the building, where a campus security guard had arrived to lock it tightly.

“Can we get access to some of these security cameras?” I asked him as he slipped the key away.

“I’ll have to run it by the boss, but given the circumstances?” He shrugged. “No problem, Inspector.”

“Thank you. And can I ask, how many people have a key to this building?”

“All the students inside,” he said. “The cleaners take theirs from the office every morning and drop it off when they leave. I have one,” he patted his pocket, “which will be left secured in the office too. And the nurses’ station has one, in case of emergencies.”

“Do all the resident students still have their keys?” Mills asked worriedly.

The security guard shook his head. “They were handed in when they were moved. All accounted for, I can assure you.”

“That’s good to know,” Mills replied. “Thank you.”

“It’s a right shame,” the guard added, looking up at the building. “He was a nice lad.”

“You met him?”

“A few times. He was the sort to stay out late and need letting in again.” He chuckled. “Always polite though, can’t say the same for all the students.”

“Not surprising,” I pointed out. “Teenagers can be like that.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” The guard sighed. “Three girls at home. Fourteen, fifteen and seventeen,” he said with a slight shudder.

“We’d better let you get on then,” I said with a laugh. He shook our hands and went whistling over to his office.

The courtyard had begun to empty now. Police tape still sanctioned off the building but was cleared to let students and staff mill around the rest of the space. A few officers would stay put to monitor the scene and keep away any hopeful, nosy parkers. The ambulance was gone, as were the flashing lights of the police cars, and the place had settled into a strange, uncomfortable quiet. We gave the PC’s a polite nod as we passed them, returning gratefully to Mills’s car. I shut the door on the quiet courtyard, tipping my head back against the chair, my stomach growling loudly again.

“Sharp will expect us to have a plan tomorrow,” Mills pointed out, turning the engine on but not driving away just yet.

I groaned, rubbing my face in my hands. “The parents first,” I said. “We’ll head down there, break the news. See what they can tell us about his son. And then I say we head back in the daylight, take another scour. Blood might have stuck to those old stones outside, and we should meet Edward’s friends.”

“If he had any.”

“He had a television in his room and a six-digit watch, Mills. The lad had friends.” I reached around, pulling my seatbelt over me and snapping it into place. Mills, with a slight grin on his face, pulled away from the street.

“You want to stop by a drive-through?” he asked. “I don’t think Liene would thank me for dropping you back in this state.”

“Go on then. A burger does sound good.”

“You’re paying,” Mills informed me, “since you ate my granola bar.”

“Fair enough. What did you make of the witness?” I asked. “Freya?”

“I think she’s in for a rough old time,” Mills replied, his eyes focused on the road. “Not a nice thing for anyone to see.”

“No,” I agreed. “I say we give her a few days and then go and talk to her again. I want to know as much as we can about Edward Vinson, and I think she might be a good place to start.”

Mills nodded, and with our plan in mind, I focused instead on the city around us and the thought of a burger rather than the bloody scene behind us.

Four

Thatcher

I ended up regretting the burger; it sat heavily, giving me a restless night with an unsettled stomach, as well as the images of the student and his bashed in head invading my thoughts. I woke up early and got up, not wanting to lie there, thinking and planning and wondering. I left Liene in the warm blankets and padded quietly into the bathroom where I stood under the blissfully warm water for longer than necessary, my eyes closed, letting the steam fog up the glass and the mirror against the wall. The smell of the minty soap helped to wake me up, and once out of the shower, my face washed and teeth brushed, I started to feel better.

Liene was awake when I walked out in my dressing gown, flipping the sheets back on the bed. She looked at me, and I smiled, then walked to the wardrobe to find some clean clothes. When I looked around again, she was sat cross-legged on the bed, watching me warily.

“How bad was