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

Billie, and then of Stella.” Her voice dropped, and she let the photograph flutter to the ground. “And then the trophy. It was in the cupboard where he kept the sheets. He’d kept it. Knowing it was hers, knowing it was Billie’s too, he kept it. He kept a trophy,” she shouted, “of the girl he assaulted! He’d lied to me and used me and—” she broke off, breathing heavily. She was trembling, the words coming out like a snarl through her teeth. “I went to see him. Wanted to confront him.”

“What did he say?” I asked gently, not taking my eyes off her for a second.

“He said it didn’t matter,” she replied in a cold, dead voice. “What he did, what happened to Stella, what happened to me, didn’t matter.”

“You took the trophy with you to confront him?”

She nodded.

“And then you got upset, and angry, as you would do. What happened then, Freya?”

“I hit him,” she said softly. “Changed my clothes, threw up. I forgot to move the trophy,” she groaned. “Forgot until I sent you there. I just wanted to find Billie there.” She sucked in a ragged breath of air and looked around the empty river. “He deserved it. For what he did to her.”

I couldn’t fully argue with that. “Why did you attack Billie?” I asked.

“She shouldn’t have taken Stella to that party,” she told me. “She shouldn’t have given up on Edward. She should have done something!”

“So, because she didn’t, you did? You can’t punish everyone, Freya.”

“Just the ones who deserve it,” she spat back. “I know how Stella felt,” she shouted at me. “I know what she went through. I know what she would have wanted!”

“Better than her own sister?” I asked.

She laughed again, crying at the same time. “Edward got what he deserved.”

I took a deep breath and looked sadly to Mills. His face, twisted into a frown, was still looking at Freya, but he gave me a slight nod, and I began walking towards her.

“I need you to come with us now, Freya,” I said, keeping my voice gentle.

She shook her head, backing up. She hit the wall, nowhere else to go. Mills moved to my side so that if she went up the bank, he could intercept her.

“I did the right thing,” she told me.

“You murdered someone, Freya,” I reminded her.

She shook her head again and moved, slipping on the wet grass and went skidding towards the river. I darted forward, grabbing her arms as one foot hit the water and hauled her up, narrowly falling in myself. Mills ran down, grabbed my other arm and helped me gain my footing, pulling Freya up onto the path.

“Freya Fox, I am arresting you for the murder of Edward Vinson. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

As I spoke, I pulled her arms behind her back, securing her hands with the cuffs. She’d stopped crying and simply stood there, trembling, panting slightly, one of her legs soaking wet from the river. I left her with Mills, walking over to the photograph she had dropped on the floor. I didn’t look at it long, just flooded it up and stuck it in my pocket. It was of Stella and was all the proof they would have needed to have Edward arrest a year ago.

My stomach rolling, I walked back over to Freya and Mills, and with a reluctant sigh, took her arm and led her over to the car. I could hear Mills talking on the radio behind me, Freya saying nothing as she slid into the back seat, her face stark but sure.

Epilogue

I always hated the silence that fell after I finished my tales, especially ones such as those. At some point, Elsie had reached out and taken my hand, slurping her tea every now and then. The mugs were long empty now, but we both still held onto them, sitting in the lull. Elsie breathed in suddenly and squeezed my hand, making me look up at her.

“You’re not long after seeing that all wrapped up,” she muttered.

I shook my head. The court case had only been a few weeks ago. A psychologist had been brought in to assess Freya’s mental state, and she was being treated as she served her sentence. A lot of people had been surprised by it being her behind Edward’s murder. Namely, his parents, who’d been expecting her to join him for dinner one night, and her friends, who had not seen it coming at all. Only Fiona didn’t look all that surprised, and I hoped she put her judgement and instinct to good use one day.

“What happened to the girl?” Elsie asked. “Billie?”

“She’s doing well,” I told her. “I’ve kept in touch. Pop into the café every now and then and see how she’s doing.” I’d grown a strange parental attachment to her, and she’d even called me once or twice to ask for advice. Mostly regarding her actual father, Mark Helman, who’d made a few slow steps into fixing their relationship.

“That’s nice of you,” Elsie said. “You don’t normally check-in on anyone. Normally you finish the job then forget it ever happened. Can’t think of a single case you’ve worked where you’ve cared about the people enough to do that.” There wasn’t one when I came to think of it. Sharp had been right in the end, not that I would ever tell her as much; I was biased when it came to Billie. She reminded me of myself, sometimes of Sally, so if she’d let me stay in touch, I’d do it.

“I know,” I said, putting my mug down and rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this one in any hurry.”

“Not if you’ve gone and adopted the girl,” Elsie joked, laughing weakly. I grinned back and took her