I pick my pace back up, but it’s a futile effort. The drizzle turns into a downpour when I’m still several blocks from home. As I get closer, the light from my front window beckons me home with promises of a warm shower and a glass of wine. I leap onto the doorstep amid a mental debate over chardonnay vs merlot. Reaching towards my pocket, I remember that these leggings don’t have pockets. Despite the conversation with H over locked doors and necessary keys, I somehow ran out without one.
I lean on the buzzer labelled with Edward’s name. My front door doesn’t automatically lock. If he can let me in the main door, I can get back into my flat with no further harm done.
I shiver as the cold soaks through my lightweight clothing. That cool breeze is now an icy blast. I buzz again and again, but no response.
“Ok, Nat, what do we do now?” I ask myself. “Think. Who else has a key to this place?”
The security guard at the porter's lodge! He delivered my suitcases on the first day and Harry made a comment about how convenient it is to have someone around with a master key.
I force my tired feet back into a slow canter. I jog to the end of the block and turn the corner, following the college fence as it leads me towards the main gate. The guard is standing under the lodge eaves, staying dry while he finishes up a cigarette.
“Ms Payne, look at you! Quickly, get inside. What are you doing out on a night like this?”
Wiping more rain from my eyes as I follow him in, I explain, “I went for a run and lost track of time and the clouds. And I forgot my key. Could you loan me a spare so I can get into my flat?”
“Of course, of course,” he walks behind the counter and opens and closes drawers. “Here it is, you can keep it until tomorrow morning. No need to get out again tonight.”
“Thanks so much. You must see a lot of students in need on nights like this one.”
He chuckles, “That I do. You remind me of Beatrice from the dining hall. Did the same thing as you, except it was super early in the morning. Sun wasn’t even up yet.”
“Beatrice?” I ask. “The cashier? She never mentioned being a serious early morning runner.”
“I thought it strange myself,” shared the security guard. “Working here in the lodge, you quickly learn people’s habits. That was the first time I’d ever seen her out so early in the morning and caught in the rain, no less. I meant to ask her about it the next time I saw her, but then you and Dr Radcliffe found Chef Smythe and the police turned up and I plum forgot.”
“Wait,” I interrupt, “Was this the morning of the murder?” Something about that jogs my memory. “Beatrice said she’d been sick that night and had gone home.”
“Aye, she goes home regularly, what with her family so close. They seem tight-knit, I always see them chatting when her parents come by to deliver the fruit and veg order. They didn’t come by that day as Chef Smythe had fired them.”
My brain neurons are firing all across my head. “What is Beatrice’s last name?”
“Johnston.”
“And you’re sure this was that morning? The day we discovered the murder? You didn’t mix up the days?”
Grimacing, the guard shakes his head. “I could hardly forget such a horrid occasion. That whole day is permanently emblazoned in my memory.”
I’m running out of the lodge before he finishes his sentence. The murderer has been sitting in the dining hall, right in front of us all this time.
Chapter Nineteen
Part of me wants to rush straight to Beatrice’s room and get the confrontation over, but the rational part of my brain insists I do this properly. I need Edward. He’s our official liaison to the police force, and he has more experience in this area than I do. After all, he is a professor of criminology.
He’s also been investigating the murder since the beginning. Our trip to the Cotswolds was evidence enough that we were both on the right path, suspicions in line with one another. I owe it to him to make sure he is beside me if I’m right and Beatrice is the killer.
I know Edward isn’t at home; he didn’t answer when I rang his bell a few minutes ago. Given the late hour and the dreadful weather, there’s only one place he can be: his office.
I’m sure I set a new land speed record with my dash across the college gardens. The rains have cleared all the pathways of people, leaving plenty of space to speed up. Rain pours down on my head, invisible in the shadows. Only when I run under the yellow glow of the pathway lights, can I see the raindrops sheeting down.
I finally reach the conference centre that marks the far side of the college grounds. On the first-floor, one window shines like a beacon. I do a quick estimate, feeling more confident that the lit office is likely Edward’s.
“Hold the door, it’s an emergency!” I shout at a student exiting the building, the young man’s mouth dropping open at the sight of my soaking hair and clothing. He stands as far as possible from the door, holding it wide for me to jog inside. I drip my way up the stairs and along the hallway towards Edward’s office, my shoes alternating between a squeak and a squelch. My spirits lift in relief when I spy his nameplate, a light leaking from under his door.
I don’t knock. I fling the door
