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

they interrupted me.” I rather got the impression that Fiona needed someone to speak up for her from time to time.

“What about Stella?” I asked.

“I’d met her a few times, once or twice before. She was a bit quiet, maybe nicer than Billie,” she said with a slight smile. “They were very close, and when Stella disappeared from the party, Billie looked so worried. She looked like she was sick.”

“Did you go with her to look for her?” I asked.

Fiona nodded. “I was with her when we found her in the room. Billie didn’t let anyone else in, though, just went in, bent down by her for a while, then scooped her up and led her straight from the house. Didn’t say a word to anyone.”

“What happened after she left?” I asked. “We know what happened the next day, but what about the party?”

Fiona tilted her head to one side, thoughtful. “It was tense for a bit, but not for long. I stayed for a few more hours, and then I went home. Nobody noticed when I did,” she added, rubbing her arms.

I gave her a sympathetic smile. “And the next day?”

“I heard about it from Vanessa,” she said. “She came round, still in all her party stuff and told me what happened. I let her use my shower and gave her some clothes, and we went to meet the others. They were angry, Freya was crying. None of them believed it.”

“What about you?” I asked her gently. “What did you believe?”

Fiona hesitated, looking down at her hands. “I wasn’t sure,” she admitted in a whisper. “I didn’t think Edward would do something like, but…”

“But?” I prompted.

“Billie never lies,” she said firmly. “She’s never wrong. And she wouldn’t have said he did if she didn’t really, truly, think she was right.”

I guessed that was enough to make Fiona doubt. “Did any of the others have any doubts?”

She shook her head.

“Did you ever see Billie or Stella again after that?” Thatcher asked, breaking his silence in a gentle voice.

“I saw Billie once when she came to say goodbye to Professor Greenberg. She didn’t look that happy to see me. But that was it, and I didn’t see Stella again.”

“Did anyone ever talk about the party again?”

She shook her head vehemently. “Edward was very clear that nobody brought it up. Ever.”

I looked at Thatcher and could see a similar wonder on his face. Did Edward want it kept silent out of anger… or guilt?

“Is there anything else you think we should know?” he asked, fixing his stare back on Fiona. She thought quietly for a moment.

“I don’t think so. But I’ll call if I do.”

“Thank you, Fiona.” Thatcher rose from the table, and we walked her out towards the stairs.

“You got here fast,” I told her conversationally.

She offered me a wry smile. “I was only down the road,” she said, “the library.” She gave us both a small wave before trotting downstairs. We watched her go, a thoughtful look on Thatcher’s face.

“Just because the others didn’t say as much,” he said, “doesn’t mean they didn’t doubt Edward either.”

We shared a look, and he clapped me on the arm, and we walked back to the office, throwing a few ideas and Fiona’s details onto the board, killing time until four o'clock rolled around.

Thatcher drove us out the house, meeting Mrs Green outside, a cardigan wrapped around herself. He introduced me, and she smiled.

“The girls are inside,” she said, leading us into the modest house. It was far nicer than the one Stella would have grown up in. We ended up in the kitchen where the three girls sat around in their school uniforms, faces pale. Mrs Green, another mother, and a father stood on the other side of the kitchen, and once the formalities were out of the way, we sat down at the kitchen table, where once again, Thatcher put away his gruff expression and let me question the girls.

They told us much of what Fiona had told us, only they hadn’t stopped seeing the sisters after that.

“We went and saw Stella a few weeks after,” Judy told us, toying with the lid of her drink bottle. “She didn’t have any company for a while, but one day, Billie called and said she wanted to see us. Stella was in bed, and she looked…” She trailed off with a shiver.

“Like a ghost,” the next girl, Priya, answered for her. “All pale and thin, she just made us talk about school. Nothing else.”

“No boys,” the third of Stella’s friends, Lana, added. “Billie made that very clear.”

“How often did you see her?”

“Every other weekend,” Lana said firmly. “It was better when they moved into the flat. She got out of bed then, and we’d watch films together.”

The girls’ faces fell, and they all looked down at the table/ Priya sniffed back some tears. I noticed that all their nails were painted black, and I wondered if the school had let the rule drop for them on this occasion to mourn their friend.

“Did Stella ever talk about what happened?” I asked.

Judy shook her head. “Nope.”

“Did any of you ever meet any of Billie’s friends from the party?” Thatcher asked.

Priya looked up. “We saw him, Edward Vinson,” she sneered over his name.

“You did?” Thatcher frowned. “When?”

“A few weeks ago, just before Stella—” Lana broke off. “We went for a walk with her in the park, and he was there.”

Thatcher and I both leant forward, losing our nice, gentle composures.

“Did he see her?”

“He came over and spoke to her. She made us wait where we were,” Priya told us, “but we watched the whole time. He didn’t step close to her, just talked.”

“What happened?” Thatcher demanded.

“Nothing,” Lana said. “He said a few things. Stella had her arms wrapped around herself, then she backed away and came back to us. Said she wanted to go home, so we took her to Billie.”

“Did she tell Billie what happened?” Thatcher asked, his voice deepening further.

“I don’t know,” Priya said. “We