Guilty Conscious

by Oliver Davies

  I grinned. “Mills can be the same.”

  She laughed, the sound making my chest warm, and seemed to relax as we drove towards the station. I kept the conversation light, asking about the cat, avoiding any talk of Stella or Freya until we reached the station. Billie looked up at it with a frown but followed me through the doors and upstairs. It was quiet at this time of day, only a few officers milling about, manning the phones. I settled Billie down at a desk and went to the kitchen to make her some tea, scooping some sugar into the mug to tide her over until she was ready to eat. Sharp joined me there, making me jump as she walked in.

  “You’re normally leaving by now,” I remarked, waiting for the kettle to boil.

  “There’s not normally a scared twenty-year-old girl sitting in my station who’s just been borderline attacked by a murderer,” she said back calmly. Her tone was serious, so I looked at her, meeting her eyes. There was a slight remorse to them.

  “You were right about Billie Helman,” she said. “Your instincts, as usual, were correct.”

  “Not about Freya,” I muttered, filling the mug with hot water.

  “No. But you can’t be right all the time. You were about Billie, which I think, judging from the look of her right now, is a very good thing. I’m sorry for doubting you,” she added, placing her hand on my shoulder.

  “Can I record that?” I asked with a mocking smile. “I’d like to play to myself from time to time, as a reminder. Make it my ringtone.”

  She swatted my arm and looked through the door to where we could just see Billie, stroking the cat methodically.

  “We have the number for the therapist she used to see?” She asked quietly.

  “We do.”

  Sharp nodded. “She might need it,” she said sadly, pushing herself from the door frame she leant against and walked over to the desk. I hurriedly dropped some milk in the tea and followed, placing the mug in front of Billie as Sharp stole my chair and said down in front of her.

  “Nice to meet you, Billie. I’m Chief Superintendent Sharp.”

  Billie looked at her admiringly. “You’re his boss?”

  “I am.”

  Billie smiled. “I’m Billie. This is Cat,” she added, holding up the shaggy fur ball.

  “Can you run us through what happened this evening, Billie? From when you left here,” Sharp asked politely. She liked to do this from time to time rather than sit in her office dealing with annoying phone calls and emails from HQ and the Chief Constable.

  “Um, well. I left,” Billie started. “Got on the bus and went back. Agnes told me I didn’t have to work, but I wanted to. Thought it might take my mind off things.” Sharp gave her a knowing, encouraging nod.

  Billie settled down into the chair, took a sip of the sugary tea, wincing at the heat and adjusted Cat’s position on her knee before carrying on. It was more or less the same story she’d given myself and Mills, a few little details added here and there. But Freya had come in, Billie had pieced together what was happening and ran for it, smacked her hip on the counter in the process, and locked herself in the fridge until we arrived.

  When she was finished, Sharp turned to look at me. “Dr Crowe is still here. Send her up, please. She’ll give you a quick look over,” she told Billie. “Being that cold isn’t good for you.”

  I thought that Billie was going to protest, but there must have been something in the maternal order that Sharp gave that had her smiling slightly, cradling her tea and nodding. Sharp turned to me, gave me a wink, and I went off to fetch Crowe, trying not to think about the fact that Freya would now be long, long gone.

  Twenty-Seven

  Thatcher

  Dr Crowe was more than happy to leave her report writing and take a look at an actual patient, chattering away as I led her upstairs to Billie. She and Sharp were talking to each other, smiling, and I wondered if I was the only one who was biased when it came to young people with tricky home lives.

  I introduced them quickly and let Dr Crowe and Billie use my office so that the good doctor could give her 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 a
nd 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. She looked over at the window still, her eyes looking Billie over from head to toe until she turned back, satisfied. “She was in the fridge?”

  “She was,” I confirmed.

  “Clever girl.”

  “We had our doctor give her a little look over,” I reassured her. “Other than some rest and some food, she’s fine.”

  “I tell you; I’ll have to force-feed that girl one of these days,” Agnes said exasperatedly. “Ready when you are then, Sergeant Mills.”

  He smiled at her and led her over to a quiet table, leaving me to deal with Mark Helman as he walked out of the office, standing a bit taller but also looking sheepish.

  “My apologies,” he said as he reached me. “For wasting your time.”

  “You were acting in the interest of your daughter,” I replied coldly. “It’s an understandable course of action. Though I’d advise you not to do so again.”

  He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never thought she did it,” he told me. “I just wanted—I wanted to be useful for her for once.”

  I looked over to the doorway where Billie now stood, watching him. “I think showing up was a nice thing to do. But maybe next time, you could just buy her some lunch or something.”

  He chuckled, nodded and offered me his hadn’t. I looked at it for a while, then shook it. Mark looked back at Billie once, then ambled to the stairs and went down. As soon as he was gone, she joined me.

  “I told him to go to AA,” she said. “He looks like he needs it.”

  “What about you? Will you need help?”

  Billie cast me a sideways look. “You’re worse than Agnes.”

  “She’s here,” I said, pointing to the far room where Agnes sat with her back to us.

  “Is she mad?” Billie asked quietly.

  “Not in the slightest,” I assured her.

  Billie sighed, relieved, and looked at me again. “You have a lot of pictures in there,” she said, “on the board. You took them from Edward’s room?”

  I turned to her, surprised. “You recognise some?”

  “A few,” she shrugged, grimacing slightly.

  “Mind if we go and take a look whilst we wait for Agnes?” I asked. I didn’t want to push her on any of it, but we had no clue where to begin looking for Freya, and if Billie could pull out a few details from the photographs, at least we might get a starting point.

  “Sure.” Billie shrugged, following me into the office. She placed Cat down on Mills’s desk chair and positioned herself in front of the board, skimming over the photos of herself, Edward, Freya and Stella, and focused on the little mosaic of things I’d taken from Edward’s room.

  “Plautus,” she muttered, looking at the quote that Mills had identified. “He always preferred Roman to Greek.”

  “It’s a thoughtful quote,” I remarked, and Billie smiled at me.

  “He wrote comedies,” she said. “Pioneered the genre, in a way.”

  “Really?” I asked, looking back at the quote.

  “Guess it’s part and parcel, isn’t it? Comedy and tragedy.”

  “So, I’ve heard,” I remarked. I sat myself down on the desk, letting her look it all over in peace and quiet.

  She tapped a postcard. “I got him this one. Dad took Stella and me to London one weekend. Before. Thought he’d like it.”

  “Did he?” I asked.

  “Must have done if he kept it all this time. He wasn’t very sentimental,” she told me. “He’d keep something if he liked it, but if he hadn’t, he would have just given it back to me.”

  Sounds charming, I thought to myself.

  “These he took,” she said, pointing to a few. “I was with him for some of them. This is from Bronte country.” She tapped one of a winding river. “I made him take it. I love the Brontes.”

  I nodded, recalling seeing the three sisters on the shelf in her living room.

  “This one’s from the Viking centre, the little village,” she said, smiling at one. “We went, all of us, one weekend.” It was of a bonfire, the smoke curling languidly into the air. The door shifted, and Mills walked in, looking expectant. He noted Billie, then myself, and walked inside, sitting next to me on the desk.

  “Billie recognises some of these,” I told him. “I wondered if they might be useful. Freya knew about the studio, so she might know some of the other places Edward liked to visit.”

  “He had a few,” she said dryly. “Depending on his mood, the drama queen. The ruins at St Mary,” she nodded to the black-and-white image of the crumbling abbey. “Bit wet out there for that, and he always went alone.”

  Mills leant forward and held up a hand to the window, to Agnes, who nodded and settled herself down on a chair. Smith appeared by her side, a cup of tea in hand, and the two of them got to chatting as she waited.

  “Lendal Bridge,” Billie murmured.

  “What about the one underneath?” Mills asked, eyes narrowed as he tried to make out the picture. “Where’s that?”

  Billie reached for it, hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. “Can I?”

  “Go ahead,” I nodded.

  She pulled the photograph of the board and held it closer to her face. “One of the little bridges,” she said, “over the Foss.” There were several of them, I was aware.

  “Do you know which one?”

  “Monk Bridge, I think. It’s,” she broke off, frowning deeply.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s not far from the park,” she told us. “The one Stella saw him in.”

  The one he might have been at when Freya was with him. I sat up straight.

  “How often did he go there?”

  “Fairly often. Whenever his dad was winding him up, really. More often than he’d care to admit.”

  I looked to Mills, who shrugged. “It’s as good a place to start as any,” he said. At this time of day, though, with the night drawing in ever faster, we’d need to be quick.

  “Let’s go and check it out. Billie, unless there’s anything else there that strikes a bell?”

  “No, nowhere that springs to mind. He was there, or he was at the studio,” she said. “Why would Freya go there, though? It’s wet outside.”

  “We
need to start looking somewhere,” I told her, picking up Cat and depositing her in her arms.

  “Good luck, I suppose,” she muttered as I ushered her from the office towards Agnes. She shot to her feet, already clutching Billie’s bag and pulled her in for a hug, managing not to squish Cat in the process.

  “Stay safe,” I told her as she wriggled free from Agnes’s arms.

  “You too,” she muttered, turning and following Agnes to the stairs. Smith joined us.

  “Got a lead?”

  “We might do,” I answered. “A bridge that Edward liked to go to, close to the park where he saw Freya.”

  Smith frowned. “Monk Bridge?”

  I turned and looked at her, confused. “You know it?”

  “It’s a bridge, sir. Everyone knows it,” Mills said dryly from over my shoulder.

  Smith ignored him. “Why would she go there, sir? With all due respect.”

  “I have no clue,” I answered. “But I don’t know where else to look,” I admitted, already striding towards the stairs. I had Sharp’s words from before ringing in my ears about my instincts, and I decided to go with it.

  If my gut said to go to Monk Bridge, then that’s where I would go.

  Twenty-Eight

  Thatcher

  Thankfully, Mills had no objection to my tunnel-visioned decision to head out, following me down to the carpark. I’d swapped my coat in for a police jacket, a radio clipped to my shoulder so that we could better communicate with the other officers out on the streets looking for Freya. There’d been no sign of her at home, so we’d sent Dunnes to introduce himself to Mrs Fox in the hope that she’d be willing to help us, or at least, that she’d let us do what we needed to do.

  I jumped into the car, the headlights automatically turning on in the low light. It was getting dark fast, and I hoped we found Freya before night fully came in, hoped that we wouldn’t have to start again in the morning. For her safety, as much as anything else. There was a part of me that knew we could be wildly off base—that Freya might have hunkered down in a café, might have returned to university and was staying with a friend, but I didn’t pay those thoughts much heed. She was tangled up so much in all of this, Edward’s business, Billie’s and Stella’s that I didn’t think she could put it aside even if she wanted to. From what she’d said to Billie, she hadn’t finished yet.