The Silent One

by M K Farrar

  “How do you know it’s true?” she threw back. “Have you ever experienced it for yourself?”

  Lucas laughed. “I bet Professor Young likes prettier boys than Ben.”

  “Hey, fuck you,” Ben said, a teasing tone to his voice. “You’re just jealous Professor Young never grabbed your cock under the desk.”

  Lucas couldn’t resist a bit of banter. “If he grabbed yours, I bet it was the first time you had something other than your own hand wrapped around it.”

  Ben pushed his blond hair out of his eyes, laughing. “I’ve had plenty of pussy wrapped around my dick, I just like to keep my options open.” He shot a look towards Jasmine that said more than his mouth did.

  Lucas got the feeling Ben wasn’t too keen on having Jas hanging around all the time, but it wasn’t really any of his business. He and Jas were just messing around for the moment, but if he did decide he wanted to have someone a bit more regular, then Jas was exactly the sort of girl he would choose. Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep his eye out for fresh talent, but Jas didn’t need to know that. And you never know, he might even decide she was enough for him. Maybe.

  “Anyway,” Lucas said, “we don’t have anything to worry about with the cops. We were all together last night, weren’t we, so that gives each of us an alibi.”

  Jasmine gazed up at him. “We weren’t together all night, though, were we?”

  His guts twisted. “Don’t be dumb. I was with you at the union.”

  She frowned. “Yeah, well, most of the evening. I think I lost you at one point. I was dancing, and then when I came back, you weren’t where we were sitting.”

  “Fucking hell, Jas. I didn’t realise I had to wear a tracker for you. I was probably taking a piss or something.”

  Her cheeks flushed red, and she blinked fast. “That wasn’t what I was saying. I just mentioned that I didn’t see you for the whole night.”

  “Don’t go telling the fucking police that I wasn’t in the student union all night. If you tell them that I wasn’t there, you’re going to make it seem as though I had something to do with Humphries being killed.”

  Where, moments before, twin spots of blush had been in her cheeks, now her face completely drained of colour.

  “No, of course. I wouldn’t say that,” she added hurriedly.

  “Good,” he grumbled. “We need to have each other’s backs.”

  They fell silent for a moment, and then Jasmine broke it.

  “Oh, look. There’s Paige.” Her pretty face lit up, and she dropped her arm from Lucas’s waist to lift her hand in a wave. “Paige, hey, over here!”

  Lucas’s stomach sank. He’d been hoping they’d get away without having to put up with Jasmine’s friend hanging around. He preferred to have Jasmine to himself.

  Paige walked up to them, a smile touching her lips, though she kept her head down. She’d clearly put foundation and concealer over an impressive bruise across the bridge of her nose, and the marks beneath her eyes had been hidden as well. He considered asking her about it, wondering what her story would be, but decided not to. Better not to poke the beast, as they say. She definitely hadn’t seemed happy that morning, though. He wasn’t surprised. She’d been wasted as well last night. He’d seen the number of shots she’d done. It was like she’d been trying to keep up with the guys. A girl couldn’t act like that and not expect there to be any repercussions.

  Ben’s elbow slammed into his side. “Oh, shit. Those two look like cops, don’t they? They’re heading over this way.”

  Lucas glanced over. Sure enough, two plainclothes police detectives were walking over to them. Lucas thought the man could have been one of their gang a few years ago, cocksure in a ‘good-looking and knew it’ kind of way, and the woman was younger still, in her mid-to-late twenties, he guessed.

  “Hey.” The man drew their attention. “You all students here?”

  “Yeah,” Lucas replied. “We are. We live in the halls on campus.”

  “I’m DC Howard,” he said and jabbed a finger towards his female colleague, “and this is DC Rudd. You mean those halls, right there? The ones with a view out onto the courtyard?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Did you know Adam Humphries?”

  He shrugged. “A bit. Just like everyone did, really. He was in some of my lectures, and he drank in the student union. He lived in the same hall as me, but he was a couple of floors down.”

  “What about the rest of you?” Rudd asked, taking in the small group. “Did any of you know him better?”

  They all shook their heads, but no one was really looking at each other.

  The male officer frowned at Paige, who so far had stayed silent, her hair hanging over her face. Was he going to notice the bruising and black eye?

  But instead of questioning Paige, the detective turned his attention back to Lucas. “Did you see Adam in the union last night?”

  Lucas nodded. “Yeah, he was there. He was drinking with the rest of us.”

  “Did he have a run-in with anyone? An argument you can think of?”

  “Dunno. I wasn’t really paying much attention to Adam. We had our own stuff going on.”

  “Can you tell me who he was with then? He must have been hanging out with someone?”

  “Maybe he was hanging out with Professor Young.” Ben snorted.

  Lucas shot him a glare.

  “Adam was always a bit of a loner.” Lucas did his best to divert attention from Ben. “He was kind of on the outskirts of things.”

  “Why did you make that comment about Professor Young?” the female officer shot at Ben. “Is there something we need to know?”

  Ben at least had the courtesy to blush, his skin turning red right to his hairline. He glanced down at his feet and mumbled something.

  DC Rudd raised an eyebrow. “What was that?”

  “Nothing. I was just messing around.”

  The detective frowned at the small group. “If any of you have something you need to tell us, but feel you can’t discuss with others around, we’ll be more than happy to speak to you in private. In fact,” Rudd said, “we’ll probably be wanting to speak to each of you in private anyway.”

  She reached into her jacket pocket and produced some cards, which she handed out, one for each of the students. Was it his imagination, or did she hold on to the card she offered to Paige just a moment longer than all the others?

  “Anything you can think of, no matter how small you believe it may be, could be of vital importance to finding out who did this, so don’t hesitate to call.”

  Still with her hair hanging over her face, Paige nodded, and the detective finally let go of the card.

  None of the students spoke again until the detectives had turned and moved on to the next group of students, most likely to repeat the same routine.

  “I’m going back to my room,” Paige muttered, turning away from them.

  “Hey, wait.” Jasmine threw up a hand at her retreating back. “I thought I was buying you lunch.”

  But Paige didn’t respond, she just put her head down and kept going.

  Ben scoffed after her. “Jeez, what’s her problem?”

  Lucas shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Six

  The Youngs lived in a detached property with a driveway and a separate garage. A reasonably new Range Rover sat in the drive.

  Erica looked up at the house. It would be worth a pretty penny, so she imagined the professor must be on a decent salary, or else his wife was.

  Shawn echoed her thoughts. “The professor must be on a good wage.”

  “Don’t be sexist, Turner. His wife might be earning the money.”

  “Shit, yeah. Good point.”

  She smiled at his awkwardness. “I’m just messing with you. Let’s go and see if she’s in.”

  They walked up the drive to the front door. Erica rang the bell, and it sounded shrill through the house.

  They waited. T
he car on the drive indicated that Mrs Young was home, but she might have popped out for a walk, or else had taken public transport. The professor had said he caught the Tube each morning rather than drive, simply because it was more convenient.

  The door opened, and a woman in her late forties answered. She was about five feet two and was lean in that way an older woman gets when she’s clearly spent a lot of time in a gym and focused too much on her weight—her cheeks hollowed, her arms roped with sinewy muscle.

  Her eyes widened in surprise, and then her features crumpled in with worry.

  “Hello? How can I help you?” Her accent was posh. Her words clipped.

  Did they look like two police officers? Erica guessed so. Sometimes, she wondered if the stain of what she did, the things she saw and experienced every day, left a kind of cloud around her, like an aura other people picked up on.

  “I’m DI Swift, this is DS Turner. We would like to speak with you about your husband, if you have a minute.”

  Erica was surprised news hadn’t already got back to her about the death on campus. She’d been sure one of the other faculty members would have contacted the professor’s wife already, informing her that her husband had found a body and been taken in for questioning. If nothing else, social media often got news to people about events long before they managed to make it to someone’s doorstep. Perhaps Mrs Young was one of those people who preferred not to be on Facebook and Instagram like everyone else, preferring to take the smugger route of bucking the trend.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Is he all right?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. But we really do need to speak with you.”

  Mrs Young nodded and stepped back, allowing them into the entrance hall. The house was beautifully done up—like something out of a show home. Not a single item was out of place. It was a sharp contrast to the chaos of Erica’s house. Since Chris had died, she’d found it impossible to stay on top of everything. Laundry piles threatened to take over every flat space, and she never seemed to have enough clean cups or cutlery. She’d considered getting some kind of domestic help, but her pride had held her back. She knew she’d be ashamed every time a cleaner came into the house, and would feel the need to tidy up for them, so she’d end up giving herself an extra job to do.

  They crossed the Edwardian-tiled floor of the hallway. Mrs Young led them into a kitchen with bifold doors that opened out onto a neatly kept garden and stopped at the granite island.

  “Can I get you anything?” Mrs Young offered, her clear concern about the reason they were there not stifling her natural need to be polite. “I can put the kettle on.”

  “Thank you, that would be lovely. Coffee, please.” Erica wanted to make the woman feel at ease.

  “Coffee for me, too,” Shawn said from over her shoulder. “Thanks, Mrs Young.”

  “Please, call me Sarah.” She set about refilling the kettle and putting it on the Aga to boil. “What is this about?” she asked, turning towards them. “Is Paul in some kind of trouble?”

  Erica offered her a smile. “We hope not. If you can answer some questions for us, that will clear things right up.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “There’s been an incident at the university, and I’m afraid your husband was inadvertently involved. We just need to check some details so we can rule him out of investigations.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Investigations? What kind of investigations?”

  “It’s nothing for you to worry about. If you can simply corroborate a few of the things your husband has told us, we’ll be out of your hair.”

  She nodded frantically. “Yes, of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

  “Thank you.” Erica reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and pulled out a slimline portable digital recorder. “Do you mind if I record what’s being said? It helps later when we’re going back over the details.”

  Sarah flapped a hand. “Do whatever you need to do.”

  Erica clicked on the digital recorder and spoke the names of everyone present, their location and the time and date into the machine. She turned her attention back to Paul Young’s wife. “What time does your husband usually leave for work in the morning?”

  “Oh gosh. I’m not sure. Early. He’s often already gone before I wake up.”

  “And what time do you normally wake up?”

  “Seven thirty. Sometimes eight, depending on how well I’ve slept.” She paused, biting her lower lip. “Please, can you tell me what’s happened? You’re really frightening me.”

  There was no reason not to tell her. The news must be all over campus. She’d find out soon enough, and it was better she get the truth from them.

  “A student was killed at the university last night. We believe it happened in the early hours, but your husband was the one who found the body.”

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Oh my God.”

  “That’s why we need to ask you these questions,” Erica continued.

  The kettle whistled, and Sarah set about dumping scoops of coffee grounds into a cafetiere and then filling it with boiled water. The scent of fresh coffee permeated the air. No instant rubbish in this house.

  She poured them both their coffee and handed over the mugs. “You don’t think Paul had anything to do with it?”

  She hadn’t offered them any sugar, and despite her outward appearance of trying to keep calm, she was clearly distracted.

  “This is just routine,” Erica assured her. “We have to ask.”

  “I understand. How awful for that poor student’s family.”

  “It is,” Erica agreed. “Tragic.”

  “Do you know where your husband was last night, Mrs Young?” Shawn asked her.

  “He came home around five, and we ate dinner and watched some television, and then we went to bed, so he was here, with me.”

  “All night?” he checked.

  “I believe so, yes.”

  Erica picked up on a hint of uncertainty. “You only believe so? Wouldn’t that be something you’d know for sure?”

  “Well, I was asleep, obviously.” Her cheeks pinked up, and she glanced away.

  There was more to it.

  “But?” Erica took a sip of her too-hot coffee, burning her tongue.

  “We sleep in separate rooms.” She shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal, but she seemed embarrassed by the admission. Her gaze flicked over to Shawn. “We have done for a couple of years now. I know it doesn’t seem very romantic, but when you get to our age and have been married so long, having a good night’s sleep is more important than romance.”

  “Is it possible that your husband left the house last night without you knowing?”

  Her gaze darted back and forth, her hands wringing in her lap. “I mean, I guess it’s a possibility, but I really don’t think he did. Paul wouldn’t do this. What reason would he have? He loves those kids.”

  “They’re hardly kids, are they?” Erica did her best to keep her tone light. “They’re late teenagers and in their early twenties.”

  Sarah gave a tight smile. “They still seem like kids to me. Most of them have just left home. They can’t be expected to make decisions like grown adults.”

  Erica tilted her head. “In the eyes of the law, they’re adults.”

  “True. I can’t argue with that. But honestly, Paul is devoted to his job. He spends more time at the university than he does at home.” She gave a small, strange laugh, and reached up to touch a necklace at her throat.

  “He often works late then?” Erica asked.

  “Well, yes, but that’s to be expected. He always has so much work to do, and he says he doesn’t like bringing it home. It’s too easy to lose those boundaries between work and home if you’re always bringing it back with you, at least that’s what Paul says.”

  Erica flashed a look to Shawn. So, Paul Young left for work before six a.m. and then was back late, too. What was he doing all day? Was it just work, or did he have
some other reason not to come home?

  “What about yourself?” she asked, taking another sip of her coffee. “Do you work from home?”

  “Oh, I volunteer mostly. I work for a charity for older people, helping out in the café that offers free meals to those who might need it, or simply come in for some company. It’s very rewarding.”

  Erica smiled. “I’m sure it is.”

  She didn’t like to poke into another woman’s choice to have children, but she couldn’t help but ask. It might be relevant to Paul Young’s character. Dr Young said they were happily married, but she guessed a couple could be happy and not have children. It was wrong of her to think otherwise.

  “Paul said you don’t have any children. Was that a choice you made together?”

  Sarah gave a closed-lip smile. “It just never happened for us, and Paul didn’t want to go down any other route like adopting. He was worried about taking on someone else’s genetics. I know it sounds stupid when you say it out loud, but I think he was worried we’d end up adopting a child from someone who was violent or something, and the child would inherit that. And then we got older and we were both set in our ways, and we just got to a point where we couldn’t see a child fitting into our lives anymore. We like our space, and for everything to be in its place. A child wouldn’t have worked.”

  “Of course. Having children isn’t for everyone. It’s interesting that your husband chose to go into a teaching role, though.”

  “They’re young adults. They’re not children.”

  Erica made a mental note that Sarah Young had argued the opposite only minutes earlier.

  “Any kind of education must mean you have a nurturing nature, though.”

  “I think being a lecturer is different. They’re imparting knowledge rather than nurturing.”

  “True. Has your husband mentioned the name Adam Humphries to you at all?”

  No recognition showed on her face, and she shook her head. “No, sorry. It doesn’t mean anything to me. Is that the name of the young man who was killed?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  She placed her perfectly manicured fingers to her lips. “God, how awful. I hope you find who did it.”