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

“Sorry, sir, Mills. I found the officer you wanted to speak to, the one who worked Stella’s case.”

“Local?” I asked.

“West Yorkshire now, but I called, and she’s here,” Smith said. Surprise lit me up, and I gave her a nod.

“Send her our way, please, Smith.” She nodded and withdrew from the room, returning a second later with a smartly dressed woman in tow.

“DCI Thatcher, DS Mills, this is DI Fitzsimmons,” she introduced us all, then ducked out of the office and shut the door.

I stood up, putting my mug down, and walked over to shake her hand. Her blonde hair fell in a sleek bob to her chin, large brown eyes glinting out from a pale face.

“Fitzsimmons, I think we briefly crossed paths back as sergeants.”

“I think we did, Thatcher. Good to meet you, I’ve heard about your work, impressive.”

“Thank you, and likewise. Sergeant Mills,” I indicated him. He stood up and shook her head with a nod of the head. I offered her my chair, opting to lean against Mills’s desk the way Sharp had.

DI Fitzsimmons looked around with faint amusement. “Place hasn’t changed much. Is Lena Crowe still here?”

“I think the place would fall down without her,” I said with a laugh. “Thank you for coming, Fitzsimmons.”

“Call me Anya, please. And it’s no problem. I remember her,” she said with a nod to Stella’s picture on the board. “Both of them.”

“Not a great case to work.”

“These things never are,” she said with a fatigued sigh. “He said, she said. I did what I could but ultimately, not enough evidence to make a conviction.”

“What do you remember about it?”

“I remember meeting the girls for the first time,” she said. “Walked into interview and they were sitting there, Stella huddled into Billie like a scared lamb, all pale and dressed in borrowed clothes from the station. Someone assaulted her, that much was evident. Pinning Edward Vinson down was the issue.”

“But the girls were adamant,” Mills said, and she nodded.

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

She groaned. “Typical sort of bloke you find in these cases. Beloved, a bit of a golden boy. There was something about him I didn’t like, didn’t trust,” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed. “I’d have avoided him at school, let me put it that way. Handsome face, lots of money, lots of trouble.”

“Someone else has called him manipulative,” I told her. “Would that be accurate?”

“Very much so. It was hard to get anything from him, though, what with his friends vouching for him and daddy’s lawyers showing up when they did.”

“We’re mostly interested in Billie, as of right now. How she seemed around Edward, around the whole situation.”

Anya nodded and tilted her head to one side. “She was calm. I remember because I thought it was strange at first. Then I realised how their relationship worked, that Billie was more of a mother figure, and it made sense. She made herself calm down, made herself stop, think, and be rational for Stella’s sake. But she was furious, as you would be. Could see it in her eyes. Is she a suspect?”

“As of right now,” I confirmed. Anya’s mouth screwed slightly.

“Do you remember Edward’s friends?” Mills asked her. “How they seemed?”

“Vaguely. One of them was a right prat.” Charlie, I thought to myself. “One of the girls I’m convinced was half in love with him, and the others seemed a bit unsure. There was this one girl, the only one who asked about Billie and Stella. The others didn’t care about them, how they were.”

“Fiona?” I asked, and she nodded, seeming to recognise the name.

“I brought you this,” she dug out a folder and handed it over, “in case you wanted some more through details. I’m afraid I don’t remember much else. I’ve worked too many of those now, they get mixed up sometimes.”

“Not a great area to have to work in.”

“Nor is homicide,” she replied, standing from the chair. “I hate to dash, but—”

“You’re got work, no problem.” We both stood up, ready to walk her out, when my phone started ringing. I pulled it out to turn it off, surprised to find Sally’s mother calling me. I gave Mills a look and said goodbye to Fitzsimmons, shutting the office door as he walked her out.

“Elinor?” I asked.

“Hiya, Max. Sorry to bother you, love, you must be working.”

“You’re alright,” I assured her, worried by the tremor in her voice. “Everything alright? Is someone hurt?” I thought about Sally, her brother, and her father.

“It’s Elsie, pet,” she told me gently. “I’m calling you from the hospital.”

My stomach dropped like a stone, and I braced a hand on the desk for support.

“What happened?” I demanded, praying that she hadn’t fallen or worse.

“She’s unwell. The doctors are figuring out what happened. I came over to drop something off, and she’d fainted.”

“Which hospital?” I asked.

“Local one, love.”

“I’ll be there in a bit. You okay?” I asked as I yanked my coat from the hook and shrugged it on one-handed.

“We’re okay. A bit shook, but okay. See you soon.”

“See you soon,” I replied, hanging up and shouldering my way through the door, striding over to Sharp’s office, knocking quickly on the doorframe and walking in.

Her head shot up. “Problem?”

“I told you about Elsie,” I said, waiting for her to nod. “I’ve just had a call. She’s in the hospital.”

Sharp’s face went stern, and she nodded. “Go on. There’s not much else you can do here today, anyway.”

“Thanks, Mara,” I told her quietly. She gave me a sympathetic smile as I turned away, finding Mills standing a few feet away, his expression drawn.

“I’ll drive you to your house,” he told me. “Save you walking.”

“Cheers, Mills,” I said, waiting impatiently as he jogged to the office for his keys.

We strode out quickly to his car, driving in nervous silence, my knees bouncing. As soon as he hit my street, I had my seatbelt unbuckled and was climbing out the door.

“Let me know if I can help,”