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

a quick once over to make sure the cold hadn’t done any particular damage. She hadn’t been in there long, and at least it wasn’t a freezer, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I didn’t tell Billie that most of Lena’s patients were usually dead by the time she got to them and sat outside looking after Cat. Sharp retreated to her office, eyes itching, leaving me to cat-sit. Luckily, Billie was right about her, she liked being held, and once she was on your lap, I got the feeling she wouldn’t move for some time, not unless forced. I didn’t feel like dealing with those consequences. Smith came over, looking rather tired, smiling down at me.

“Pop a hat on your head, and that could be your Christmas card.” I huffed a laugh. Maybe getting a cat wasn’t the worst idea, less maintenance than a dog in any case. Though stealing Billie’s was certainly not an option.

“Don’t get any ideas,” I warned her. “If Sally hears that sort of talk, she’ll be here in a flash, dressing me in antlers and a pudding jumper.” She’d get Liene in on it too, I just knew she would.

“We’ve processed Mark Helman,” she told me, the amusement on her face dropping. “Sharp issued a fixed penalty notice, which he’s happy to pay.”

I nodded, unsurprised by that. “Keep him a moment. Billie wants to speak to him before he leaves.”

“She’s not going with him?” Smith asked.

“She is not.”

Smith nodded and stuck her hands in her pockets. “How is she?” she asked with a nod to the window behind me, the curtains drawn shut.

I sighed, not really sure, to be honest, and if I were, explaining it all might be rather hard. “She’s a tough one. She’ll be okay,” I settled.

“I’ll get Helman ready,” she said, giving me a brief smile before striding away. I looked down at Cat, who watched the movement of the station through his big yellow eyes, occasionally kneading my trousers with his paws. I liked him, all things considered, and had never really considered myself as much of a cat person before. The office door opened, and Lena and Billie walked out, talking together lowly as both smiled.

“She’s fine,” Crowe told me, clapping Billie on the shoulder. “A good hot meal and an early night, and I have no worries.” She looked at me meaningfully as she mentioned the meal, and I gave a subtle nod. When Billie had hugged me back in the café, I’d been able to feel how thin she was under her baggy clothes. I’d seen more meat on a butcher’s dog, as my grandfather used to be fond of saying.

“Thanks, doctor,” Billie replied, reaching for Cat. I passed her over and stood up.

“Your father’s about to leave if you still want to talk to him.” Billie’s expression faltered, and she looked around the station, looking for him.

“Not for long,” she said tentatively.

“As long as you want. You can use the office if you’d like?” I offered, waving a hand towards the room. She nodded and walked back inside, purposefully yanking the blinds back up so that we could see inside and so that they could both see out. I walked Crowe to the stairs, and she wrung her hands in front of herself.

“Girl will need some serious support,” she told me quietly. “More than she’s and, that’s for sure.”

“We can only weigh in so much, but I think Agnes Lamb might put her foot down now.”

“Someone needs to,” Crowe said with a sigh. “Have someone look after her for a change.”

“Any other concerns?” I asked, stopping by the stairs, my voice dropping. Lena looked up at me, knowing what I meant.

“She needs some rest and a few good meals. But she’s no danger to anyone, or herself,” she added softly, punching me on the shoulder before taking to the stairs. I drifted back in time for Smith and Mark Helman to appear in my eye line. He looked nervous, more so than he did when we spoke to him, and I walked him silently to the office, where Billie stood stock-still, clutching Cat like a lifeline. Mark, to his credit, knocked on the open door frame before walking in and left the door open.

“Hiya, Bill,” he said as he walked in. Smith and I walked away so that we couldn’t hear their carrying voices and sat against a radiator.

“We need to find Freya,” I muttered.

“There’s been no word from Dunnes?” Smith asked.

“None. Nor from any of the other officers out there. But if she doesn’t turn up at home, I think her mother will be in touch at some point.” Nor did I think she’d particularly linger around the streets, especially after we all turned up.

“She probably has her place to go,” Smith remarked. “Like Edward and his studio.”

“Probably. God help us trying to find it, though,” I muttered, rubbing my hand over my face.

Noise came from the stairs, and I looked over to see Mills jogging up them, a frantic looking Agnes Lamb beside him. I got up, leaving the warmth behind, and joined them halfway across the room.

“Ms Lamb,” I shook her head, “we’re sorry about all of this.”

“So long as Billie is alright, I couldn’t care less, inspector. I can buy new cups, and that is what insurance is for,” she told me simply.

“Nevertheless,” I added, “we’re sorry it all got dumped on your doorstep.”

“Better my café than her flat,” Agnes said. “Is she here?”

Nodding, I pointed to the office, where we could see Billie through the window, listening to her father. He had his hands out, palms up, and his head was bowed as he looked at her earnestly.

“It’ll be a bumpy road to recovery, but I think they’re on it at least,” I said, turning back to Agnes. “She’s given her official statement, so once you’re done here, she’s all good to go. She has the cat with her,” I added.

“She loves that Cat,” Agnes said fondly.