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

him diplomatically, looking to his shoulder where Angela’s hand still rested. She followed my gaze and pulled away, tidying up the collection of things.

“Would anyone else have been able to tell all that?” Mills asked Professor Altman. “Would have looked at these the way you have and seen what Edward was fixated on?”

“You think that someone learnt the truth,” Professor Greenberg interrupted, her eyes brightening. “That they learnt the truth about Edward and Stella and acted?”

“Perhaps,” I deliberated, wanting to hear what she thought.

“Explains the brutality of it,” she said, “and the rush. Billie has always thought he was guilty from the off. But someone who believed in him, trusted him…”

“That’s the sort of person who’d show such a violent, betrayed reaction,” I finished for her.

Professor Greenberg nodded along to my words and breathed in deeply. “You boys have your work cut out for you, don’t you?”

I gave her a grim smile. We did, but we also knew the people who had believed in Edward’s innocence, whose betrayal might have stung a whole lot more than Billie’s, with her weeks and months of coming to terms with everything, ever did.

“Can you think of someone?” I asked the question again. “Someone he knew who might have put this together?”

“All of his friends are brilliant students,” Professor Altman said. “Any of them might put a few of these pieces together, but none of them are students of mine. Unless they do readings like these in their own time, I couldn’t tell you who to look to.”

“Nor me,” Angela Greenberg added. “I only taught Edward and Billie and had neither of them this year.”

That was annoying that they had no one in particular to offer, but it was a long shot, anyway. Someone had pieced it together, though, pieced together was Edward had tried to conceal and get over. He felt guilty for what he did to Stella, and someone realised exactly what that meant.

I picked up the books and placed them back in the bag, nodding to both professors. “Thanks for your help.”

“Sorry we couldn’t be more useful before,” Professor Altman said, standing up and shaking both of our hands again.

“Our minds aren’t always our friends in times like these,” I answered, shaking Professor Greenberg’s hand next.

“Have you seen Billie?” she asked.

“We have. Saw her yesterday.”

She nodded, a look of worry flashing across her face, and I took my cue to leave, jerking my chin to Mills, who followed me from the stuffy, hot room.

When we were far enough way, going back down the monumental stairs, he said, “Fancy seeing them together in one room. Thought they weren’t friends.”

“I don’t think friends is the right word there, Mills,” I replied. He laughed, and I went on. “I know what you mean, though. It worried me a bit that a man as smart as Professor Altman couldn’t see what Edward was saying right in front of him. How many other people believed him wholeheartedly?”

“I don’t understand,” Mills said thoughtfully. “If he really was guilty, felt as bad as he appeared to, why not speak up? Say something, admit the fault.”

“Maybe he wanted to avoid the punishment. Maybe…” I paused for a moment on the stairs. “Maybe he did speak up. Admit the fault. We don’t know what he said to Stella that day in the park. It could be that he wanted to get forgiveness from the only person who could grant it to him.”

“I wonder if she gave it,” Mills murmured as we started walking again, all the way down and out into the cool air. The rain had come, a sad sort of drizzle that would hopefully stay that way until we got into the car.

We climbed in, and I shook the droplets of rain from my head, starting the engine up and flipping the windscreen wipers on. Mills turned the heater towards himself, dropping the bag down by his feet.

“I’m wondering if it’s worth paying Freya another visit,” he said quietly. “Seeing what she might know about any of this?”

“If anything,” I replied. “But it’s worth a shot, and she might be able to tell us about what sort of relationship he had with Billie since I get the feeling she won’t do that herself.”

“Can you blame her?” Mills asked, scruffing his hair to dry out the damp strands. “She’d want nothing to do with him at all, not even the memories of him.”

I grunted in agreement, thinking about the notes between the two of them. Teasing, almost flirtatious sometimes, and wondered if that sort of conversation happened outside of the lecture hall as well, where we wouldn’t have any useful copies on hand to ask her about.

My image of Edward wasn’t clear. On the one hand, there was the manipulative, wealthy young man who had dodged a sexual assault allegation without a scratch and had more or less thrived ever since. And then there was the guilty, scared student searching for forgiveness from the people he had hurt, the friend he had betrayed. It made it difficult to form much of an opinion on him, though I supposed I didn’t really need one. I would probably solve this case better without one, in fact. But I didn’t like the uncertainty, and if Freya was a way to make things a bit less murky, then it was better than nothing.

Twenty

Thatcher

I was about to drive us back to the station so that we could get in touch with Freya, but when I put the car into gear, Mills tapped my arm and pointed to a figure crossing the car park towards us. She cradled a stack of books against her chest, her raincoat hood flipped up as she hurried along, but she looked up long enough for us to see her face. I climbed from the car, waving Freya down and walked round the boot, hoping that I had left an umbrella inside and was successful. I opened it up as Freya reached us, the umbrella just big enough