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

point, and when you found her, there was something wrong, and you took her home. The next day, Edward Vinson was brought in, following the report she made.”

“We made,” Billie corrected him. “We reported him.” She looked up, seemingly relieved that she didn’t have to tell us that story herself. “No one believed her… us. Not even dad. And Edward was fine. Nothing happened to him. Everybody loved him still, and the case got dropped, and we couldn’t do anything. He broke my sister,” she said fiercely, tears welling but not falling. “And I was the only person who cared.”

“You dropped out of university?” Mills checked.

She nodded, rubbing at the tears with her sleeve. “She wasn’t okay, and I couldn’t leave her. I started working here properly. Agnes even let us rent the place upstairs.” Her eyes rose to the ceiling. “I put her into therapy. Paid for it myself privately. I love the NHS, but by God, you have to wait for an appointment. She has been going every week, twice a week, around October and November. They put her on anti-depressants and anxiety medication. I thought she was doing okay,” she said, tears falling freely now.

“She was acting more like Stella again, you know? She was laughing and smiling, singing in the kitchen like she used to. And then…” she choked off, and I got up, heading over to the counter to quietly ask for a water from Agnes. She handed it over quickly, and I took it to Billie, who gulped it down, clutching a tissue in her other hand that Mills must have supplied. We sat quietly for a moment, letting her take her time. When her breathing settled, she looked up at us with watery eyes.

“She deserved better,” she croaked quietly.

“So do you,” I answered. She looked up, gently surprised.

“Go on then,” she gave me a wave. “Ask me the questions you need to ask. I’ll be alright.”

“You sure?” I checked. She nodded, lifting her chin, and I took a deep breath myself. “We heard that after the incident, you made yourself a bit of trouble for Edward.”

Billie gave a dry laugh. “Someone had to. Nothing serious, of course. Just, I wanted to remind him, you know? Wanted him to remember what he did, and if I didn’t remind him, it would be like it never happened at all.”

“What did you do?” Mills asked.

“Sent a few letters,” she shrugged. “Called him some colourful names.”

“Ever anything violent?”

“Might have thrown a stone one time, but not at him,” she muttered, picking at the tissue. “I didn’t kill him,” she said abruptly, looking up at us. “As Stella got better, I started to lay off him. She needed me more, she was more important. And with her gone,” she shrugged again, “it just seemed pointless.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked.

Billie chewed her lip. “A few months ago? Summer, I think. Saw him in the street with someone. A girl.” I looked to Mills, who nodded. It lined up with what Freya had told him.

“When was the last time you sent him a reminder,” I settled on calling it.

She gave me a weak smile. “The spring. Around his birthday in April. Nothing since.” I wondered if we gave Edward’s room another thorough look, once forensics were done, or his room at home if we might find any of them.

“Where were you last night, Billie? Between six and seven?”

“Here. I helped Agnes close up at half five, then went home,” she pointed to the ceiling. “We have—I have a cat.”

“Is there anyone who can vouch for you?” Mills asked.

“I ordered a takeaway,” she said, “but that wasn’t until half seven.” That placed her in our window still. Getting from here to the university campus took no more than fifteen minutes, less if the traffic was light. Post rush hour, it probably would be.

“What about your father?” I asked. Billie scoffed.

“Haven’t seen him since the funeral. Before that, it had been a year. He’s useless,” she told me. “Always had been after mum left. Me and Stella were our own family.”

“Do you have a car?” I asked.

Billie shook her head. “No point in the city, is there? I have a bike, and we take the bus to the supermarket.” She paused, looking sick. “I take the bus to the supermarket,” she corrected herself in a thick voice.

We could take a look at the local bus routes, see if any times and numbers would work out there, but she could have taken her bike.

“Are there any security cameras here?” I asked, wondering if we could spot, or not spot, her on any of them.

“One outside the back door,” she pointed, “and the front. But my flat is accessed by the alley, and we don’t have any back there. Should get one of those new doorbells,” she muttered. “You know the ones with the cameras?”

“Handy to have,” Mills replied.

“You said that you thought Stella was recovering,” I recalled gently. “Did she ever mentioned Edward? Talk about any of it?”

“Not to me,” she said. “House rules. We never spoke about it, never even mentioned anyone else who was there, never spoke about uni.”

“You were friends with the others?” Mills asked.

“Not really. Charlie, have you met him?” She asked. I nodded. “He’s a knob,” she informed me. “Freya was alright, but I wasn’t surprised when she took Edward’s side. Fiona was the only one I missed.”

“Why weren’t you surprised?” I asked, and she rolled her eyes.

“She’d walk over hot coals for him if he asked. Completely under his thumb, and he knows it too.” Manipulative, Professor Greenberg called him.

“What did you make of him?” I asked her.

“He was alright at first. Charming, you know, and he knows it. Knows how to win people over. But he always uses them, you know. Keeps them around for his own purpose.” I noticed that she did the same thing with Edward and she did with Stella. Used the present, like he wasn’t actually gone.

“Are