Chapter 56: Keys (Part 1)

"The timetables are going to your phones now. Please, resume your lessons."

As Mr. Thwaite stepped off the stage, hundreds of phones buzzed at once, in every pocket around Milo but his own.

The crowd’s stammering soon drowned the notifications out.

"Expedition, whoa... all right. Expeditions."

Layla was among the minority who went right into preparations, unlocking her phone and tapping the academy’s app.

"What’s it saying there?" Milo leaned in, but the girl’s pink hair hid the screen.

When she noticed him hovering in the timetable’s reflection, her head snapped up.

"You’re going. Right?"

"I don’t really have a parent who could consent to dismiss me."

"You could." Layla spun away, her coils whipping his face. "Dismiss yourself."

"Are you okay?"

"Okay." The girl stopped and held the device out. "I will print this out for you later."

The Studies exam was set to commence as soon as tomorrow, on Tuesday. Next was Survey, planned for Thursday, and Field would come last, on Saturday. Normally, weekends were free from lessons, so he could see why students were frustrated by that, too.

But they’d had a full week’s break. Thwaite spent that time putting this into motion rather than processing grief.

By Sunday, the groups would be assigned and the scores announced; Monday at 8 AM sharp, everyone would assemble at their group’s spot.

"Got it."

At Milo’s nod, Layla let herself be sucked into the current toward her class. Only after the crowd thinned did he stroll back to the consultant.

The door was open. He had one foot over the threshold when he saw two officers leaning against a table, silver badges on the shoulders of their navy-blue coats.

His first impulse was to duck behind the wall and consider his options very carefully.

But it was too late.

"Milo Zeuqe?"

The investigation had concluded, after all. He had only missed where it landed.

Forcing his limbs loose, he strode into the room as though he had nothing to hide.

Whatever they had, the blood he’d spat near the Warden’s body or the call that had sent them to the widow, it couldn’t be overwhelming.

Otherwise, he’d be behind bars already.

One of the officers reached out to accept a cup of tea from Miss Cox.

"Ahh, thank you very much," the man said.

"Really, it’s my pleasure."

Trying to read all three of them at once, Milo lingered just inside the doorway.

"Good morning...?"

"Good morning. I’m officer West with the Marling police department."

Behind Mr. West, the officer with the tea looked up from his cup.

Back at the dining hall, he had been one of the six Milo had sent to the widow’s room.

"Please, take a seat." West gestured at the armchair. "We have a few questions to ask you."

"I warned you before, gentlemen." Miss Cox stepped in. "Milo is a minor. As his consultant, I am responsible for ensuring he feels comfortable being interrogated."

Maybe the woman was useful for something. What still concerned him was just how much authority she really had over him, and how much of it had escaped his notice.

The officer with the tea kept his eyes on Milo over the rim of his cup.

"Miss Cox, we’ll keep it really brief," West said. "Just a bunch of questions is all."

"Please, leave. I’m certain our consultation will be brief too, and you, officer, will not even finish your tea before getting called back in."

Without another word, officer West led his colleague out with a palm on the shoulder.

"I don’t know if it was necessary," Milo said. "I really have nothing to hide. Maybe it’s like they said. Just a bunch of questions."

"I asked them to leave so you wouldn’t have to. I’ve had an innocent patient ask to speak with me privately, only for the police to decide he must have something to hide. This way, you get a moment to think without having to ask for it."

"So they left just for you to call them back in a second later?"

"I’m making sure you’re given time to process things."

"I’ve heard of something called good cop, bad cop."

"I’m not trying to get a confession, Milo. My job is to understand you well enough to help, and you don’t have to tell me everything today. If there’s something you want to discuss, I’ll listen. What you tell me is confidential, including any crimes you’ve committed. If you were planning to kill yourself or someone else, though, I’d have to notify the authorities. I want you to understand that before you decide what to share."

Killing a Warden, or anyone that important, carried a death sentence. Did patient confidentiality stretch that far?

Milo gritted his teeth.

"You can let them back in. It’s okay if they ask me questions."

"Would you like me to be present or wait outside?"

"Be present."

Indeed, the officer returned with his tea unfinished. Judging by the glance he exchanged with Mr. West, he’d intended to finish it in one or two gulps to prove the woman wrong; apparently, the drink had been hotter than expected.

Steam from the cup drifted across the officer’s face as Milo eased into the armchair.

With Miss Cox on her feet next to him, he even felt protected.

Mr. West stepped forward and took a notepad out of his breast pocket.

"Phone?"

It clicked.

The tea-sipping man must have been chasing the call. A worried voice had sent six of them to the widow’s room, the widow turned out to be dead, and nobody knew who was on the other end of the line.

Clutching to one overheard conversation showed just how desperate they were.

Still, he wanted it confirmed before his shoulders came down on their own.

"Officer West, you introduced yourself." Milo tipped his head beyond West’s arm. "But what about the man behind you?"

"He’s an observer. Now, phone."

"Phone, what? I don’t have one, sir."

"Everybody your age has a phone."

"Seems I’m the exception."

"..."

Milo blinked at the two officers, waiting for more.

Was that it?

Mr. West leaned back to whisper to his colleague.

"What do you think?"

"He’s gotta have a phone."

"I’m asking about how he looks."

"Oh, that... I don’t know."

"You say that each time!"

Each time?

So they had been questioning every boy who resembled him. Kudos for spotting him in the crowd at all.

Though causing phones to be confiscated had been unintentional, it had granted the one boy who actually did it, the one culprit—Milo—a perfect alibi.

There was no phone.

He was also not the only blond student, nor was he the only one who owned a blue sweater.

Even if they paid attention to that, and it seemed like they didn’t, he was wearing the silver jacket today. It waited for him in the building all week.

At last, Mr. West faced Milo, turned the page on the notepad, and cleared his throat.

"She was devastated," he read out. "We don’t want another... never mind. Sorry. I’m just worried."

Keeping still, Milo locked into a staring contest with the observer.

"Please, could you repeat what I’ve just told you?"

His next breath came out shaky. The observer set his cup down.

For what, exactly, did he need to repeat it?

Miss Cox lowered herself to his ear.

"Milo, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to."

Nobody’s ears could match one voice to a shout over a crowd, and certainly not a week later.

A cheap trick. Not like it could ever work on him.

"She was devastated..." he recited. "Um, what was next, Mr. West?"

"We don’t want another... never mind. Sorry. I’m just worried."

"We don’t want another never mind. Sorry. I’m just worried?"

Why the woman had done that, Milo didn’t know.

But as he got the last words out, her eyes widened.

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⋆˚࿔ Coming right up: "Keys (Part 2: Finale)" ... ⤵︎ [!]