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

her feet, and I shut the door and locked it as she pulled her coat on. Then she shouldered her bag, flipped her hair from her face breathlessly and sighed loudly.

“Ready,” she announced, holding her hand out expectantly. With a grin, I took it, twining our fingers again as we walked down the stairs and onto the road.

We were heading to a restaurant a few streets away to meet Mills and Susanne, a recently opened place that all of us had expressed an interest in trying. Liene had set it up, booked the table and all that, so I supposed we could excuse being a few minutes late.

It was early September, the air still warm, summer hanging on by a thread. Late-blooming flowers lent their sweet, heady scent to the air, sprouting up in gardens and patches of green, growing through fences and crawling along buildings. Liene traipsed alongside me, pointing out historical buildings that we passed, telling me stories about the city that I had never learnt about before. It was always fun, walking along with her, listening to her soothing voice recite dates and names, never faltering or tripping up.

We rounded the corner to the street the restaurant was on, and I quickly spotted Mills and Susanne outside, leaning against the wall, talking with their heads close together, smiles on their faces.

“Are we interrupting?” I asked as we walked across the road and joined them on the pavement. Mills straightened up, giving me a little glare as Liene let go of my hand and reached for Susanne, giving her a swift hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Evening, sir,” Mills said with a nod. Formalities over and done with, I gave him a quick buddy hug, his hand thumping once on the back.

“Isaac. Shall we? I’m starving,” I said, opening the door for them all. We filed in, were promptly seated and given menus, and I breathed in deeply, savouring the smell of cumin and garlic, the fire of chilli in the back of my throat.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” Susanne chirped, shrugging her coat off and flicking through the menu.

“She likes spicy food,” Mills told us, helping her when she got awkwardly tangled in her sleeve.

“The spicier, the better in my book,” she confirmed.

“Mine too,” Liene agreed. I glanced down at my own menu, never particularly one for spice. I gravitated more to other flavours or anything with seafood.

We were all startled from our browsing by Mills’s phone, gently ringing in his pocket. He groaned slightly, leaning back to fish it out and glance at the number, looking ready to switch the damn thing off. His face blanked, and he shot me a glance before rising from his seat and touching Susanne’s shoulder.

“Excuse me,” he muttered apologetically, pressing his phone to his ear as he stepped back outside. I could see him through the window, pacing a small circle, one hand in his pocket, face set seriously. I knew that expression, I had a very similar one myself. Work.

“Does anyone want to share a starter with me?” Susanne asked.

“I do,” Liene answered her. “Anything with a pakora involved.”

Mills came back inside, looking woefully annoyed and concerned.

“Do they need you?” Susanne asked, looking up at him. Mills fixed his gaze on me.

“I’m afraid they need us both.” I raised an eyebrow.

“Both?”

“Sharp’s orders,” he told me darkly. I knew that expression too. Murder.

“Sorry, ladies,” I said, standing and pulling my coat back on.

“Don’t worry about it.” Liene smiled up at me. “We’ll have a girls’ night, won’t we?”

“Sounds perfect. Go on,” Susanne said, handing Mills his coat and waving at him. “Off you trot.”

He bent down and kissed her cheek, and I handed Liene my house keys, giving her a quick wink before following Mills out of the restaurant. He had driven here, his car parked a little way down the road, and we piled in, quickly taking off.

“What have we got?” I asked, trying not to focus on my growling stomach.

“Dead body found at the university,” he answered. “Crowe’s on her way to the site, and SOCO has secured the scene.”

“Christ,” I muttered. “Student?”

“Most likely. The witness is a student, so I’d say so.”

I sat back in my chair, annoyed and hungry. The university wasn’t far away, and soon enough, Mills pulled over to the side of the road, and we headed towards the buzz of officers and flashing lights. A few students and onlookers hung around the little courtyard, held back by the police tape and the scattered uniformed officers taking a few statements.

As we approached, the sky turning dark, making the old building look decidedly ominous, Smith jogged over to us, holding up the tape for us to duck under. We were at an accommodation block, I realised, fancier than I thought they usually were.

“What have we got?” I asked as she led us across the courtyard and towards the building that members of SOCO flitted in and out of.

“Young man, named Edward Vinson, a student, found dead in his room.” Smith nodded to a girl sitting with a paramedic, a blanket around her shoulders. Her face was stricken pale, and she shakily held onto a cup of water. “The witness, Freya Fox, called it in.”

“Homicide?” Mills inquired.

“Not my job to rule that, but,” she stopped by the door and nodded inside, “not hard to tell.”

I ducked into the room, Mills on my heel, taking a pair of gloves from one of the crime scene team as I did, snapping them into place.

Once inside the room, I froze in place. It was gruesome, one of the more gruesome things I’d seen in a while. Smith was right. There was no denying that this had been done to him. What was left of him, that was.

Edward Vinson’s head was beaten in, blood drenching and drying on the carpeted floor. Splatters of blood stretched across the wall, droplets on the bed, the desk. Mills cursed quietly beside me.

“Mind where you tread,” I warned him, stepping