Only Darkness (18 page)

‘If I don’t get this paperwork done when it’s quiet, I don’t get it done at all,’ she explained. ‘Did you want to work in here? I’m not going to disturb you, am I?’

‘No, not at all. You might be able to help me with something. Can you show me the attendance log for the twelfth
of December, the evening? I want the last hour and a half.’ He’d already seen the log, but he wanted to look at it again. ‘Were you on duty that night?’

Sheila shook her head, then said, ‘Hang on, yes, I was. I did that night because someone was off ill.’

‘I know it’s some time ago, but you notice things, Sheila. Tell me what you can remember about the people who were in here on that Thursday.’ He showed her the attendance sheet and she went through the details of the students she could remember, but she didn’t know a lot of the evening attendees.

She ran her finger down the list, trying to remember each student. ‘He just came in to leave some work … I don’t remember him … she had an appointment with David Matthews … then this girl, Sarah, she was here till the end. That’s about it, I think.’ The name didn’t seem to register with her.

‘Did anyone come in late, towards the end?’

She frowned, thinking, then her face brightened as she remembered. ‘Debbie Sykes brought some students in about eight, eight-fifteen. They went through the fire door – they weren’t using the machines.’

‘Anyone after Deborah?’ That memory of Debbie was good, it would help Sheila to pinpoint the evening in her mind. She shook her head. No one after Debbie. He talked her through the system for using the room, booking people in and out, keeping an eye on who had access to the equipment. It was a vanilla system, but it seemed to work. ‘You don’t book me in when I come in,’ he said. ‘Is that policy?’

‘Oh, we don’t book in the staff. Well, the teaching staff we do, but the technicians and the caretakers are in and out all the time. We don’t book them in.’

He had to be careful now, make sure she gave him an accurate answer. ‘Can you remember if anyone like that came in on that Thursday? Say, after Deborah Sykes brought her students in?’

She thought again. ‘I wouldn’t really notice, if they didn’t stop to talk. I think one of the caretakers might have come
in.’ She closed her eyes, trying to picture it. ‘I really can’t remember,’ she said, shaking her head apologetically.

‘Thanks, Sheila, that’s helpful. Let me know if you remember anything else.’

She smiled at him. ‘Is there a problem? I mean, was there a problem?’

No point in alarming anyone. ‘No, I’m just taking a look at some of these rooms. I don’t think it’s a good idea that you’re alone in here of an evening, for one thing.’

She nodded and leant across the desk confidentially. She lowered her voice. ‘I don’t usually work evenings, but Elaine says they used to get all sorts coming in at one time. It’s been better since they’ve closed off some of the entrances. But it isn’t very nice. You’ve got no back-up if there’s trouble.’

He hesitated. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he promised. ‘I’m just going to have a look at the fire escape, OK?’ She gave him a quick smile and turned back to her screen.

The long staircase looked as though no one had opened the door since he’d been through it before Christmas. The broken light fitting still dangled unrepaired. He wondered if Berryman had kept his promise about getting the light fitting checked. Neave thought for a minute. If the person who’d damaged the light was a standard student vandal, there’d be prints on the fitting. If it was someone else, then the fitting would probably be wiped clean. He needed to know that at least.

Berryman looked at the map that Lynne was showing him. ‘McCarthy thinks that Kate may have got off the train here,’ she said, pointing to Kirk Sandall. ‘Now look.’ She ran her finger along the line west of Kirk Sandall, and down a freight line that ran off it. The freight line ran south-west past the mine at Armthorpe, past Bessacar and then joined up with another freight line just by the lake where Kate’s body had been found.

McCarthy leaned over the map. ‘And look, sir,’ he said, leaning forward round Lynne. ‘Here – Mandy.’ Berryman looked where he was pointing, at the freight line branching off close to the spot where the killer had left the remains of
Amanda Varney. ‘And,’ McCarthy went on, ‘look at the siding near Rawmarsh. Freight lines run off the junction there.’

‘It can’t be a coincidence.’ Lynne stood back from the map. ‘We think this man could be a driver for one of the freight companies, and he’s using those trains to move around the tracks.’

‘OK.’ Berryman could buy that. ‘That’s worth following up. But there’s still Lisa, remember. And you haven’t solved the main problem. He can’t be driving those trains and killing women at stations at the same time, right? A train isn’t something you can park up for half an hour until you need it again.’ He looked at them. ‘Come on, this has to be something. Think. What is he doing?’ Lynne shook her head in baffled frustration.

‘Right. You two get on to the freight companies now. Any that run traffic along these lines. You want times and dates, and you want employees – anyone who’d know the schedules.’

The start of term came with a change in the weather. From the freezing cold of December, January brought grey skies and rain. The day barely got light and progressed in grey dullness until what light there was faded into the late-afternoon darkness. The weather seemed to have affected the mood of the people coming back to City. The students, who normally provided the noise, the colour and the light, were dull and apathetic – either sullen and uncooperative or oppressed by work. They caught the more general feeling of darkness that hung about the college with the knowledge that one of their number had died, had been murdered, within a mile or two of the college doors.

As Debbie walked towards the Broome building, she looked up at the dark windows watching her, and was reminded of that sense of menace that had haunted her last term. She was glad to collide with Louise, who was struggling up the steps with boxes, bags and a briefcase. ‘Holiday work,’ she explained breathlessly, ‘in case I ran out of things to do.’ Debbie took one of the boxes and a couple of bags, and pushed open one of the double doors into the building with
her shoulder. They dumped their burden on the table that stood in the entrance hall.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have tried to bring that lot in all at once,’ Louise conceded, looking at the pile. ‘I just couldn’t face two trips to the car park. It’s my day for the top car park,’ she added.

‘You should have asked one of the caretakers. Come on, let’s get it along to the staff room.’ Debbie balanced one of the bags on top of a box.

‘There was only Les, and I didn’t want to be responsible for the hernia.’ Louise looked over Debbie’s shoulder. ‘Salvation. Rob, you’ll give us a hand with these, won’t you?’

Debbie was unprepared. She turned round and saw him standing in the entrance. He gave her a neutral smile and looked at Louise. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Les getting a hernia. He makes sure he’s at no risk. Where do you want them?’

‘Staff room for the moment, thanks. Did you have a good Christmas?’ Louise began to sort the stuff into bags and boxes.

‘I’ll go and open up the staff room.’ Debbie grabbed a couple of bags and fled. When her eyes had met Rob’s, briefly, she had had a sudden memory of his eyes looking into hers in the firelight, and had felt herself going red. She was sitting at her desk looking at her post by the time he came through the door with the boxes, followed by Louise who was carrying the bags and her briefcase. He put them down on Louise’s desk.

‘That’s fine, thanks,’ Louise said. ‘I’ll sort them at lunchtime. So, what’s new in City, then?’ She took off her coat and unwound the scarf from round her neck.

‘Same old stuff. I can’t stay, I’ve got a meeting.’ He gave Debbie a quick nod of acknowledgement and was gone. Debbie stared fixedly at her post, waiting for Louise’s comment.

‘Well…’ Louise hung up her coat. ‘So who’s been rattling
his
cage?’

‘He’s probably just busy,’ Debbie said, staring blankly at the memo in her hand.

‘Probably,’ Louise agreed. ‘By the way, that’s just an out-of-date Happy Christmas wish from our principal.’ Debbie looked at her. ‘You seemed to be riveted by it, that’s all.’ Louise raised an eyebrow at her and turned to her own post.

Debbie finished going through the pile on her desk. There was very little that was important, apart from a memo summoning all the staff to a meeting in the North building lecture theatre that lunchtime. There was another memo from Peter Davis, expressing
deep regret about the recent tragedy
and taking the opportunity to remind the staff that they were contractually bound not to talk to the press without the principal’s express permission. It also gave the date and time of the funeral.
Staff who worked with this student may attend if they have no teaching obligations at this time. A representative from the college will be in attendance.
Debbie didn’t care about timetables. She was going anyway. She heard Louise’s snort of derision and looked across. ‘He’s got the soul of a tax accountant,’ Louise said. ‘
If they have no teaching obligations,
my arse. You want to go, don’t you, Debbie?’

‘Yes. Of course.’ Debbie was glad she was going to have Louise’s support.

‘Well, go. Let’s not make an official thing about it if you
are
teaching then. I’ll sort something out on the QT. Have you got the memo about the full staff meeting at lunchtime?’

Debbie nodded. ‘What do you think it’s about?’ It was unusual for a principal’s meeting to be called at the beginning of the winter term. He usually confined them to the beginning of the academic year, when the staff were assembled for a routine pep talk and what Louise described as an orgy of management self-congratulation.

‘Bad news, I should think.’ Louise frowned. ‘I haven’t heard anything, but I think the union is calling a meeting for later.’

Debbie shelved that problem and pulled out her teaching file, wondering what to do with the A-level group that morning. It didn’t seem right to carry on as usual, but they couldn’t spend two and a half hours talking about Sarah. She decided that they’d go on with ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’. They’d nearly finished the poem, and the sense of peace and
resolution that the ending gave would be appropriate. They had their exam all too soon. They needed to work.

In the event, they were subdued, did what Debbie asked them, worked, but were unresponsive, as though the spark of interest that always made this group so lively and unpredictable had gone. Debbie could understand that. She’d said a bit about Sarah at the beginning of the session, but after break she said, ‘Listen, I want to send some flowers from the class, not just from me. Who wants to put their name on the card?’ She’d bought a card at the weekend. She got it out of her bag and circulated it round the group for them to sign their names and write messages. She’d already decided that the class was over for the morning, and when they’d written the card and made contributions for the flowers, she set them some reading and told them they could go.

Leanne hung back briefly. ‘Sarah was looking for you at the end of term. She said there was something she had to tell you.’ She looked a question at Debbie.

‘I didn’t see her.’ Debbie shook her head in confusion. Leanne shrugged her shoulders and followed Rachel and Adam down the corridor. Debbie locked the classroom door and walked down the long corridor, dim in the winter light. For a moment, she had a feeling that someone was behind her, but when she turned round, the corridor was empty.

The lecture theatre filled up with people. The light on the tiers of seating was dim compared with the bright light on the stage with its lecterns and screen. Debbie came in with Louise, and they looked for places to sit among the two hundred or so people who worked at the college in different capacities. Most faces looked apprehensive or gloomy. Debbie saw Tim Godber sitting near the back at the end of a row, where he could make a quick getaway. He waved to her, and gestured urgently that she should go and sit with him. She ignored him. If Tim had something to say to her, he could come over and say it. She and Louise went across to sit behind Trish. ‘What’s going on?’ Louise asked. Trish always knew.

Louise had been right. It was bad news. Funding was
down, costs were up and it looked as though redundancies were inevitable.

Debbie found it hard to concentrate on what the principal was saying. She didn’t want to think about the implications for her own life of losing her job. She listened enough to find out that there was an anticipated month of restructuring before decisions would be made, redundancy notices issued and appeals heard. She’d better start applying for jobs. There was very little chance of work in South Yorkshire. She’d have to move. What about her house? At least houses like hers were still selling. How long would it take to get a job? Most jobs were for a September start. What could she do in the meantime?

The people around her began to move, and she realized that the meeting was over. There was a babble of voices as people began to discuss the implications of what was happening. Someone touched her arm and she jumped. She looked behind her. Tim Godber was signalling to her to wait outside the theatre for him. Maybe it was important. Maybe it was something about Sarah. He’d seen her in the last week, when Debbie hadn’t.

He caught up with her in the North canteen. ‘Have you got time for a coffee?’ He looked a bit apologetic, a bit uncertain. Debbie’s inconvenient soft-heartedness was aroused.