A Question of Holmes (Charlotte Holmes #4)(42)

“This is so messed up,” I said quietly.

Keiko sighed. “That’s an understatement.” She eyed the carrier on my lap. “Bringing them coffee? The police?”

“No, I thought—I thought I might see Theo and Rupert and Anwen here,” I said, shimmying one of the cups free. “But they’re not, so I guess I have some spare lattes. Do you want one? They’re all mochas or vanilla. I thought some sugar might be on order.”

The girl accepted it and took a sip. “I’m Keiko,” she said.

“Charlotte,” I said, and silently handed over the other two coffees. The second girl didn’t stop crying as she cupped it between her hands. “Have you heard anything? Did they catch the killer?”

“No,” the boy said. He made a face. “They’re still out there, somewhere, deciding which one of us they’re going to kill next.”

A bit dramatic, but I could see his point. “I’m new this year,” I said. “Were any of you here last year? Shouldn’t somebody have warned us if this stuff was happening?”

“Finley wasn’t here,” Keiko said, looking at the other girl. “I was. Do you know if they found an orchid at the crime scene?”

“An orchid?” I asked, widening my eyes.

“And the footlights—did you see the footlights? They flashed twice before the light went crashing out of the rig.”

Finley took a deep, shaky breath. “I saw it,” she said. “I thought there was a power surge. Especially when the light fell right after. It was blinding. I thought there had been a bombing, or that everything was going to explode.”

“Someone was signaling someone,” Keiko said. “To move out of the way. To act. That’s my thought.”

She was a clever girl, but I was more focused on my not having been told about this last night. I made a note in my mind, category bullshit, subcategory things being kept from me.

“Can you all stop?” the boy asked, looking down at his shoes. He was small to begin with, but the slump of his shoulders made him look even more diminutive. “It’s not like we’re going to figure it out. I don’t even want to try. People are dead, and they’re missing, and it’s not safe to even think about it.”

At that, the door to the squad room opened, and the PC from yesterday came out with a clipboard. His eyes narrowed when he saw me, but he only said, “Sebastian Wallis,” and the boy gave us all a miserable look and followed him inside.

The name from the file. The other friend who had gone drinking with Anwen and Theo and Matilda and Rupert, the night that Matilda was attacked.

Keiko watched him go with an unreadable expression. “I wonder where they dug him up from,” she said, taking a sip of her latte. “He didn’t come back this year. Thanks for the coffee, by the way.”

I nodded. It had done what I’d hoped it to.

A SHORT WHILE LATER, DI SADIQ CAME OUT TO PULL ME into an interrogation room. It was one of the purposely horrible ones: chairs with uneven legs, a low whine emanating from the high-mounted speakers.

“Sorry,” she said, sitting down. “The ‘comfortable’ rooms are all taken right now.”

I eyed her from the doorway.

She laughed. “I’m not interrogating you, Charlotte. You know procedure well enough—I’m not cautioning you, I’m not turning on the cameras. To be honest, I’m in need of some help. You were in here just yesterday to remind me of this case, and now we have an Oxford don down.”

“Down.” I eased myself into the chair across from her. It wobbled. “That’s a euphemism.”

Sadiq smiled a bit. “That’s really all I can say.”

It was a fairly common trick: tell the suspects the victim was dead, and they could be moved to confession through guilt and shame; tell them she was still alive, just in a coma, and they could be moved to confession through the fear of her waking up. I wasn’t sure what game Sadiq was playing. In the end, it wasn’t my business.

“I’ve spoken with the fellow who does tech for the St. Genesius theater,” she said. “Unfortunately, late last year after the light fell onto the stage, he led a workshop in proper lighting safety—how to rig a light, how the board works. All the members of the Dramatics Society were required to attend. Any of the returning students would know exactly how to make a light fall.”

“And the tech himself?”

“He’s been in hospital the past few days with pneumonia, which is an alibi if I’ve ever heard one. I spoke to him by phone today. Dr. Quigley had volunteered to run basic tech while he was out. We’re investigating both further. How about you? Dug up anything?”

“I had some interesting visitors late last night,” I told her, and described the situation in detail. The important details, that is. I finished by relaying Theo’s warning about Anwen before he ignominiously passed out on my sofa.

“Facedown, I hope,” she said, taking notes.

“Facedown.” I grimaced. “He was still sleeping when I left. Honestly, they’re all so private, even Rupert, but there’s something one of them needs to confess, and the rest suspect it. They wouldn’t keep pulling in Watson and I otherwise. They can’t stand to be alone with each other.”

“Have you tried isolating any of them? Asking questions?”