Chapter Nine #2
“I wanted to text my dad. He works here, but he went on his honeymoon today. He set up the showing tonight, so I wanted to let him know it went well.” I blanch, realizing I can’t send that text now. I don’t think this really qualifies as “went well.”
“Okay.” The detective scribbles some notes. “So what happened next?”
“When we got to the locker room, I put in the code—it’s not a very good code, so anyone could have guessed it—then I opened the door and we…we saw Helen. She was slumped on one of the benches.”
“And do you remember anything in particular about the scene?”
I close my eyes, forcing myself to dredge up as many details as possible, even though I’d rather erase them.
I take a deep breath and reel them off as quickly as I can.
“Helen was a white female with dyed-blond hair and dark, possibly brown eyes. She was roughly five foot six, because she was about three inches smaller than me, and she was around twenty years old.” Detective Romig opens her mouth and I’m sure she’s going to ask how I know this, but I carry on.
I’ve got it covered. “I spoke to her when we were working earlier, and she told me she was going into her final year at Blackwood. There was some kind of wound on her neck and there was a lot of blood, it was all over the floor. Some paper cups from the water dispenser had been knocked over and were scattered over the blood. Helen was wearing her Top Class Catering uniform, and the locker doors were all closed. Oh, and there was something wrapped round her eyes, and it kind of draped down.” I gesture at my own shoulders.
“The belt from a jacket, maybe?” I pause—there’s something about this that bothers me, but I can’t put my finger on it, so I plow on.
“There was a beige trench coat on the rack next to the door earlier, but now that I think of it, it wasn’t there when we found her.
” I suck in another breath as I open my eyes, aware that I’ve probably just said all that way too fast for her to write down.
Detective Romig is stony faced but flushed.
She wasn’t expecting that. “Is she dead?” I ask, before she can reply.
“I’m sorry?”
“Helen. Is she really dead?”
“I’m afraid so.” Detective Romig scribbles in her notepad so furiously I’m surprised she doesn’t carve a hole in it.
“Then this is probably a murder, right?” I ask.
She looks up and locks her gaze on mine, so I elaborate.
“The cups could indicate a struggle, but I don’t think that was Helen.
I think the killer knocked them over on the way out, because they were on top of the blood, meaning the attack took place first. I told you the locker doors were all shut, so that would suggest she didn’t interrupt a robbery.
It wasn’t”—I search for the least offensive words—“an assault, as far as I can tell. Unless it was supposed to be, and it went wrong? Like the attacker was interrupted in some way? Then if you take into consideration the posing of the body—”
“Wait.” Detective Romig’s dark eyebrows rise right over the thick frames of her glasses. “What makes you say she was posed?”
“The belt wasn’t restraining Helen in any way, and it wasn’t on her mouth to stop her from screaming for help…” The detail that escaped me before comes now, and I fail to hide my excitement at making the connection. “The belt didn’t have blood on it!”
“Excuse me?”
“The ends of the belt would have been soaked if they were draped over her shoulders before the attack. But I can tell they weren’t—they were fairly clean—which means she was positioned like that after…
” My words grow quieter under Detective Romig’s gaze until I finally trail off.
Her eyebrows stay somewhere around her hairline as she writes a few more notes.
“You seem very educated on this, Felicity.” I note her formal tone, the use of my full name.
Her attitude has totally switched again, so I hold my tongue rather than tell her I’m borderline obsessive about true crime.
I’ve probably already implicated myself as a suspect. “Can you tell me anything else?”
“Just that after we shut the locker room door, Alessandra heard Izzy scream and ran to see what was going on. She opened the door and saw Helen too. Then she closed it, and we came back here while she rang the police. That’s all.”
“Good, thank you.” I can almost see the steam coming off her pen as she catches up.
“You can go back to Detective Youssef now. She’s going to ask for your fingerprints while I talk to your friends, but I suppose you already know that.
” She gives me a tight smile and looks over my shoulder.
“Alessandra, is it? We can take your statement now.”
I push my chair away and walk back to the table where Izzy and Detective Youssef are sitting.
I make sure she knows I’m offering my fingerprints willingly, and once that’s done I sit and wait in silence while Alessandra and Izzy are interviewed.
Exhaustion hits eventually, but it doesn’t stop my brain from racing through the facts.
The detectives might not be sharing their thoughts, but everything I saw tonight points toward the fact that Helen was murdered.