Leaning back in his chair, Edward admits, “I agree that Mr Johnston merits a visit, but why on earth would Dr Radcliffe suggest you and I go. This is a police matter, hardly an afternoon jaunt.”
I’m glad I chose to stand. Sliding over, I position myself between Edward and the door. He’s not getting out of here without me. “The police aren’t moving quickly. Dr Radcliffe is in agreement that the murderer must be identified as soon as possible. I’m the only person associated with the college who has had a friendly conversation with either of the Johnstons. Dr Radcliffe insists that we accomplish this task together and provide a formal report after the event.”
Edward’s eyebrows raise in question. “What exactly is this task she expects us to accomplish? I’m hardly going to question a suspect with our party planner along beside me. And certainly not in his farm’s carpark.”
“She doesn’t expect us to put him under a spotlight or pull his fingernails out until he confesses. She asked that we have a short chat with him, get details on his whereabouts so the police can do their job and look into the veracity of his statements. That’s it. She’d send you on your own, but, well, don’t take this wrong, but you’re intimidating. We both thought you’d have more luck with me along.”
I can see him wavering. Pointing towards his desk phone, I say, “She tried to call you, check your missed calls. You can ring her back if you don’t believe me.” The flashing red ‘missed call’ light echos the truth in my statement. With no other choice but to comply, Edward rises from his chair, grabbing his coat on his way out.
I step out first, clearing the path. He locks his office door and turns back down the hallway without saying another word.
“Um, Edward, aren’t you forgetting someone?” I motion over my shoulder to indicate the student still seated on the floor.
“She’s well aware that office hours are not until later this afternoon. She was trying her luck, hoping I’d take pity on her. I’m sure she’ll be there when I return.”
Harsh but true. And exactly why Dr Radcliffe isn’t sending Edward on his own. I don’t think he even realises how his statements are received by others.
We retrace my steps towards the main building, stopping at my office to pick up my coat and sticking our head in Harry’s doorway to let her know where we’re headed. As we approach the main doors, the smells of the dining hall drift under my nose.
“Sorry, Edward, we need to make a quick side trip.”
“Another one? I thought this matter was urgent, Ms Payne.”
“It is, but so is the grumbling in my stomach. A quick bacon bap from the dining hall ought to do it.”
The serving windows are closed as we walk in, but I am not to be deterred. I’m sure there are leftovers. I stick my head into the kitchen area to find a madhouse rather than a kitchen crew.
I grab a prep chef and quickly beg for the last bacon bap. Before he goes off to find one, I ask what is going on.
He waves me to follow him into the kitchen, chatting over his shoulder. “It’s the new fruit and veg vendor. They’re completely unreliable, turning up late, short on produce or not showing up at all.”
Oh good, for once a problem I can solve. “I’ve got some good news. I spoke with Mrs Johnston yesterday. She’s happy to reopen our account if we’d like.”
The prep chef considers my offer as he spreads brown sauce on my bap before wrapping it in wax paper. “It’s a good thought. However, the last time Mr Johnston was here, he shouted the rafters down and said that he’d make Chef Smythe pay for what she’d done. Reliable or not, that behaviour is hard to overlook when she turned up dead a few days later. It’s unfortunate, as they are the best in the area.”
I raise my eyebrows at Edward as the prep chef passes me a wax-wrapped package before we make our escape. Mr Johnston sounds better and better as our primary suspect.
❖
As we pull out of the college carpark, I can’t help but think back on my trip yesterday. That’s when it hits me. “Oh no, I forgot my wellies back at home.”
“Thank you, dear Lord, for these small favours.” Edward bows his head in mock prayer.
Avoiding further conversation, I turn the radio on. This is probably the first time anyone has exposed Edward to pop radio. Perhaps a few tunes will move his mood from sarcastic to sincere.
He reaches over and changes the station. Operatic tones overtake the space in ways that pop singers could only dream. Any other day, I’d enjoy hearing something more soothing and melodic. Not today. I use the button on the steering wheel to discretely change it back.
He changes it again.
I roll down his window. As he rolls it back up, I change the station to pop radio again. I have far more buttons at my disposal and he’d do well to remember that.
He turns the volume down, opens his mouth as if to start a conversation, then closes it and turns the volume back up. Finally, he’s caught on.
We complete the ride in silence, although there are a few rough moments when a tractor practically sideswipes me on the single-track road. And when that cow comes out of nowhere. I pull into the now familiar drive, nearly running down a burly man who is trying to sweep it clear.
I throw the car into park before leaping out to reassure myself that he is okay.
“Sir, I’m so sorry, are you all right? I didn’t see you
