Mark of Guilt

by Diane Hester

  They came to the lounge—couches and chairs arranged in clusters on either side of the central aisle. At that hour of the morning it was nearly empty. Just two men standing in whispered conference near the opposite door.

  ‘You must be feeling better at least,’ Shaunwyn said. ‘With that good night’s sleep and the chancellor’s backing, you’d be ready to take on a dozen Colliers.’

  A good night’s sleep? Yes, it had been that. At least she couldn’t recall any nightmares. Her spirits lifted as they strode towards the exit. Perhaps it had just been a one-off thing—the dreams and what had happened in the library. The hound would now return to its slumber and leave her alone for another ten years. Hopefully forever.

  The thought made her smile. ‘Yes, I’m relieved. At least now I’ll flunk out on my own initiative and not just because I missed an exam.’

  ‘Miss Cavenaugh?’

  Lindsay stopped and turned towards the sound of the masculine voice.

  She saw the scar first. Hardly disfiguring—a cat’s whisker slanting out from his lip. His face was long and sorrowful looking, his hair ruddy brown, eyes the bluest she’d ever seen.

  ‘Yes?’ she said.

  ‘Detective Garren Macklyn.’ He showed his ID. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions about Martha Daniels.’

  The floor fell away beneath her feet.

  Lindsay stared at the man before her. How could the police …? How could anyone have known to connect her …?

  She drew herself up. ‘The missing girl? I’m sure there’s nothing I can tell you; I don’t even know Martha Daniels.’

  He gestured to the nearest cluster of chairs. ‘If you would.’

  ‘Well, I’m on my way to a class at the moment and—’

  ‘It won’t take long.’

  With no way out, she turned to Shaunwyn. ‘You go ahead, I’ll catch up.’

  ‘You sure? I can stick around if you want.’ She shot the stranger an assessing look.

  ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll meet you there.’

  With a deep breath, Lindsay walked to a chair and sat down. She prayed her step hadn’t faltered visibly. ‘I really can’t see why you want to talk to me. Like I said, I’ve never even met the girl.’

  The man took a seat on the adjacent couch. Watching him pull out a notepad and pen, she realised it was partly his attire that had so surprised her—jeans, a black T-shirt and a worn leather jacket. The detectives she’d known had dressed a bit more formally than this.

  But that had been eleven years ago. A different lifetime, a different world.

  ‘You might not have met her but you’d know her by sight,’ he said. ‘You’d recognise her if you saw her somewhere.’ Not asking, he was telling her this. His face impassive, betraying not the slightest hint of emotion.

  ‘Well, of course I would now. But only because of all the posters that have been put up around campus. I wouldn’t have known her before she went missing.’

  ‘You’d know if you’d seen her within the last week then.’

  ‘You mean since she disappeared? Well yes, certainly, I’m sure I would have. If I’d seen her.’

  The slightest flicker in the deadpan veneer. ‘You’re saying you haven’t?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. I know the police are looking for her. If I’d seen her I would have reported it.’

  Macklyn leaned back, taking a moment to study her closely. ‘Well, now that is a bit of a mystery, Miss Cavenaugh. You see I had two students tell me you were talking about Martha Daniels only yesterday.’

  Lindsay shifted. ‘That’s entirely possible. After all, the girl’s missing. Everyone on campus is talking about her.’

  ‘True, but these witnesses claim you had specific information about her.’

  He flipped a few pages in his note pad. ‘The last confirmed sighting of Martha Daniels was in the uni library on the night of Wednesday June eleventh. But according to information I was given yesterday you may have seen her after that.’

  Lindsay shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you were told, but I have never seen Martha Daniels in person. Not on that night or any other.’

  He tapped the pad with the butt of his pencil. ‘Were you in the library last Wednesday night?’

  ‘No, I was not.’

  ‘Were you outside the building in a position where you could have seen Martha leave?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I was home studying at the time. My flatmate can confirm it if you don’t believe me.’

  ‘Any reason I shouldn’t?’

  His casual tone didn’t deceive her. The intensity of his gaze was the giveaway—the look of the predator that had just spotted the weakest member of the herd. ‘None whatsoever.’

  ‘I’m still a bit confused,’ he said. ‘If you weren’t in the library, why did you claim to have seen the girl there?”

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘I have two witnesses that state you did. According to them, you said you saw Martha leave the library at closing time, get in a car with someone and drive away.’

  Lindsay swallowed. ‘Okay look, I think I know what’s happened here. I might have said those things that were reported to you but I was talking about a different person. Your witnesses just misunderstood what they heard.’

  His gaze never left her as he considered this. ‘Possible I guess. But if you weren’t there, how could you have seen anyone leave the library?’

  ‘I … I was talking about a different night as well.’

  ‘I see.’

  She clenched her fists inside her sweater sleeves. No, he didn’t see. A man like this would never see. Like every other of his kind, he’d never believe a word of the truth. ‘Is that all, detective?’

  ‘Just one last thing.’ He reached into his pocket again. ‘The two students who overheard your comments yesterday claim you were holding this at the time.’ He held up a small clear plastic bag. Inside was a tear-shaped amethyst earring.

  Lindsay fought to retain her facade. The sight of the object that had triggered her first episode in years did nothing to settle her nerves.

  ‘It belongs to Martha Daniels,’ he said. ‘Her roommate identified it for us this morning. You recognise it?’

  ‘Well, I—’

  ‘Here, have a good look.’

  She drew away sharply as he held it towards her. The last thing she wanted was to touch it again.

  The man’s gaze sharpened. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘No, I … I can see it perfectly well from here.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Yes, I recognise it. I found it on the floor of the library yesterday.’

  ‘You never saw it before that?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you didn’t know it belonged to Martha?’

  ‘I had no idea who it belonged to.’

  ‘So why’d you leave it there?’

  ‘What?’ His questions were coming like bullets now, flying at her with no breath between.

  ‘The uni has a lost property, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I—’

  ‘A person finds something that’s obviously been lost, they usually turn it in.’

  Lindsay stilled. His technique was suddenly very familiar—ask your questions so fast and furious they don’t have time to think up any lies.

  Anger steeled her flagging control. She answered calmly. ‘I meant to turn it in. I must have forgotten.’

  The man stared back at her.

  ‘Look detective, in case no-one’s told you, this is exam week. If I don’t get to my class on time I’ll be locked out, miss the exam and fail my course.’

  She held his gaze, relishing every second she could find the courage.

  At last, with the barest hint of a smile, he slipped the earring back in his pocket. ‘Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen.’

  ***

  Mac admired the way the girl moved as she w
alked away from him. Tall and lithe—willowy, he believed was the term—with a fine-boned grace that suggested she was either a model or a dancer.

  He recalled the face he had studied so closely. A striking compilation of lights and darks—short platinum hair with coal black roots, dark sculpted brows and ebony lashes against china-doll skin. Her eyes had been cat-like, slanting upwards, their half-closed lids giving the impression she looked down at the world.

  He watched her till she went out the door then spotted Sam returning from the office.

  ‘I know that look,’ the big man said as he approached. ‘Cavenaugh didn’t pan out for you, did she?’

  ‘Claims she never saw Daniels that night. Insists the witnesses were mistaken.’

  Sam’s frown slowly cleared to a smile. ‘But you think she’s lying.’

  ‘She had me convinced till I showed her the earring. You’d have thought I shoved a lit match in her face.’

  ‘Something there, you reckon.

  ‘Could be. I’ll have to talk with those other kids again, make sure they got their story straight.’ Mac closed his notepad. ‘What did you get?’

  Sam scrunched up his beefy features as though trying to read eight-point type at fifty paces. ‘Lindsay Cavenaugh. Twenty-four. In her final year of a Bachelor of Arts with a double major in English and Music. Honours all the way. Works part time teaching fitness classes and helps out sometimes in the library.’

  Fitness. Mac nodded. Which certainly explained the athletic poise. An image of her kicking around in skin-tight leggings flashed in his mind and he pushed it aside.

  ‘Shares a flat with a Shaunwyn Bishop,’ Sam continued. ‘Just off campus on Pultney Street. Building’s got so many students living there it’s practically a uni dorm. Her parents live in Stirling. Father’s a contractor, mother’s a teacher. And—this was interesting—though their combined salaries top three hundred grand, she’s still in the HECS scheme. Borrowed every cent of her tuition fees from the government.’

  ‘Just your average over-achiever with a phobia for earrings, eh.’ Mac turned and started them towards the exit. ‘Something about this doesn’t quite gel. I’m going have to question her again.’

  ‘Well, no hardship there.’

  He arched a brow. ‘If you’re suggesting her looks play a factor in that, you’re way off the mark.’ Recalling the woman’s cool, aloof manner, her smooth responses to all his questions, her gaze of thinly veiled contempt, Mac shook his head. ‘Never went in for the toffee-nosed type.’

  Chapter 5

  Lindsay ran. People, buildings, objects swept past her in a mindless blur. At that moment she wanted nothing but to put as much distance as possible between her and Detective Garren Macklyn.

  The man’s unreadable expression stayed with her. His intense gaze, probing for any sign of weakness, seemed to still hold her in its power.

  She cursed herself for letting him affect her. Yet perhaps he wasn’t the source of her anxiety. To someone who’d never had dealings with police their encounter would’ve meant little or nothing. But for her … with her history …

  She shook her head. No, it wasn’t just that. Sometimes she got an instant feeling about a person. And she’d sure as hell got one from Detective Macklyn.

  At the sound of a voice calling out from behind her, she turned to find Shaunwyn running to catch up.

  ‘What time is it?’ Lindsay said as her flatmate fell in step beside her. ‘Are we going to make it?’

  ‘It’s only quarter to. We’ve got plenty of time.’ Shaunwyn paused for breath. ‘So what did that cop want?’

  Lindsay waved a hand. ‘Somehow he got some crazy notion I had information about Martha Daniels.’ She frowned, thinking back to the previous day. Aside from Shaunwyn, there’d been two other people with them at the library. Only two people who could have picked up the earring she’d left on the table. ‘And I have a pretty good idea who gave it to him.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘That I don’t know anything about her of course.’

  ‘But what about all those things you said in the library yesterday? You mentioned Martha Daniels by name. Talked about her leaving the library with someone. Don’t you think you should have—’

  ‘It was a dream, Shaun. You want me to give a police detective information I dreamed about?’

  They walked in silence for several steps.

  ‘What if it wasn’t just a dream?’ Shaunwyn said. ‘What if it was—’

  ‘What? Some kind of psychic experience? Give me a break.’

  ‘It happens, you know.’

  Lindsay walked faster.

  ‘Actually there’s a teacher on campus, a professor of psychology, doing research into ESP. Maybe you should talk to him.’

  Pressure was building at the back of her throat. She struggled to put a teasing note in her voice. ‘A shrink, eh? Maybe I should go and talk to the man. He might be able to help me with my delusional flatmate.’

  ‘Lins, I’m serious.’

  ‘Sorry, but I have more important things to do.’

  ‘More important than finding out what’s wrong with you? If it’s not ESP, it could be something serious, something—’

  Lindsay stopped short. ‘There is nothing wrong with me. I had a nightmare, all right. Big deal. Can we please get over it?’

  Shaunwyn took her arm to stop her going on. ‘I think we both know what happened to you in the library yesterday was more than that. It wasn’t a fever, it wasn’t nerves and it wasn’t a dream. You saw something. And whatever it was, you should tell the police.’

  Lindsay shuddered. Tell the police. Go back and face that implacable man with the power to look into her very heart. And … when he asked her how she knew …

  ‘Lins, what is it? You’re shaking.’

  ‘Nothing. Just cold.’

  Again the detective’s face swam before her, this time with a single heart-stopping certainty. He would not go away. She had sensed a ruthless doggedness about him that would set him apart from all the others. He would keep on until he got what he wanted. Hounding, circling, prodding, searching, till he’d torn her life apart.

  She looked around. They had stopped on the footpath beside North Terrace. Through the bars of the campus perimeter fence she surveyed the lines of traffic beyond. The outside world. For three years the uni had shielded her from it, kept her safe and cloistered within. Now suddenly her haven had become a prison. And in the cage with her was one rogue shark.

  A shark by the name of Garren Macklyn.

  ***

  Mac spotted his informant in a group of students standing outside the uni book store. She excused herself from her friends at once, her face lighting up as she approached him.

  ‘Why, detective, how nice to see you again.’

  There was a boldness about her features that seemed the product of nervous aggression—pursed lips, corded neck, tightly held shoulders. Her prominent eyes, the same copper brown as her shoulder-length hair, seemed at moments to bulge from her face.

  ‘Ms Dawson,’ he greeted. ‘Could you spare a few minutes?’

  ‘Anything for you, detective.’ A second thought stopped her. ‘Provided you call me Jen.’

  He gave a thin smile, indicated the empty bench beside him and they both sat down. ‘I was hoping you could shed some more light on what happened in the library yesterday morning.’

  ‘Of course, what would you like to know?’

  He opened his notebook to the relevant page. ‘When we spoke yesterday afternoon, you told me you’d overheard Lindsay Cavenaugh relaying information about Martha Daniels. During that incident, did Ms Cavenaugh mention the girl by name or did you just assume that’s who she was talking about? Please think carefully.’

  Jen shook her head with conviction. ‘I don’t have to think about it. I know she said the name, I remember it clearly.’

  ‘There’s no way you could be mistaken?’

  ‘Absolutely not. We all hea
rd her say it.’

  Mac felt the sweet kiss of vindication. Cavenaugh hadn’t fooled him. Despite the distraction of that lovely face and knockout body he could still spot when he was being lied to.

  Sensing she’d said what he’d wanted to hear, Jen beamed with pleasure. ‘Anything else you’d like, detective?’

  He questioned her again about who had been present, exactly what was said and by whom. All of which jibed with what he’d recorded the first time they’d spoken.

  Only one thing missing. ‘You still haven’t told me at what point Lindsay said the girl’s name.’

  ‘Well, she didn’t at first. Frankly she was acting pretty weird. None of us knew what she was going on about.’

  ‘How do you mean, weird?’

  ‘She didn’t seem to be talking to anyone; just standing there staring into space. And when we talked to her she didn’t hear us. It wasn’t till Shaunwyn shook her and said “who was waiting, who got in the car?” that she finally answered, Martha Daniels.’

  Mac sat back and considered the facts. ‘What do you think was wrong with her?’

  ‘If you ask me, she was high as a kite.’

  ‘You’re suggesting Lindsay Cavenaugh is taking drugs? You have anything to substantiate that?’

  She shrugged. ‘Exam week. Students get high to stay up all night studying.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Though my knowledge on the subject is limited, having never taken them myself.’

  Mac wrote ‘amphetamines’ on a blank page and underlined it. Yet something about it struck him as odd. ‘You’re aware that Lindsay is an honour student.’

  ‘That could be your answer right there—an over-achiever, driven to succeed, unable to bear the thought of failure.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘Though I don’t see her keeping the distinction much longer.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Lindsay missed one of her mid-year English exams. Slept right through it from what I heard.’ She frowned theatrically. ‘It was right before we met her in the library actually. She was still in a state—hair and clothes not quite right, dark circles under her eyes, no make-up.’

  ‘And that struck you as odd?’

  ‘For Lindsay it is. Nobody’s vainer about their appearance, let me tell you.’