Any doubts I had fall away. She’s guilty. If we walk out of here now, she’ll run away as fast as she can. I can see that Edward has reached the same conclusion, his phone in his hand, ready to make a call to his contact at the police.
My voice firm, I reply, “I think revising for an exam is the least of your worries, Beatrice. I know what you did.” Pointing to myself and then to Edward, I continue, “We know. We both know.”
Her eyes narrow, heat rising along her throat, her fury now evident. “I can’t believe you figured it out - and it would be you. The outsider. Only another outsider would notice me.”
My mouth drops open. I’m gob smacked. “What do you mean, only another outsider would notice you? Everyone knows you.”
“I grew up here, lived my whole childhood dropping muddy fruits and vegetables off at the colleges’ back entrances.” Beatrice’s breath heaves in her chest. “I was invisible! Lower than the lowliest staff member. I was no one!”
Edward interrupts her, “You are a student at St Margaret College; that’s as far from no one as you can get.”
Beatrice glares at Edward, her hands gripping the bottom of her seat, her voice bright with anger. “What would you know, Professor Thomas? You’ve been a superstar for your whole life. Not me. I spent my childhood digging in the dirt. Literally.”
Her demeanour brings the memory of our conversation with her father to mind. That slow-burning temper he spoke about is ready to explode.
Eyes wide, Beatrice grinds ahead with her story. “I finished my A-levels and had a chance to escape. I had offers from colleges all over the country. But no,” she chuckles grimly, “my parents insisted I go here. The college offered a bursary. They knew my parents couldn’t really afford the tuition. I’ve got four brothers and sisters; a farm won’t provide enough for all of us to go off to uni!”
The last puzzle piece falls into place. I can see it all now, from start to finish. “So that’s how you ended up studying here and working in the dining hall.”
“Oh yes, Dr Radcliffe thought she was doing me a favour by placing me there, rationalising that I already knew everyone. That only made it worse. Here I was, more known to the staff than to my fellow students. I was part of both groups and neither.”
Edward is silent, leaving it to me to get the whole story out while she will talk. “And then the chef chastised you in front of everyone? That’s what you told me when we had lunch.”
Beatrice’s cheeks radiate anger, her gaze wild. “She threatened to report my error at the High Table dinner to the Principal. I could have lost everything if she had. And the very next day she fires my parents, claiming that they were providing her with substandard vegetables. She emailed half the college chefs to let them know they should look elsewhere, that our quality of produce had dropped.”
It’s time to get her to admit the truth. “I’d ask if your decision to kill her was spur of the moment, but it sounds as though you put a lot of planning into it.”
A nod slips out before Beatrice can stop herself. “I needed my parents to give me an alibi. I went home for dinner and left very early in the morning before they woke up. They assumed that I’d gone back to the college to get ready before I had to be in the dining hall.”
“They thought nothing of your early departure because they assumed you were working the breakfast shift.” I shudder, thinking of how her parents will react to the news of their daughter’s guilt.
Beatrice ignores my interruption, lost in her own world. She murmurs, “I couldn’t let the system have a record of my return, so I knocked on the back entrance and the chef let me in. She was rude as always, making snide remarks about how good it was to see at least one member of my family taking her kitchen requirements seriously. It was the final straw.”
Edward’s voice cuts through. “So you picked up the cleaver and stabbed her.”
Beatrice flinches under the harsh accusation. “I must have hit her exactly right, because she immediately slumped over. I washed my hands in the kitchen sink before running back to my room to change into exercise clothing. I used the side gate where the streetlight doesn’t work to go out and then ran around Port Meadow until I couldn’t see the kitchen and her body any longer. As you said, it was raining. The weather wiped away any final traces of my guilt.”
“Not all of them,” Edward mutters.
“After my run, I came back in the front gate and used my badge at the main entrance. I needed the security logs to match up with my departure the night before.”
As if finally realising all that she’s admitted, Beatrice falls onto her bed and sobs.
I cross over, halfway reaching out to comfort her before I stop myself. Who knows if her tears are real? She’s had us fooled, even her poor parents.
Edward steps into the hallway, deep in conversation with someone on his mobile. Probably the police inspector. I hover in the doorway, my shivers sending more wet drops showering to the ground.
Edward ends his call with a promise to wait on the scene for the police to arrive. He twists around, his eyes wide as he takes in my shaking form. “The police are on their way over. You can stay if you want…” he pauses as I shake with another tremor, “or you can leave the rest of this with me. Maybe
