Page 9 of The Last De Loughrey Dynasty (The Legacy of Aquila Hall #1)

CHAPTER EIGHT

DOROTHEE

Owley was, without a doubt, a melancholy village, where you could barely find anything except one bakery after another, as if it were the most important thing in the whole of England.

It had been two days since I’d felt a glimmer of optimism that there might be something supernatural going on, rather than me simply losing my mind. Those two days had been torturous. I couldn’t concentrate in my classes, nor could I get a decent night’s sleep. My thoughts kept circling around the possibility that a girl’s suicide had been mistakenly ruled an accident. Worse still, since Maisie had mentioned that people believed they’d seen Christopher allegedly pushing Lessy over the edge, I’d felt sick. I’d seen the fear and pain in his eyes as he begged her not to do it. I could only imagine how he must have felt, enduring investigations, classmates’ accusations, and relentless judgment.

Neither of them deserved their fate.

Walking through the small town, I used my phone to navigate to the police station. As absurd as the number of bakeries seemed, Owley had everything it needed. The next big city was only ten minutes away by bus, but if you didn’t need fancy clothes or other luxuries, you could live perfectly well here for the rest of your life.

Unfortunately, students from the boarding school were only allowed to venture as far as the village. I think I’d read somewhere that students over the age of sixteen were permitted to travel into the city with at least one other classmate if there was a special event, such as buying costumes, gowns, or accessories for an occasion. The next festival would be Halloween, but that was still a few weeks away.

From afar, I spotted the small police station and glanced around. None of my new classmates needed to know why I was there. I was afraid they’d ask questions I couldn’t answer without sounding completely unhinged. Perhaps a part of me still doubted that this school was truly for people like me, and the fear of being mocked all over again haunted me.

An officer entered the station, and I managed to slip through the open door behind him. He gave me a brief, friendly nod before greeting the woman behind the reception desk and disappearing into another room. My gaze followed him before shifting to the elderly woman sorting papers at the desk. Clearing my throat to catch her attention, I spoke when she finally looked up with a gentle smile.

“Hello, dear. What can I help you with?”

Balancing nervously on my feet, I returned her smile. “Hello. I know this might sound strange, but would you know if, on May Day in nineteen seventy-one, a suicide happened at Aquila Hall that was falsely ruled as an accident?”

Straight to the point—rip the plaster off. Don’t waste time.

But the look on her face made me fear I’d just given her a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, dear, why do you need to know that?”

“Oh, of course, I should explain myself. I apologise. This is for a school project I’m working on. It’s about unsolved crime cases and why they remain unresolved.” I chuckled nervously, wishing I’d thought of a better excuse. “One of my friends is a descendant of Alessandra Alderidge, and since her family is still grieving, I wanted to learn more about the case to help them find peace.”

That was the weakest explanation I could’ve come up with.

To my surprise, the woman didn’t question my lie. She appeared too startled to even consider it. Looking from me to her computer screen, she typed something into the keyboard.

“If your project is about unsolved cases, you should find another one. Miss Alderidge’s case was resolved the week it happened—it was ruled an accident.” She looked at me apologetically, clearly disappointed she couldn’t help.

“I know, but there have been speculations that her death wasn’t an accident, and I’d just like to know more about that.”

I reached into my pocket and unfolded the papers I’d printed in the library, handing them to her. She took them carefully and examined them.

“Some believe they saw a man push her; others think it was suicide, since an accident seems so unlikely with a balcony that high.”

“Dear, it’s been almost fifty years...”

“I—I know. But as I said, I want to rule out the accusations made. It might help my friend’s grandmother find peace.” I swallowed hard and put on a sorrowful expression, as if the subject were deeply personal to me.

The woman’s expression softened, and she nodded in understanding. I almost felt guilty for manipulating her emotions like that—she seemed so kind.

Her gaze flickered to a nearby shelf for just a moment.

It’s in there, isn’t it?

The truth was hidden behind those doors.

“I’ll be right back, dear.” She disappeared into a room marked Sergeant Forks.

For a moment, I considered opening those doors myself and running off with whatever I found, but it would be too obvious I’d stolen the files. Getting handcuffed for theft wasn’t on my to-do list.

When she returned, she brought a man in uniform with her.

“Hello,” he greeted, “my name is Arthur Forks. Amanda told me about your request, and I’m afraid we can’t provide any details. Besides, my father handled this case, and he was thorough. No need to worry. We didn’t miss anything, kid.”

That wasn’t what I’d hoped to hear.

I forced a smile. “I understand. Thank you for your time.”

Sergeant Forks returned the smile. “No problem. Have a nice day.”

He walked back to his office but turned to Amanda. “Could you grab us some coffee from Blair’s? The machine’s still broken.”

Amanda nodded reluctantly, clearly displeased at being sent on such an errand.

Before leaving, she sighed, “sorry I couldn’t help you, dear. I hope your project goes well and that you have a lovely weekend.”

Amanda’s gaze flickered to the shelf again as she apologised.

“You know, I could take a quick look at her file, just to see if there’s truly nothing else about the case.” She walked to the shelf and unlocked it with a small key on a chain around her neck. “I understand what it’s like to want answers. My niece died in an accident over ten years ago at this school. No one told me anything for weeks while the case was being investigated. It was agonising not knowing.”

Her willingness to help came from her own experience of feeling helpless.

“I’m so deeply sorry,” I murmured, genuinely moved by the pain etched into her face.

She pulled out a file and flashed a bittersweet smile. “Oh, don’t be, love. It’s been years. And as much as I hate the phrase, ‘time heals all wounds,’ in my case, it’s true. I’ve found peace knowing she’s safe wherever she is now.”

My heart ached for her loss, but I couldn’t deny the relief I felt as she began flipping through Alessandra Alderidge’s file, the answers I desperately needed might finally be within reach.

“That’s odd,” Amanda muttered.

“What is?” I asked, taking a step closer.

“The official cause of her death was listed as an accident, but it was overwritten—altered, even. That shouldn’t happen with official documents,” she said, mostly to herself.

I leaned in eagerly. “Could you tell what it said before they changed it?”

Amanda shook her head. “No, but it was the seventies. It could’ve been a grammatical error, probably nothing more than a word written incorrectly. Don’t dwell on it too much, dear.”

She put the file back, locked the doors, and then moved to her desk to retrieve money from a drawer. “I hope I’ve helped, even just a little.”

Amanda escorted me outside, and we exchanged polite goodbyes.

I waited two full minutes before slipping back into the police station. My heart pounded as I headed straight for the shelf she’d forgotten to lock. It didn’t take long to find Alessandra Alderidge’s file.

Tucking it under my jacket, I hurried out again, praying there weren’t any cameras. If anyone noticed the file was missing, they’d likely suspect me right away. Who was I kidding?

I ducked into an alley next to the station and checked my surroundings. No classmates, no villagers—just me.

Pulling the file from my jacket, I opened it. But before I could read a single word, the papers were snatched from my hands.

“Hey!” I shouted, spinning around.

There stood a familiar boy, holding the file like it was the lightest thing in the world in his hands, though it had felt unbearably heavy in mine.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for the criminal type, De Loughrey,” Archer muttered. For the first time, there was amusement in his voice.

He held the file high above his head, well out of my reach. I leapt up, trying to grab it, but to with no luck.

“Arsehole,” I spat, my frustration boiling over. A sudden urge to push him surged through me, but I resisted. Violence wasn’t in my nature, and I wasn’t about to start now, not because of him .

“Lovely choice of words,” he replied coolly.

When I finally stopped trying to snatch the file, he lowered it slightly and scanned the title aloud. “Alessandra Alderidge.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for the type who can read,” I shot back.

He ignored the insult. “What are you doing with a stolen police file about an accident from fifty years ago? Specifically, an accident involving your roommate’s family?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re pretty mean for a girl whose nickname is ‘Doe.’”

“Interesting coming from a guy named Archer who seems to always aim without ever quite hitting the target, huh?” I crossed my arms. “Besides, I’m not rude. I just don’t feel like sharing my secrets with someone who’s been watching me like I’m a ghost from his past. Now give me the file, or I’ll start screaming.”

My patience had officially run out.

He tilted his head, unbothered. “I’m sure the police would love to know who stole their file. Shall I let them know?”

Anger flared in my chest. “You want me to explain why I just nicked this file?”

“That’s what I’m asking, yes.”

“Fine,” I snapped. “I’m mad. I’m mad, and I think I relived Alessandra Alderidge’s death in a dream. And most importantly, I think her death wasn’t an accident but suicide. I need this file to prove to myself that I’m not crazy.”

Archer stared at me for a long moment. Then, without a word, he handed me the file.

I blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change in attitude.

“Wasn’t so hard to tell the truth, was it?” he said, his voice free of judgement.

“You’re not laughing at me?” I asked, hesitant.

“Do I look like I’m laughing?” he replied seriously.

I shook my head. His reaction baffled me, but I wasn’t about to question it further.

Archer nodded towards the file in my hands. “Go on, read it and get your answers. Then put it back before anyone notices.”

He glanced around, ensuring no one else was nearby. A part of me wondered why he was helping, but another part was simply grateful.

I opened the file and began to read.

Alessandra had died instantly from head trauma when she hit the ground. Goosebumps crawled across my skin as I skipped the details of her injuries and focused on the listed cause of death.

Accident.

But Amanda had been right. Tipp-ex had been used to cover the original cause.

Carefully, I scratched away the correction. My breath hitched as the original words were revealed.

“What does it say?” Archer asked, his curious gaze fixed on me.

I swallowed hard. “Alessandra Alderidge committed suicide.”