“About a month ago, maybe? I was with Ed getting lunch, and we saw her. He was really shaken after it, just sat and trembled, looked so sick. I stayed with him after to make sure he was okay. It’s nearly October, though,” she pointed out. “It was always worse around October.”
And this October, with Stella dead as well, things might get even more violent.
“What about Stella?” I asked. “Did you ever see her again after the party?”
“No. We all stayed away from her,” she said. “Because of what she did to Ed,” her voice quiet, the tone hard to pinpoint. Guilty, almost, perhaps because of what ended up happening to Stella.
“You heard about her taking her own life?” I asked gently. Freya nodded, wiping tears from her face.
“I don’t know why,” she said. “I hadn’t seen her. Billie would know.”
“They were close?”
“Their mother left when they were little, so Billie acted more like a mum, really.”
That was useful to know. A sister who was more a mother, who’d raised her younger sibling, who would be considerably more protective, more passionate than any other typical sibling dynamic might be.
“It must have been a very tough time,” I said simply.
“None of us had thought about it in a while,” she answered.
“What about Edward? Did he ever talk about them?”
“No. Complained about Billie, called her a bitch, and said that security needed to do better at keeping her off campus.”
“What about Stella? When he heard about her death?”
Freya shrugged. “He was shocked, of course, but none of us had seen her for so long. We didn’t know why she did it…” Her voice trailed off at the end, the slight lie wearing her down. They all had a very good idea as to why she might have done it, but that would mean admitting something about their friend that I doubted any of them wanted to believe.
Especially now.
“Do you know where Billie is now? After she left university?”
“I think she started working somewhere, but I really don’t know. She loved university,” Freya added quietly. “She had a really good mind, you know, really smart. People were surprised when she left, especially the professors.”
“Was she close to any particular professor?” I asked.
Freya nodded straight away. “Professor Greenberg. She said once that it should have been Edward who left. None of us really liked her for that,” she admitted, her nose scrunched.
Professor Greenberg. A woman, that was useful. If Billie’s mother was out of the picture, I wondered if there was another older woman she turned to for advice. Academic figures often act as surrogates, and I considered the possibility that Billie, as avid a learner as she might be, could have stayed in touch. We were due a visit with Professor Altman too, so I tucked it away for then.
“What about their father?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Couldn’t say, sorry.”
“That’s alright.”
“What does this have to do with Edward?” she asked. “All this about Billie? Do you think it was her?”
I hesitated, took a sip of tea to give myself time to think, then folded my hands on the table. “These allegations against Edward could be a part of what happened to him. We need as big a picture as we can get, so we know which details to narrow in on.”
Freya looked thoughtful about that and nodded again, tracing her finger around the edge of her mug. “Billie was never the sort of person to take something lying down. Always argued with professors, always called people out. When she was upset, you knew.”
There was an edge to her voice as she spoke that caught my attention, though whether she was sorry to be pushing Billie our way or happy to, I couldn’t quite tell.
“I’ll leave you to it, Freya,” I told her. “Thank you for all your help. Oh.” I stopped myself, standing from my chair. “What time were you going to meet him? In his room?”
Her face blanked for a moment, then she said, “Usual time. Just before seven, gives us time before I get the bus home.”
I nodded, thanked her again, then walked out to the hallway, sticking my head into the living room where Genevieve sat, sewing in an armchair.
“Ms Fox?” I called politely. She looked up. “Thank you. I’ll be leaving you to it now.”
“Alright.” Freya walked out of the kitchen and came past me into the living room as her mother rose from the chair. She looked her daughter over swiftly, and satisfied, she showed me to the door.
“I hope you find who did this, detective,” she said as I stepped out onto the drive.
“We do what we can,” I replied diplomatically, giving her a swift wave, then turned and walked down to my car, hopping inside as she shut the front door.
I slumped back in my chair, rubbing my eyes, and pulled out my notebook, wanting to get down everything she told me before I forgot it. Seemed rude to have written it down whilst there, during such a sensitive time. I scribbled down what she told me about Billie and Stella, the party, Edward and Professor Greenberg, happily getting it all down. I flipped the book closed and tossed it onto my passenger seat, wishing I replaced the granola bar that Thatcher had eaten as my stomach rumbled slightly. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked to see if he had been in touch yet, but there was nothing. I sent him a text, telling him I was heading back to the station, then pulled away from the house and drove off down the road.
We had Professor Altman to meet, Professor Greenberg, Billie Helman, and her father, who I hadn’t considered as a suspect in all this, but now it churned around my mind. I decided that digging into the Helman family and finding out where they all were would top my list of inquiries. Something to do, perhaps, as I waited for Thatcher back at the station.
I needn’t have bothered. I got back to the station, jogging up the stairs with my pan in mind to find him sitting at his desk, legs propped up, listening to the radio and eating a sandwich. I stopped in the doorway and looked at him, then my phone, which he hadn’t texted.
“I messaged you,” I told him, walking in and noting the sandwich on my desk. He held us his phone, plugged into the wall, screen black.
“Died,” he called through a mouthful of bread. “How d'you get on?”
“Freya was in a sharing mood,” I told him. “You?”
“The Vinsons were not in a sharing mood, but they don’t think highly of Billie Helman.”
I handed him my notebook, letting him translate my scribbles as I unwrapped my sandwich.
“Nor did Freya Fox,” I told him, taking a big bite.
“Professor Greenberg?” he asked.
“The girl’s mother was out of the picture, so I wondered if Billie might have stayed in touch with her favourite professor after dropping out. It might be a good way to find her,” I said with a shrug.
Thatcher hummed in agreement, tossing my notebook back.
“What about you?” I asked. “How’d it go with Edward’s parents?”
Eight
Thatcher
It was only after Mills had left that I realised I didn’t have my car and had to borrow one from the station, the inside of which smelt faintly of menthol cigarettes and crisps. I hope it didn’t cling to my clothes, the last thing I needed was to be confronting Edward Vinson’s parents about the allegations whilst smelling like the inside of a flat roof pub. I did feel a little bad, going to them so soon after having only delivered the news this morning, but the oversight in Edward’s character, especially after we spoke about his previous trouble with the law, was enough of a thorn in my side that I didn’t let it bother me too much.
I drove away from the station, back to where the Vinsons lived and tried not to get lost in the maze of expensive houses and identical lawns. Places like these really were odd. I pulled up on the driveway, and as I turned the engine off, my phone beeped at me. I fished it out, my annoyance fading as a text from Liene came through. Just a check-in, as she was prone to do when she knew a case w
asn’t easy. I replied, noting that my phone battery was also dangerously low and would start flashing at me soon enough.
I rooted through the glove compartment and centre console, hoping someone had the foresight to keep a charger in here but came up empty-handed. I grumbled, sticking my phone away and climbed out the car, kicking the door shut and tossing the keys in my hand as I walked up to the front door, ringing the bell.
It didn’t take long for Mr Vinson to open it, looking wholly surprised to see me standing there. He looked alright himself, no sign of crying on his face, but I wondered if he were the sort to ever cry.
“Inspector Thatcher,” he said, holding the door awkwardly open.
“I’m so sorry to bother you again,” I told him, “especially today. But something’s come to our attention that we very much need your help with.”
“About Edward?” he asked. When I nodded, he stepped aside, showing me through into the hall.
“My wife is in bed,” he said once the door was shut. “She’s taken it hard.”
“That’s fine. If you’re happy to talk with me, I say we let her rest.”
Mr Vinson nodded and led me to the other side of the house, through some thick oak doors into a study, complete with leather armchairs, a globe that looked like it doubled as a drink cupboard, a large desk and several shelves of important-looking books. He waved to one of the armchairs, and I sank down, the leather squeaking. He sat in the other, looking at me.
“If it came up this quickly,” he said, “I gather it is important?”
“Very much so,” I answered, straightening up in my chair and meeting his gaze sternly. “I’d like to ask you about Stella Helman.”
His face froze, going blank and the hands that had been fidgeting on his lap stilled.
“Stella Helman?”
“Yes. We understand that about a year ago, Edward was involved in some sexual assault allegations.”
Mr Vinson’s face went a bit red, and he shook his head. “Then you’ll also know that he was innocent. That the girl and her sister had spread malicious, hurtful lies about our boy.”
“I know that the case was dropped for lack of sufficient evidence,” I answered calmly. “And that you neglected to bring this to my attention earlier today when I inquired about your son’s trouble with the law or in regard to anyone who would want to hurt him.”
He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “It was over a year ago,” he said simply. “Why would the girl come back now? Tell me that, Inspector.”
“Stella Helman committed suicide two weeks ago, Mr Vinson. Her sister and father very much might have come back because of that.”
I watched as Mr Vinson blinked, looked over to the window and stared for a moment, mouth open, but no words coming out.
“What would that have to do with Edward?” he asked eventually, in a quiet voice.
“Potentially everything,” I replied. “Were you aware that Edward had some trouble with Stella’s sister, Billie, after the incident?”
“Here and there,” he muttered. “He hadn’t mentioned her for a while now.” He looked over at me suddenly. “You think she did this? Why the devil are you here, man? Go and arrest her!”
“What am I arresting her for, Mr Vinson?” I countered. “If she was really a danger to your son, why not mention her at the very start? Why not tell me about Stella?”
“Because he didn’t do it,” he spat the words out, hand slamming down on the arm of his chair. “He is a—was a good boy. Polite, charming, good student, good athlete, he’d never do such a thing. He’d never have needed to!”
I raised an eyebrow at that, and Vinson, realising his hiccup, started stammering.
“I’m not here to assess Edward’s guilt, Mr Vinson,” I interrupted him, “but I am trying to understand everything that happened back then, to give me a clearer picture of what’s happening now.”
Mr Vinson breathed deeply. “He was out at a party. The next day, he didn’t come home when he was meant to, his mother was worried sick. But not long after, we got a call from the police station, asking us to come down. The girl,” his face twisted as he spoke, “had reported him.”
“Did you see her there?” I asked. “Her or her sister?”
Mr Vinson shook his head. “Thankfully, can’t say what I would have done if they were there.”
“What about their father?” Another shake of the head. “Do you know if Edward learnt about Stella?” I asked. “About her suicide?”
“If he did, he made no mention of it to us. Every time we saw him, he was in his usual good form. A bit of a pain in my arse, but that’s children for you.”
“So, after the case was dropped, everything went back to normal?”
“Oh yes. He went back to university, carried on as normal. Look.” He leant forward, his face earnest. “I’m not saying that something didn’t happen to that poor girl at that party, but I know it wasn’t my son. There were lots of kids there, lots of drinking, and knowing them, a few drugs. Their students. But Edward wouldn’t have done that. He was sweet to everyone.”
I nodded, my jaw set. “Did he know Billie Helman? From before?”
“I think she was a student in their year,” he replied, scratching his head, “but to be honest, I can’t keep up with all his friends. He’s a popular lad. The only one I’ve ever cared two sticks for was Charlie. And that nice girl he brought to a work-do once.” Freya, I thought. I wondered how Mills was getting on there. What was clear to me was that we needed to talk to Billie now, get her side of things and see just how much she believed Edward was guilty.
“I’ll leave you now, then, Mr Vinson. Thank you for answering my questions,” I said in a tone that didn’t leave him much room to answer. He just nodded, somewhat sheepishly, and stood from his chair, walking me out to the front door.
“I know we should have told you before,” he said before I could walk off down the drive. “But my wife, she hates the mention of it. We put it behind us, you know.”
“I understand,” I replied.
He nodded again, gave me a grim smile and shut the door. I walked down to the car, my hands in my pockets.
They believed Edward was innocent, but belief wasn’t truth, however strong it may be. I pulled the keys and my phone out, sliding into the car. My phone was dead, officially, which was annoying, and if Sharp found out, it would be my neck in it.
I decided to head back to the station, knowing that Mills would simply go back there and that I’d pick up some lunch as well, my stomach clawing at my sides. I was surprised Mr Vinson hadn’t heard it, to be honest.
I drove away from the house, relieved to have gotten that over with, and gladly made my way back to the station. I left the car in the car park and walked around the corner to the café, picking up a couple of sandwiches for myself and Mills. Then I walked into the station, nodding to the desk sergeant and jogging up the stairs, settling down in our office, legs on the desk and started eating my sandwich as I waited for Mills. I wasn’t waiting long. He pitched up shortly after and started tucking into his sandwich as I filled him in on my visit to the Vinson’s.
“So, both Edward’s father and Freya made it clear that Edward and Billie knew each other,” Mills said. “And that the events of the party were pretty blurred.”
“Lots of students,” I replied, “drinking, smoking. Easy to get lost, easy to mistake someone for someone else.”
“They also both ascertain that Edward didn’t know about Stella’s death,” Mills went on.
I shook my head. “Or at least, he didn’t share it with anyone.”
Mills chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “We need to find Billie.”
I nodded and looked at his notebook. “Let’s head to the university. We can cross off talking to Professor Altman and see what Greenberg can tell us about Billie. If she knows where we can find her, that’ll be good. I don’t want to have to hunt her down.”
“I doubt she’d thank us for it,”
Mills added, crumpling up his wrapper and throwing it in the bin before stretching. “It’s gonna be another long one, isn’t it?”
“Most likely,” I said, standing up and pulling my coat on. We stopped at the bathroom before heading outside, jumping into Mills’s car. My phone was half alive now, and I could see the message he’d sent me, alongside another one from Liene.
“You need a new phone, sir,” Mills told me as he pulled away from the station. “That’s the second time it’s died that quickly this month.”
“I know,” I muttered, turning it in my hand. It was old now, several new models had been out in the time I’d had this one, but I was fond of it. I tended to hang onto things until they fell apart completely, seemed wasteful otherwise. “Buying phones is a lot more completed nowadays than it used to be.”
Mills rolled his eyes. “If you need help, Grandpa, just say so.”
“Watch it,” I warned him. “I’ve still got a spring in my step; I’ll have you know.”
“Liene certainly thinks so,” he replied dryly.
I resisted smacking him, purely because he was trying to navigate a laned roundabout, and flipped him off instead, which only made him grin wider.
“Do we know what Greenberg is a professor of?” I asked.
“We do not,” he replied. “Might be telling, though. I always think you can tell a lot about people by what they teach.”
“What about what they study?” I asked.
He shrugged. He had been a politics student at university. Thank God he’d given that all up. “Altman is social sciences, though.”
I hummed, not entirely sure as to what that really was.
We arrived at the campus, parking on the side of the road and headed over to reception, where an elderly woman typed furiously at a computer, so much that her glasses nearly fell off her face with the force of it.
“Hello.” I smiled warmly and showed her my warrant card. “We’re looking for Professors Greenberg and Altman?”
She looked at my badge and then at my face before she nodded, pointing down the hall. “Staff room, third door on the right.”
Guilty Conscious Page 7
