Mills turned and made a face at me. “According to the university staff, only a few people have keys. But there have been students staying in those rooms for years, sir, and I’ll bet at least half of them made copies.”
“Copies?”
“For friends, girlfriends, boyfriends. Easy access, anytime. They’d only have to pop down to Timpson’s to get one.” I grimaced as his words rang true.
“That doesn’t help. So, we could say that alongside the keys we know are out there. There’s likely a dozen or so more knocking about in people’s drawers or forgotten in their old mementoes?”
“Probably,” he said, taking a sip. I gave him a once over, my eyes narrowed. “Did you get a key cut for your room, Mills? Sneak in a few girlfriends?”
“I stayed at home, sir,” he answered. “First year, anyway. Moved into a flat with friends after that. But I know plenty of people who did.”
“The great minds of the future,” I muttered into my mug. “You’d think they’d change to the hotel key card nonsense.”
“A bit harder with the old buildings,” Mills pointed out. “Besides, I’m guessing people like Edward pay for accommodation like that for a reason.”
Another good point. It was just off the campus, away from the other ugly blocks of student lodging, closer to the city centre, less security. Ideal, really, for a few twenty-year-olds fresh out of mum and dad’s place.
“Short of trying to track down every single one of those keys,” I said after a pause, “I’d say it’s safe to presume that our killer had one, or at least knew someone who did.” Knew where to get one.
“I’d say so, sir,” Mills agreed. “It could be that Billie had one at one point, but not to say she took it with her when they moved. If they wanted to leave all the memories of what happened behind, maybe a lot of her old school things stayed at their dad’s house.”
I looked him over long enough that he started to look shifty. “I’m so glad I kept you around, Mills,” I told him in a gruff voice. He flushed slightly from the rare compliment and gave me a smile.
“Glad to hear it, sir. Nobody else could put up with you,” he added.
I chuckled, then looked over to the door as Smith pushed it open.
“Sorry, sir, Mills. I found the officer you wanted to speak to, the one who worked Stella’s case.”
“Local?” I asked.
“West Yorkshire now, but I called, and she’s here,” Smith said. Surprise lit me up, and I gave her a nod.
“Send her our way, please, Smith.” She nodded and withdrew from the room, returning a second later with a smartly dressed woman in tow.
“DCI Thatcher, DS Mills, this is DI Fitzsimmons,” she introduced us all, then ducked out of the office and shut the door.
I stood up, putting my mug down, and walked over to shake her hand. Her blonde hair fell in a sleek bob to her chin, large brown eyes glinting out from a pale face.
“Fitzsimmons, I think we briefly crossed paths back as sergeants.”
“I think we did, Thatcher. Good to meet you, I’ve heard about your work, impressive.”
“Thank you, and likewise. Sergeant Mills,” I indicated him. He stood up and shook her head with a nod of the head. I offered her my chair, opting to lean against Mills’s desk the way Sharp had.
DI Fitzsimmons looked around with faint amusement. “Place hasn’t changed much. Is Lena Crowe still here?”
“I think the place would fall down without her,” I said with a laugh. “Thank you for coming, Fitzsimmons.”
“Call me Anya, please. And it’s no problem. I remember her,” she said with a nod to Stella’s picture on the board. “Both of them.”
“Not a great case to work.”
“These things never are,” she said with a fatigued sigh. “He said, she said. I did what I could but ultimately, not enough evidence to make a conviction.”
“What do you remember about it?”
“I remember meeting the girls for the first time,” she said. “Walked into interview and they were sitting there, Stella huddled into Billie like a scared lamb, all pale and dressed in borrowed clothes from the station. Someone assaulted her, that much was evident. Pinning Edward Vinson down was the issue.”
“But the girls were adamant,” Mills said, and she nodded.
“What did you make of him?” I asked. “Of Vinson?”
She groaned. “Typical sort of bloke you find in these cases. Beloved, a bit of a golden boy. There was something about him I didn’t like, didn’t trust,” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed. “I’d have avoided him at school, let me put it that way. Handsome face, lots of money, lots of trouble.”
“Someone else has called him manipulative,” I told her. “Would that be accurate?”
“Very much so. It was hard to get anything from him, though, what with his friends vouching for him and daddy’s lawyers showing up when they did.”
“We’re mostly interested in Billie, as of right now. How she seemed around Edward, around the whole situation.”
Anya nodded and tilted her head to one side. “She was calm. I remember because I thought it was strange at first. Then I realised how their relationship worked, that Billie was more of a mother figure, and it made sense. She made herself calm down, made herself stop, think, and be rational for Stella’s sake. But she was furious, as you would be. Could see it in her eyes. Is she a suspect?”
“As of right now,” I confirmed. Anya’s mouth screwed slightly.
“Do you remember Edward’s friends?” Mills asked her. “How they seemed?”
“Vaguely. One of them was a right prat.” Charlie, I thought to myself. “One of the girls I’m convinced was half in love with him, and the others seemed a bit unsure. There was this one girl, the only one who asked about Billie and Stella. The others didn’t care about them, how they were.”
“Fiona?” I asked, and she nodded, seeming to recognise the name.
“I brought you this,” she dug out a folder and handed it over, “in case you wanted some more through details. I’m afraid I don’t remember much else. I’ve worked too many of those now, they get mixed up sometimes.”
“Not a great area to have to work in.”
“Nor is homicide,” she replied, standing from the chair. “I hate to dash, but—”
“You’re got work, no problem.” We both stood up, ready to walk her out, when my phone started ringing. I pulled it out to turn it off, surprised to find Sally’s mother calling me. I gave Mills a look and said goodbye to Fitzsimmons, shutting the office door as he walked her out.
“Elinor?” I asked.
“Hiya, Max. Sorry to bother you, love, you must be working.”
“You’re alright,” I assured her, worried by the tremor in her voice. “Everything alright? Is someone hurt?” I thought about Sally, her brother, and her father.
“It’s Elsie, pet,” she told me gently. “I’m calling you from the hospital.”
My stomach dropped like a stone, and I braced a hand on the desk for support.
“What happened?” I demanded, praying that she hadn’t fallen or worse.
“She’s unwell. The doctors are figuring out what happened. I came over to drop something off, and she’d fainted.”
“Which hospital?” I asked.
“Local one, love.”
“I’ll be there in a bit. You okay?” I asked as I yanked my coat from the hook and shrugged it on one-handed.
“We’re okay. A bit shook, but okay. See you soon.”
“See you soon,” I replied, hanging up and shouldering my way through the door, striding over to Sharp’s office, knocking quickly on the doorframe and walking in.
Her head shot up. “Problem?”
“I told you about Elsie,” I said, waiting for her to nod. “I’ve just had a call. She’s in the hospital.”
Sharp’s face went stern, and she nodded. “Go on. There’s not much else you can do here today, anyway.”
“Thanks
, Mara,” I told her quietly. She gave me a sympathetic smile as I turned away, finding Mills standing a few feet away, his expression drawn.
“I’ll drive you to your house,” he told me. “Save you walking.”
“Cheers, Mills,” I said, waiting impatiently as he jogged to the office for his keys.
We strode out quickly to his car, driving in nervous silence, my knees bouncing. As soon as he hit my street, I had my seatbelt unbuckled and was climbing out the door.
“Let me know if I can help,” Mills called after me.
“Will do. Thanks, Isaac.”
He gave me a wave, turning around and going back to the station. I didn’t give myself time to feel guilty about leaving him to work the case alone, just jumped into my car and peeled off to the main road, heading out of the city as evening began to fall.
I rolled through the familiar streets and countryside, faintly aware of my questionable driving as I peeled towards the small hospital, swinging into the car park as dusk fell, the street lights flickering on. I ran over to the entrance, finding Sally’s dad inside waiting for me.
“Max,” he said, gripping my arms in the strange little hug he liked to do.
“Paul.”
“This way.” He jerked his chin, leading me through reception, who nodded in our direction, over to the lift.
“Any news?” I asked as the doors closed, and we went up. He pushed his grey hair from his face and shook his head.
“They’re still running some tests, but she’s in bed and asleep now, and they’re not too worried. She’s not in any immediate danger.” He spoke to me quickly and concisely, and I’d always appreciated that about him. He looked at my tense jaw and grinding teeth and lay one of his big hands on my shoulder, saying nothing.
The lift doors opened, and he walked me along the shiny hallway to where Elinor sat outside a room. Sally lay with her head in her lap and her feet in Tom’s, his coat laid over her like a blanket. He gave me a smile as we neared, and I bent to kiss Elinor on the cheek before walking to the door and peeking through the window. She took my head as I looked on Elsie, all small and tucked up in bed, her heart rate monitor beeping steadily.
Bad timing, I thought guiltily. This was all very bad timing.
Twelve
Thatcher
I was exhausted the next morning, trudging up the stairs in the station, the noise of the building falling on my slightly numb ears. I’d left the hospital after an hour or so, realising that there wasn’t anything I could do. Tom had woken Sally up, and I’d left with them, Elinor and Paul promising to get in touch with any changes. I’d wanted to go into Elsie’s room, but there was no point, and if she found out that I’d gone in and sat all morosely by her bed, she’d give me a right scolding. I hadn’t slept well either. Liene was at hers that night, so I’d lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, mind whirring with thoughts of Edward Vinson, Stella Helman, Billie Helman and Elsie, all tucked up in her big hospital bed. It was always wrong seeing her outside the village, especially in somewhere as big, white and chemical scented as the hospital.
My eye had only just closed, and then my alarm started blaring. I rolled out of bed and straight into a cold shower, hoping to wake myself up well enough to be of use today. We were due to track down Mark Helman and see what he could tell us about either of his daughters and what he knew about Edward Vinson. After my shower, I scarfed down some breakfast, barely tasting it, and brewed myself a strong cup of coffee that I had now emptied, cradling the thermos as I walked to our office and collapsed in my chair, tipping my head back, shutting my eyes for a while.
All around me were the slightly muffled sounds of phones ringing, the printers whirring and officers chatting and murmuring, a few laughs here and there amongst the otherwise professionally stoic faces. The door opened, and someone shuffled in, placing something on my desk. The smell of coffee drifted up, and I cracked my eyes open to find a fresh mug in front of me, Mills now at his desk, giving me a small smile.
“How is she?” he asked.
I sighed and sat up, reaching for the mug. “Not sure, really. I’ll hear whenever they know something. But she’s not in any danger, which is a relief.”
Mills nodded, his eyes looking over my unshaven face and shadowed eyes, and said nothing. We sat quietly for a little while, sipping at the coffee, and I glanced out the window, watching the city slowly churn to life.
“What did you get up to after I left?” I asked him after the silence felt too strange.
“Tracked down Mark Helman,” he told me, typing on his computer. “He was in the system. A drunk and disorderly from last year.”
“Last year?” I asked, looking over at him.
Mills nodded, looking back at the screen. “Would have been around the time the girls moved out, I think.”
I hummed thoughtfully, my mind slowly whirring to life, sharpening and clearing up.
“Got an address?”
Mills nodded again. “No change there. Just on the outskirts of the city, Murton way.”
“Shall we give him a few hours to wake up or catch him off guard?” I asked, spinning my chair slowly.
“I say we go now, sir,” Mills said, “before he has a chance to have a drink.”
I grunted my agreement and drank the rest of my coffee before standing up and pulling my coat back on. A chill was drawing in these days, and I didn’t like the look of the clouds over the city. They gathered in a dark, slow herd that made me hope I wasn’t outside when they finally roamed their way over.
Mills emptied his mug and picked up his car keys without a word, for which I was grateful, and we headed out from the station, avoiding seeing anyone with questions, and climbed into his car.
“The news made a report on Vinson this morning,” Mills told me, turning the radio down so we could talk.
I grimaced. “What did they say?”
“Just the basics and our request for any information.”
“Nothing about Stella? Or Billie?” I asked.
“No,” Mills assured me, “I think Sharp’s keeping a tight lid on all that until we can say anything for sure.”
I nodded, relieved. I imagined it would be the last thing Billie needed, to have her name thrown around in a murder story tied to her sister’s assault and suicide. It was quite the burden for one so young, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her, even if she did remain as one of our lead, one of our only, suspects.
“So, what happened with Elsie?” Mills asked.
“Not sure,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “Elinor, Sally’s mum, popped round last night and found her on the floor. Fainted.”
Mills winced slightly.
“She didn’t fall,” I went on, happy to speak some of it aloud to get it out of my head. “Nothing’s cracked or broken, which is a relief. No sign of an infection or anything.”
Mills hummed. “Let’s hope she’ll be on the mend quickly then.”
“Elsie’s a tough old thing,” I said in a reassuring voice, more to myself than Mills. “She’ll be alright.”
It was a hope as much as anything else. I wasn’t sure what I would do without Elsie if the worst happened. I’d known Sally my whole life, of course, but Elsie was what little family I had left. In my mind, she was like the coaching house, something that would always be there, no matter what. Maybe when I next went to work on some repairs there, I’d pop round to hers and make her some chicken soup or something.
“Well, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know,” Mills offered kindly.
“I appreciate that, Isaac. Thank you.” He smiled at me before turning his attention back to the road. The roads were busy with morning commuters, and we slowly made our way through traffic towards the edge of the city, out towards a small suburb that looked like it had seen better days.
We ended up outside a rather sad looking house, set apart from any neighbours by an overgrown garden of weeds and brambles, the paint on the door peeling, litter f
luttering about on the ground outside. I swung myself out from the car, looking up at the little house with its murky windows and mossy bricks and swore under my breath.
“No wonder Billie wanted to get Stella out of here,” I murmured as Mills joined me on the front path.
“It doesn’t exactly feel homely,” Mills agreed, looking at the state of disrepair that was well over a year in the making. The place might have gotten worse since the sisters left it, but I got the feeling it didn’t have far to go to get here. There was a car outside, an ancient little blue tin with a flat tyre that didn’t look like it had been on the road for a while, and if it was driven, it would probably be a loud, smoky situation.
I strode up to the front door where little pieces of paint fell in splinters to the ground, and pressed my finger against the doorbell, just about hearing it ring inside, then took a step back to where Mills stood and waited.
We stood there long enough that I thought about ringing again and started to wonder if anyone was home, but eventually, I heard the scraping sound of a lock being drawn back, and the door swung open. The man who looked out at us had a rough enough appearance that I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
A scruffy beard lined his jaw, an unkempt mane of hair grew in straggles to his shoulders, his skin was clammy looking, pale in some places and flushed in others, and his eyes, the same bright, vibrant green as Billie’s, were bloodshot and glazed.
“What?” he said in a gruff voice.
“Mark Helman?” I asked, taking a small step closer.
“Obviously,” he said through his teeth. “What do you want?”
I pulled out my warrant card and stepped closer so that he could actually see what I held out. “Detective Inspector Thatcher and Detective Sergeant Mills, North Yorkshire Police. I was wondering if we could have a few words.” I tucked my card away, and Mark Helman’s eye dragged from my pocket to my face.
“I haven’t done anything,” he told me.
“We’re here about Edward Vinson,” I said, ignoring him, watching as his face clouded over in thought. Then he looked up from his feet, realisation on his face, a muddled expression of anger, sadness, and guilt in his eyes.
Guilty Conscious Page 10