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

“Freya made the call just after seven,” I muttered, “so she likely got there just before.” I added a little line for her.

“Text messages,” Mills called through a mouthful of biscuit. He was leaning over the phone and had opened up a group message with Edward, Freya and the other four from earlier.

They were arranging something for the weekend, but it seemed the others hadn’t known what to do until Edward stepped in.

“He’s quiet on the chat until just after six,” Mills said. “I’m guessing that’s when he got out from the meeting.” He closed the chat and went to the next one, one of just Edward and Freya. They were talking about the book she wanted to borrow, and from the sound of it, he was still in his meeting with his professor when he replied.

“If he left at six,” I muttered, tapping the whiteboard pen on my chin, “that gives us a full hour to work in. In that time, he gets back to his room, has a quick shower, then what?”

“He and Freya didn’t set a time,” Mills noted, pointing at the text in question. “Just says ‘usual time,’ whenever that is?”

“We can ask Freya about that when she’s in the right frame of mind,” I muttered, walking back to the desk and dunking my biscuit in my tea. “But she said she was running late,” I reminded him.

“If seven is late,” Mills said. “Maybe just before then? Quarter to or ten to? That puts them in the right sort of time to think about dinner, so that might be it.”

I was happy with it as a theory. “Anything else in there?” I asked, nodding to the phone. “Any mention of Billie Helman?”

“She’s not in his contacts,” Mills quickly checked. “Might take a bit more time to scour through all the messages, though, and find out.”

I hummed, walking over to my computer and sinking down, tapping it to life.

“Billie Helman,” I spoke aloud as I typed. I spun around my chair as I waited, reaching over to my mother’s photograph and dusting the glass with my sleeve. Mills watched me.

“Has there been anything else from Jeannie? Since the flowers?” he hesitantly asked.

Ah yes. The flowers she had sent for the anniversary of my mother’s death. “Nothing,” I said. Nor was I hoping there to be, not with how well everything with Liene was going.

Mills nodded slowly, chewing on a biscuit. My page loaded, and I sat forward, frowning as I looked at what was on the page.

“Sir?”

“Nothing for Billie Helman, but a lot for Stella Helman. And Edward Vinson,” I muttered. “Christ.”

“What?” Mills dropped quickly from the desk and walked around to look over my shoulder.

“Edward Vinson was involved in sexual assault allegations last year. Nothing happened to him, clearly,” I pointed out, “but the girl involved was Stella Helman.”

“Stella Helman?” Mills repeated the name thoughtfully. “Must be Billie’s relative. A sister perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” I muttered. “Let’s try to find Stella then.” I stood up from my chair and walked to the door. Smith drifted over, handing Mills a stack of paper that looked like statements from last night.

“You look busy,” she observed.

“We have a lead,” I told her. “Edward Vinson was accused of sexually assaulting a girl a year ago. Stella Helman, we think we’ve heard of her sister.”

“Stella Helman?” she repeated, her face darkening. “You don’t know that name? You haven’t heard it?” Smith looked worried, so much so that we both stopped and fully looked at her. “Not your division, I suppose.”

“Smith,” I said sharply. “What don’t we know?”

Smith sighed and pulled her phone out of her pocket, saying as she scrolled, “Stella Helman committed suicide just under two weeks ago, sir.”

I froze, and she pulled up a news article, showing it to me.

Stella Helman, the news reports showed, found dead in the garden of her home after overdosing on prescription drugs. She was sixteen years old, the younger sister of Belinda “Billie” Helman.

“Christ,” I muttered, handing the phone back. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“It’s not big news, sir. This is the only place that reported it,” Smith told me, putting her phone away. “I’m guessing the family wanted to keep it quiet.”

I groaned loudly, rubbing at my face with my hands. A sexual assault victim takes her own life, and two weeks later, the man who attacked her is murdered.

“I’d say Billie has a very good reason to have hated Edward Vinson’s guts,” Mills said darkly.

“She must have thought he was guilty,” I added quietly, “even when the case was thrown out.”

“Happens all the time,” Smith said, a look of disgust on her face. “There’s a motive there, though. I can find the officer who handled the case if you want.”

“You’re a star, Smith,” I told her. “I’m telling Sharp to promote you.”

She blushed slightly and nodded, taking off down the hall.

“Edward’s friends said that her harassment of him stopped recently,” Mills recalled, and we stepped to the side of the corridor, leaning against the wall. “Two weeks, maybe? She went quiet, grieving, mourning.”

“And came back with a bite,” I finished for him. It was a motive, Smith was right, a bloody good one at that, too. I knew that if anyone ever assaulted Sally, the closest thing to a sister I’d ever have, I’d wring their sorry necks, especially if said sister committed suicide. I didn’t doubt that there was a connection there.

“They didn’t mention it,” Mills remarked. “Not his friends, not his parents.”

“No. We could try Freya,” I suggested. “Go to her with a fresh perspective. I don’t want to try to dredge this out of the others by calling them out.”

Mills nodded. “What about his parents?”

“Oh, we’ll be paying them another visit, that’s for sure,” I said angrily, cracking my knuckles. My head was a bit of a fog now, and I walked back into our office, pulled the whiteboard closer and extended the timeline.

“So,” I snapped, “just over a year ago, Edward Vinson is accused of sexually