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

Hepburn fan,” she explained, no sign of a smile on her face. She’d gone quiet and still, shock setting in.

“Have you eaten recently?” I asked, steering her towards the steps. She shook her head, holding Cat closer to her chest. I sighed, sounding like a fatigued parent, sounding like Elsie, I realised.

“We should get you something sugary,” I muttered, walking beside her back to the front. Mills met us outside, smiling at the hairball in Billie’s arms.

“Agnes Lamb is one her way in. She’ll meet you at the station,” he told Billie, “and will take you home with her afterwards.” Then he looked to me. “We’ve got officers out on the street, looking out for Freya.”

I nodded, knowing we’d need as many pairs of eyes out there as we could get.

Billie shifted her weight, adjusting her hold on the cat. “Is my dad still there? At the station?” She asked, looking down at the pavement.

“Yes. But not for much longer, though he has wasted police time, which wasn’t nice of him,” I added, scratching the back of my neck.

“Would you want to go with him?” Mills asked, and Billie quickly shook her head.

“No. I’d like to talk to him,” she said. “If I can.”

“Of course, you can. We’ll see you back at the station, Mills,” I said with a nod. He smiled back, and I walked Billie over to my car, causally left unlocked. She slid into the chair, dropping her bag by her feet, the cat bundled in her arms.

“She’s fairly docile,” I observed casually as I started the engine.

“She likes being held,” Billie said, stroking the fluffy orange ears. “She gets antsy if you don’t pay her enough attention.”

I grinned. “Mills can be the same.”

She laughed, the sound making my chest warm, and seemed to relax as we drove towards the station. I kept the conversation light, asking about the cat, avoiding any talk of Stella or Freya until we reached the station. Billie looked up at it with a frown but followed me through the doors and upstairs. It was quiet at this time of day, only a few officers milling about, manning the phones. I settled Billie down at a desk and went to the kitchen to make her some tea, scooping some sugar into the mug to tide her over until she was ready to eat. Sharp joined me there, making me jump as she walked in.

“You’re normally leaving by now,” I remarked, waiting for the kettle to boil.

“There’s not normally a scared twenty-year-old girl sitting in my station who’s just been borderline attacked by a murderer,” she said back calmly. Her tone was serious, so I looked at her, meeting her eyes. There was a slight remorse to them.

“You were right about Billie Helman,” she said. “Your instincts, as usual, were correct.”

“Not about Freya,” I muttered, filling the mug with hot water.

“No. But you can’t be right all the time. You were about Billie, which I think, judging from the look of her right now, is a very good thing. I’m sorry for doubting you,” she added, placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Can I record that?” I asked with a mocking smile. “I’d like to play to myself from time to time, as a reminder. Make it my ringtone.”

She swatted my arm and looked through the door to where we could just see Billie, stroking the cat methodically.

“We have the number for the therapist she used to see?” She asked quietly.

“We do.”

Sharp nodded. “She might need it,” she said sadly, pushing herself from the door frame she leant against and walked over to the desk. I hurriedly dropped some milk in the tea and followed, placing the mug in front of Billie as Sharp stole my chair and said down in front of her.

“Nice to meet you, Billie. I’m Chief Superintendent Sharp.”

Billie looked at her admiringly. “You’re his boss?”

“I am.”

Billie smiled. “I’m Billie. This is Cat,” she added, holding up the shaggy fur ball.

“Can you run us through what happened this evening, Billie? From when you left here,” Sharp asked politely. She liked to do this from time to time rather than sit in her office dealing with annoying phone calls and emails from HQ and the Chief Constable.

“Um, well. I left,” Billie started. “Got on the bus and went back. Agnes told me I didn’t have to work, but I wanted to. Thought it might take my mind off things.” Sharp gave her a knowing, encouraging nod.

Billie settled down into the chair, took a sip of the sugary tea, wincing at the heat and adjusted Cat’s position on her knee before carrying on. It was more or less the same story she’d given myself and Mills, a few little details added here and there. But Freya had come in, Billie had pieced together what was happening and ran for it, smacked her hip on the counter in the process, and locked herself in the fridge until we arrived.

When she was finished, Sharp turned to look at me. “Dr Crowe is still here. Send her up, please. She’ll give you a quick look over,” she told Billie. “Being that cold isn’t good for you.”

I thought that Billie was going to protest, but there must have been something in the maternal order that Sharp gave that had her smiling slightly, cradling her tea and nodding. Sharp turned to me, gave me a wink, and I went off to fetch Crowe, trying not to think about the fact that Freya would now be long, long gone.

Twenty-Seven

Thatcher

Dr Crowe was more than happy to leave her report writing and take a look at an actual patient, chattering away as I led her upstairs to Billie. She and Sharp were talking to each other, smiling, and I wondered if I was the only one who was biased when it came to young people with tricky home lives.

I introduced them quickly and let Dr Crowe and Billie use my office so that the good doctor could give her