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

for the three of us to stand under. Freya pushed her hood back, her face tired looking, with dark shadows under her eyes, her skin a little pale, but she managed to give us both a smile.

“Hello, Freya. You’re back?” Mills asked, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“I’m back,” she said with a nod. “Couldn’t just sit at home and stare at the walls any longer. Plus, I have assignments to get finished, and I just sort of wanted to feel more normal, you know?”

“Makes sense to us,” I replied.

“Why are you here?” She asked, looking us both over a touch cautiously.

“We had another look through some of Edward’s things. He was a big book lover,” I commented. Freya nodded, dropping her gaze down to the wet floor.

“And art,” Mills added. “We found his photography kit the other day.”

Freya’s face looked back up at ours, something dawning on her, eye wide, and she gasped slightly. “I can’t believe I forgot! I’m such an idiot!”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” I told her, “but go on.”

“Edward had a studio,” she said, wiping the rain from her face. “A little place away from here and his mum and dad’s.”

“A studio?” I repeated, adjusting my weight and frowning. “Where is it?”

“In the city,” she muttered, awkwardly tearing off a scrap piece of paper before fishing a pen from her pocket. I made sure the umbrella was fully covering her as she scribbled down an address and passed it to Mills. He glanced over it and looked up at me. Somewhere new to visit, that couldn’t hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” Freya was saying as she shoved her pen back into her bag. “I should have remembered earlier.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” I assured her. “Coming to grips with it all is a lot to deal with. But we have it now,” I smiled, “so let’s hope it can help.”

Freya gave me a grim smile and nodded. “I think he would have secretly liked all this,” she said mournfully. “Being a mystery, having everyone talking about him.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t remain mysterious for much longer,” Mills remarked. Freya mirrored his smile, then glanced down at her watch and grimaced.

“I should get going. Wouldn’t be good to be late to my first lecture back.”

“Of course. Thank you for the help, Freya,” I said. She nodded and ran off into the rain, waving over her shoulder as she made for the safety of a nearby building.

I turned around, quickly shoving the umbrella back into the boot, and slid into the warm, dry car. Mills was sitting forward, looking at the address.

“We don’t have a key,” he pointed out. I groaned and pulled out my phone, pulling up Smith’s number, raking my damp hair back from my face as it rang.

“Smith. Hello, sir.”

“Hello. Are you busy?” I asked, turning the engine on.

“Not terribly. Why?”

“Do me a favour. Go look through Edward Vinson’s things, see if we have a key somewhere in all of it.”

“Shall I call you back?” She asked, already moving.

“Stay on the line,” I ordered. I could hear the station around her, muffled and faint as she walked to our evidence room. Mills turned the radio down for me as Smith shuffled through boxes, something landing heavily on a table. She whistled lightly as she sifted through, then her voice was back in my ear.

“I’ve got a set of keys, sir.”

“Brilliant,” I cheered, putting the car into gear, “mills is sending you an address. Meet us there now.”

“Right, sir.” I hung up and passed Mills my phone, letting him type in the address, reading it aloud, so I knew where we were going. He propped my phone in the cup holder and looked around as we left the campus.

“She found a key?”

“Set of keys,” I told him. “Fingers crossed one of them will let us into his little studio.”

“Do you think his parents know about the space?” Mills asked. “They made no mention of it.”

“I’m going to make an educated guess and say that that particular part of Edward’s life was probably kept away from his parents entirely. They don’t seem the sort to encourage photography or art as a valid lifestyle choice.”

Mills hummed softly. “If he used it as his private place, I’m assuming we’ll find more there than we have in his room at university.”

“I assume so, Mills. We just need something,” I grumbled, hitting the steering wheel. “Just one little thread in the right direction.”

My phone dinged, the screen flashing, and Mills bent down to read it.

“Smith is on her way,” he told me. “And Sharp’s in the loop.”

I pinched my eyes shut for a second, focusing on the road again. Sharp was a great asset to any case, but she’d weigh in and shut me down when she felt the need to, and whilst we had a rapport, at the end of the day, I did what she said. And if she told me to arrest someone, I’d have to arrest them, however much I might believe their innocence.

Another text came through, and I groaned. “If that’s Sharp.”

“It’s from Elinor,” he told me, leaning back politely.

“Read away,” I said quickly.

“She says, just visited Elsie. She’s awake, asked after you. I told her you’d be by soon. She’s doing well. Doctors are happy with her recovery. Lots of love, Elinor.”

I nodded, my shoulders relaxing as I glanced at Mills’s face in the mirror. “Elinor is Sally’s mum.”

“Makes sense. It’s a left here, sir.” He pointed to the junction ahead, and I followed his directions the rest of the way until we ended up on a cramped little street.

We had to park on another road and walk down the thin lane, the buildings practically leaning into each other with age, like trees bent by the wind. I found the door in question, the red paint peeling, and looked up to the top floor, where a large round window looked over the street. It was the only window not clogged up with newspapers, and it