Freya had been nervous and jumpy all day. Having spoken to Dr MacLeod and given the police her statement, she should have felt better by now, but didn’t. From her high vantage point by the window in the library, she watched as dusk fell over the university grounds and a grey mist crept in to envelop the towers of the main building.
Never did this ancient seat of learning look more like Dracula’s castle than it did at this moment.
Tucked in a corner, encircled by shelves of manuscripts and ancient tomes, her laptop open on the desk before her, Freya had written nothing. How could she think about anything other than the deaths of Shannon and Leila and what had happened between herself and Michael?
It had stung her that Michael believed she’d lied to him, but it stung even more that he had been right. When Grant had asked her to fetch the detective from reception, little did she know that the chance meeting would have such a profound effect on her life. At first glance, she’d been intrigued by the tall, auburn-haired man with the bright blue eyes. It appeared to her that the interest had been mutual and she’d found herself flattered by that. He was both intriguing and scary, an exciting combination.
In the aftermath of Leila’s death, Detective Sergeant Michael McNab had also made her feel safe. So, when Shannon hadn’t turned up again for work, Freya’s first instinct had been to call him. Listening to the tone of his voice when he’d asked her not to go round to Shannon’s flat, she’d known something terrible had happened.
That’s when everything changed.
That’s when she’d forged the lie that had come between them.
She and Danny had never been an item, but she had met him before the previous night when McNab had seen him leave her flat. He and Leila shared many characteristics, to the extent that they might have been twins. Both extremely attractive, charismatic and openly sexual, it wouldn’t have been difficult to fall for Danny’s advances.
But she hadn’t, so in that McNab had been wrong. She should, of course, have told him the truth, but the hurt and suspicion that had radiated from him had stopped the words in her throat, so she’d chickened out and insisted she’d never met Danny in person before that night.
And once a lie had been told, it immediately multiplied.
McNab, good detective that he was, would discover that she’d met Danny before, because he would eventually meet up with Danny and he would simply ask him.
She recalled Dr Rhona Macleod’s quiet expression this morning as she’d listened to Freya’s tale. She hadn’t told the entire truth then either, although she’d hoped by explaining to someone McNab obviously trusted that she’d helped in some way.
And what of the key Rhona had taken?
‘Freya?’ A quiet voice brought her back from her tumultuous thoughts.
She looked up and found Grant standing there. ‘Sorry. I was miles away.’
‘How’s the thesis progressing?’ He eyed the pile of books beside the laptop, all of which were unopened.
‘Not so well,’ she admitted. ‘Can’t seem to concentrate.’
He smiled an understanding. ‘Could you spare a few minutes then for a visitor?’
‘Who?’ For a moment she hoped it might be Michael, however improbable that might be.
‘A benefactor of the library, who’s interested in the Ferguson collection and your work on it.’
Freya’s heart sank, but how could she refuse?
‘Sure, Grant. I’d be happy to speak to them.’
‘He’s waiting for you over at the old building where the collection was previously housed.’
She looked at him, puzzled. ‘What about the workmen?’
‘They’ve gone until Monday. It’ll be nice and quiet there to chat. Use the back room. You’ll find a key for it in Shannon’s desk.’
Freya opened her mouth to say she already had the key, then shut it again.
‘Okay. Who am I looking for exactly?’
‘Dr Peter Charles,’ Grant said. ‘Don’t worry about the books. I’ll put them back for you.’
‘Thanks, Grant.’ Freya slipped her laptop into her bag and lifted her coat from the back of the chair. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then?’
‘See you tomorrow.’
Freya took the lift down to the ground floor and said a goodnight to the guard on the door. Buttoning her coat against the evening chill, she set off across the road and through the main gates. Anything happening in the main building would already be over, but there were still a few students wandering the echoing cloisters on their way to the exit.
Freya headed for the tower that had housed the old library.
As she did so, a text arrived. She stopped to read it, hoping it might be from Michael, but it was Danny’s name on the screen. Did she really want to make contact with Danny again? Maybe if she ignored his calls and texts, she could extract herself from this entire mess? Good sense told her that, but she still didn’t heed it.
The text was brief.
Barry’s dead. Be careful.
‘Barry’s dead,’ she repeated, stunned.
She had never met Barry, but she was aware he was somehow involved in all of this. And now he was dead? Like Shannon and Leila? And why did she have to be careful?
With trembling hand Freya pressed the call button. It rang out, shrill and insistent.
‘Why don’t you answer?’ she pleaded.
At that point a figure appeared from the shadows. Tall, distinguished, suited, with grey hair and a kind face, he quickly approached her.
‘Freya Devine?’ He held out his hand. ‘Peter Charles. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.’
Freya slipped the mobile in her pocket and grasped his proffered hand.
‘Grant said there’s somewhere we can chat about your thesis on Witchcraft?’
Freya pulled herself together. ‘He suggested the old library where the Ferguson collection used to be housed.’
‘Excellent idea,’ he said with a smile.
As she led her visitor up the winding stone staircase, Freya made up her mind to contact Rhona immediately after Dr Charles left. Her first thought had, of course, been Michael, but that was no longer possible.
As she opened the door to the inner room, she recalled Michael’s promise that night in her bed: ‘No one will frighten or hurt you while I’m here.’
But you’re not here, Michael. Not any more.
She turned and invited Dr Charles to follow her inside.