by M K Farrar
Paige bundled up the sheets, together with the clothes she’d worn the previous night, and went to her door. The rooms were tiny, and she was relieved that she’d managed to get one with its own toilet and shower. She’d heard some of the halls of residence had a communal bathroom—as well as the kitchen and laundry room each floor had—and she couldn’t imagine what she would have done if she’d had to make it to a shared bathroom covered in blood. Someone would have seen her and asked questions she wouldn’t have either wanted or been able to answer.
Clutching the bundle of bloodied sheets and clothes, she edged open the door and peered out onto the corridor beyond. All clear.
She slipped into the corridor and hurried down to the laundry room. Mercifully, it was free, and she was able to stuff the sheets into one of the machines. She hadn’t thought to bring her laundry powder, but one of the other students had left theirs behind, so she grabbed it and shook in a decent helping. Would it be enough to remove the blood? She had no idea. Perhaps she should have thrown the sheets away instead? She put the washing machine on the hottest, longest setting, and pressed the button to get the wash started.
A thought occurred to her. Wasn’t she supposed to wash blood in cold water to remove it? Did hot water just make the stain worse?
Well, it was too late now. If the stains were still there at the end, she’d have to throw the sheets away and hope no one asked her any awkward questions.
She sensed a presence behind her, and her heart tripped, her breath short.
“There you are!” a familiar voice exclaimed. “Have you seen what’s happening outside?”
Paige turned to face Jasmine and exhaled a long breath of relief. “Jesus, you just scared the shit out of me.”
Jasmine’s face changed, her emotions at seeing her friend written clearly across her features. “Oh my God, Paige! What the hell happened to your face?”
Paige lifted her hand to hide her nose, without touching herself, knowing the slightest pressure would bring tears to her eyes. “I slipped on the stairs last night and whacked my face. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Jas. I was stupidly drunk and I’m so embarrassed.”
Fine lines appeared between Jas’s well-defined eyebrows. “So, you decided to do some laundry?”
“My nose bled all over my sheets. It was a mess.”
The image of the blood all over her hands flashed into her mind. So much blood. Had that all come from her nose? No, the pain between her thighs told another story, but she didn’t want to think about it.
Jas winced. “Yeah, I bet. You didn’t seem that drunk when you left last night.”
“You saw me leave?” she asked hopefully. Maybe Jasmine could throw some light on what had happened.
“No, you just vanished.”
Paige bit her lower lip and dared to ask, “Have you seen all the police outside? Do you know what they’re here for?”
“I don’t know. I just woke up as well. Too many drinks last night.”
Paige forced a smile. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”
“Looks like something serious, though.” Her blue eyes lit with excitement. “They wouldn’t have all those police officers out there otherwise.”
Why did people their age seem to thrive on drama? It didn’t matter what it was—any kind of gossip was like currency.
“Put some shoes on,” Jasmine continued, “and we’ll go out and see.”
Paige shrank inside. “Oh, no. I don’t want to go out like this. Everyone will notice.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll put some makeup on it for you. No one will even notice.”
“Seriously, Jas. I’m not going anywhere.”
Jasmine pursed her lips and folded her arms over her chest. “You need to eat. It’s not as though you can hide in your room until your bruises vanish.”
“Why not? Just throw takeaway food at me as you go by.”
Jasmine wasn’t budging. “What kind of friend would I be if I let you hole yourself away in your room?”
“A good one,” she replied dryly.
“No. As your uni BFF, I refuse to let you hide away when there are exciting things going on. Go and take some paracetamol and put some concealer under your eyes and you’ll be good as new.”
She let out a sigh. Jasmine wasn’t going to give up. Would it look worse for her if she was hiding away? Maybe she’d appear less guilty if she simply faced up to everyone.
“Okay, fine. Just give me a minute.”
She wished she could say no to her friend, but it wasn’t worth the argument. Besides, Jas was right about the paracetamol. Every part of her hurt, and she tried not to wince as she walked. All she really wanted was to climb back into bed, but she wasn’t sure she could even do that without thinking of all the blood she’d found when she’d woken up. Besides, her sheets were in the wash.
Leaving Jasmine standing in the hallway, she nipped back into her room and located a foil packet of painkillers. She took a couple, swigging them down with some much-needed water, and then quickly applied some makeup to the bruises under her eyes. She added a little mascara and some blusher and then took her straight brown hair out of its ponytail and let it fall around her face. At least she could hide behind the curtains of her hair if need be.
She appraised herself again. If it weren’t for the bruises hidden beneath her clothes and the low ache in her stomach, she could almost convince herself she was fine, just a little hungover, that was all.
Jasmine was waiting for her in the corridor. She was leaning against the wall, her phone in her hand, her neck bent to it as she scrolled through Instagram or Snapchat, but when she spotted Paige, she slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.
“Ready?”
Erica forced a smile. “Guess so.”
“I did text you last night to see if you got home all right, but you didn’t reply, and then I think I might have passed out.”
“Yeah, sorry. I lost my phone. I might have left it in the union. I’ll have to go and check.”
Jas screwed up her face. “Oh shit. That’s a bummer. Hopefully, someone’s picked it up for you. Do you want me to phone it? See if anyone answers?
“Yeah, sure.”
Jasmine put her phone on speaker so Paige could hear, but the call went straight through to answerphone. The battery had most likely run out. She was always forgetting to charge it until the last minute.
“Oh, well. Thanks for trying.”
Together, they headed down into the courtyard.
“Hey, did you see how Lucas was all over me last night?” Jas said, excited. “I definitely think he’s interested.”
“Lucas? Which one is he?”
She tried to remember, but their faces all blurred into one.
“You know! Tall, dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes.”
“Oh, right.” She could vaguely bring a face to mind.
“You don’t seem very happy for me?” Jas pouted.
“Sorry. I feel like shit. My head hurts, and my nose is throbbing.”
“The painkillers will kick in soon, and then you’ll be fine. We’ll go and see what’s happening, and then I’ll treat you to brekkie and a coffee in the union. You can see if anyone’s handed in your phone as well.”
Though she wanted her phone back, Paige recoiled at the idea of going back to the union.
“Seriously, Jas, the minute my sheets are clean, I’m going to climb back into bed again.”
She didn’t think she was even going to wait for the sheets. Right now, she’d happily just sleep on the bare mattress. She had a lecture in a little over an hour, but she was considering skipping it.
They stepped out into the autumn sunshine. A small gang of the lads had gathered, lured in by the presence of the police and the possibility of snapping a dead body to post to their social media. Paige recognised most of them and could name a couple. The boy Jasmine had been flirting with last night was there, Lucas Gill, together with his friend, Ben Redding, and two others Paige di
dn’t know the names of.
Lucas seemed pleased to see Jasmine approaching. “You’re never going to believe it,” he crowed, “but Adam Humphries has been fucking murdered.”
How could he seem so delighted by it?
Jasmine’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“Yeah, his body was discovered first thing this morning. And that’s not all. Professor Young was found standing over his body, covered in blood. I reckon the police might think he did it.”
“What the fuck?” Jas exclaimed. “Why would a professor want to murder one of the students?”
“Wait a minute,” Paige said, trying to make sure she was hearing things right. “Adam Humphries?”
Hadn’t Adam been in the union last night? He’d been drinking with them, she was sure. Okay, maybe not exactly drinking with them—she couldn’t remember him doing the shots or anything—but he’d definitely been on their periphery. And now Lucas was saying that Adam was dead? Not just dead, but possibly murdered?
She felt as though someone had punched her in the chest, winding her. Was it just her hangover? A rush of heat burnt her cheeks. Sweat sprang out on her upper lip and across her forehead.
Jasmine frowned at her in concern. “You okay, Paige? You don’t look so great.”
“I...I just can’t believe he’s dead.”
“I didn’t think you knew him that well.”
She shook her head, and the movement sent pain lancing through her brain. “I don’t. I mean, I didn’t.”
Jas shrugged. “Exactly. None of us did. I don’t know why you’re so upset.”
“I’m just shocked, that’s all.” She looked between them, their faces blurring through unshed tears. “Shouldn’t you be, too? One of our own has been killed, and you’re standing around acting as though this is an episode on a soap opera.”
Jasmine lifted both eyebrows. “Jeez, Paige. Chill out. We’re not acting like that at all.”
Lucas shot Paige a disbelieving glance. “Yeah, you’re being way too sensitive.”
A flash of hot anger burned through her. “Are you fucking kidding?”
He didn’t bother to reply, and Paige found her gaze drawn back towards the scene on the other side of the courtyard, the police officers appearing busy and important.
Jasmine was the first to break the silence. “I bet they’re going to want to talk to everyone who saw him last night.”
Paige’s heart jolted. “I thought Professor Young was being questioned about it.”
“But that doesn’t mean he did it, for sure. I guess they’re going to need to speak to everyone to make sure they’re right.”
Paige fought against a rising panic attack.
It could just be a coincidence that someone had been killed on the same night that she’d ended up so drunk she couldn’t remember anything and had woken up with blood in her bed. She’d bet plenty of other students didn’t remember a whole lot about last night, and being so drunk explained why she’d hurt her nose as well. Her explanation to Jasmine about tripping on the stairs and smacking her face probably wasn’t far from the truth. She didn’t want to think about the bruises between her thighs, the clear five fingerprints in blue and green on her hips. How she cramped as though she was about to get her period.
No, no, no. Take your thoughts away from that.
Thinking about it would change everything, and she knew it wouldn’t only be about what had happened last night. It would change the rest of her life. The person she was. Her future.
She couldn’t handle that.
Chapter Four
Paul Young sat with his head in his hands, his elbows propped on the table of the interview room.
Beside him sat a black woman in her fifties. The woman wore a stern expression and an expensive suit. Young’s solicitor, Erica assumed. That was fast. She remembered Coggins telling her that Young had been read his rights at the crime scene, so he must have made a call the moment he’d arrived at the station in order to get the solicitor here so fast. Was she a friend of the family perhaps—Young seemed like the type of person who would know people at the top of their profession on a casual basis—or was she his family solicitor? Or maybe he’d simply planned for this, and part of his execution had been making sure there was a good solicitor on hand the moment he’d been brought in for questioning.
The clothes Young had been wearing had been confiscated as evidence, but there was still dried blood on his hands. He didn’t seem to notice.
Erica was more than capable of conducting this interview on her own, and had left Shawn coordinating with SOCO back at the scene. She hoped the professor was going to cooperate. As of yet, she had no idea what kind of man he was.
“Paul Young?”
He lifted his head from his hands and nodded. He looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. His complexion was ruddy, his hair thinning and turning grey. Pale-blue eyes peered out at her from behind a pair of wire-framed glasses.
He seemed to notice the dried blood and stuffed his hands beneath the table, out of sight.
“My name is DI Swift.”
He gave her a tight smile of acknowledgment.
The solicitor spoke up. “I’m Donna Clark, Paul Young’s solicitor.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Erica took a seat across from them. “I want to remind you of your rights. 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. I need to let you know that this conversation is being recorded, is that all right with you?”
It wasn’t as though he actually had any choice in the matter—the interview room had a built-in video and audio recorder—but she needed to inform him. She also wanted to put him at ease, to give him some idea that he might have some control over his surroundings.
Paul Young nodded. “Yes, of course.”
The solicitor lifted her hand in a stop motion. “Before we continue, I want it known that I have advised my client to answer ‘no comment’ to your questions and we will put forward a prepared statement, but he has refused and would prefer to answer your questions.”
“That’s because I haven’t done anything wrong,” Young blurted. “I want to answer the questions so I can help you find whoever did this.”
Erica noted the tightening of the solicitor’s mouth and the slight roll of her eyes towards the ceiling. She clearly didn’t approve of this tactic. Did she think he was guilty? Again, Erica wondered just how well the solicitor knew Paul Young.
“Of course, you have your right to remain silent,” Erica reminded him, “but getting your account of events will definitely help us.”
He sat back in his chair, his arms folded. “That’s what I want to do then. I know I’ve been brought in for questioning and you’ve done all the reading me my rights and stuff, but that’s just for the case, isn’t it? I’m not in any kind of trouble, am I?”
“You’re not under arrest and are simply here to help us with our enquiries. If you didn’t have anything to do with Adam Humphries’ death, I’m sure we’ll get everything all cleared up soon enough.”
“I don’t, I promise. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
How many times had she heard that before?
Young sat forward again, his elbow back on the table. “I mean, I was the one who called you people. Why the hell would I have done that if I was the one who’d committed the crime?”
She was starting to understand why Donna Clark had advised him to say ‘no comment’. He was clearly a talker. “You’d be surprised how many people think that by acting innocent, it’ll be enough to put us off the scent. I can assure you, that isn’t the case at all.”
“I’m not acting innocent,” he muttered. “I am innocent.”
Erica didn’t remark on the statement. “Before we get started, is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable? Would you like anything to drink, or eat even? These th
ings can take some time.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Of course. But if you change your mind, just let me know.”
“I will.”
Erica smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Let’s get started then, shall we?” She spoke the date, time, their location, and the names of everyone present. “Paul Young, what’s your role at the university?”
“I’m a professor of Applied Economics,” he replied. “I have been for almost five years.”
“Are you married, Mr Young?”
“It’s Dr Young,” he corrected her. “And yes, I am. Happily.”
She noted that she hadn’t actually asked him for that extra bit of information. Why had he felt the need to supply it?
“How well did you know the victim, Adam Humphries?”
“I hardly knew him at all. He was in some of my lectures, but those lectures can contain a hundred students. Plus, he was one of the first years so had only recently started. I do get to know the students more personally by the time they reach their final year, but it’s impossible to know the first years after a few weeks, even if they are taking my classes.”
“Would you say you’ve ever had a one-to-one conversation with Adam Humphries?”
Young rubbed his hand across his mouth and shrugged. “Yes, I probably have, but it would just have been about coursework. Nothing else. I certainly can’t remember any details of what we might have said. I talk to hundreds of students.”
Erica switched topic, keeping him on his toes. “Do you often go to the university campus at six in the morning?”
He nodded. “I’m an early riser. I like to get ahead of the game.”
“And that’s what you were doing this morning? Getting ahead of the game?”
“Exactly.”
“So, talk me through the time leading up to finding the body. Let’s start with the night before, shall we?”
“I really can’t see what that has to do with finding Adam Humphries.”
She created a circling motion with her hand, spinning a wheel. “Humour me. It’s easier for me to get a complete picture of everything if I know what’s come beforehand.”