Chef Smythe is waiting in the kitchen. I recognise the soles of her black rubber shoes as they dangle off the edge of the metal kitchen island. Her body lies face down, a pool of deep red staining the floor.
I gasp as my eyes land on a large wooden handle. The florescent kitchen lights glint off the shiny steel of the meat cleaver sticking straight up from her back.
My vision goes grey as I mutter the only words that come into my mind. “I don’t think I’m getting one of her scones soon.”
❖
Dr Radcliffe leads me over to a table, the chair scraping the floor as she pulls it out and nudges me into it before rushing back into the kitchen. I take deep breaths until she returns, fumbling in her jacket pockets, searching for her mobile. She takes two tries to get past the fingerprint reader, cursing under her breath.
“Harry, thank goodness. I need you to call the police and then our security team. Send them to the dining hall… It’s Chef Smythe. She’s dead… Yes, I’m sure… Please hurry. Thanks.”
Harry’s sharp intake of breath is so loud, even I can hear it.
I watch as she slides her phone back into a pocket before covering her face with her hand. Dr Radcliffe takes three deep breaths, in and out. That’s all she allows before pulling herself back together. By the time she lowers her hand, she is once again in control. She looks me straight in the eyes, “Ms Payne, I need to secure the doors until the security team arrives. Do not move from this space. Keep breathing deep, I’ll be right back with you.”
I take a few more calming breaths, focusing on the sounds of her heels echoing around the room. My stomach is in a knot. I concentrate on the swish of the door and murmured voices that signal the security team to keep from being sick. I try not to think about the scene I’ve witnessed, but it is burnt into my brain. The images flicker in and out of focus in time with my breathing. The rubber shoes, their flour-dusted, non-slip soles on display for all to see. A stain of darkest crimson, dripping from the table to pool on the tile floor. Last, but not least, the knife with its unforgiving steel blade.
Shuddering, I fight to hold in the tears scratching the backs of my eyelids. A furry face brushes against my legs, reminding me I’m not alone. I force my head back up, blood rushing through my body as circulation is restored.
“Come here, cat.” He jumps into my lap and bumps his head under my chin. I bury my face in his furry warmth. He doesn’t complain at the wetness. His deep purr sinks into my chest, comforting me until I find the strength to pull myself back together.
Dr Radcliffe is once again back in front of me. At a glance, she is calm and collected, but her crossed arms cannot hide the slight tremor in her hands. “The police are securing the scene and a Detective Constable will be here shortly. I’d send you home, but they told me we must stay put until the Detective can speak with us.”
I nod my understanding. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay here with you as long as needed. The shock must be worse for you since you knew Chef Smythe well. Would you like a cup of tea? Would that help?”
Her mask slips for a moment, so quick I almost miss it. “That’s a great idea, Natalie. I’ll ask Harry to bring us each one. A proper builder’s cup to give us both strength.” She doesn’t wait for an answer, ringing Harry with an additional set of instructions.
The hours pass by in a haze, snatches of conversation interspersed with images of yellow police tape, uniformed officers and flashes of crime scene photographers.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“Did you touch anything?”
“Did Dr Radcliffe seem surprised?”
I answer question after question until Dr Radcliffe puts her foot down, insisting we’ve both shared everything we know. Harry steps forward, pulling me to my feet and tucking me under her arm as she guides me out of the dining hall and back to my office.
“Let’s get your handbag, Nat, then I’ll walk you back to the flat.” She releases me long enough to allow me to gather my things. I half listen as Harry chats with the cat while I struggle to remember whether I had anything other than my handbag with me. “Come along, H. Be a good boy and keep our young lady company today.”
The walk to the flat passes in a flash with Harry chattering the entire way. “I wish I could hide away here with you, but Dr Radcliffe needs my help to contact staff members and to sort out student meals for the rest of the day. It’ll be good to stay busy, keep my mind off it.”
I rush to reassure her I’m okay now that I’m free from my captivity. “I’ll find something on the television to watch, and the cat will stay by my side.”
She squeezes my arm, as much for me as for herself. “Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll drop something from the caterer by later. Your body needs comfort food. It will help you remember that you are okay.”
I stare at the TV after she leaves, watching a Bake-off marathon until Harry returns, a pair of foil-covered plates in hand. She settles next to me on the sofa, picking at her food as we watch the Bake-off contestants try to make a meringue pie. When the episode ends, she presses a small pill into my hand. “The Detective suggested you and Dr Radcliffe might have trouble
