Only Darkness (19 page)

‘I’m not sure. What did you want to see me about?’

‘Do I need a reason?’ He smiled tentatively. ‘I want to apologize.’

That did sound like bullshit, but Debbie couldn’t bring herself to snub him when he was making the effort, and agreed to a coffee. ‘I’ve only got about fifteen minutes, though.’

They sat down at one of the tables. The room was large with a tiled floor and tended to echo. Conversation was difficult unless you sat close to the person you were talking to. Debbie opted for shouting, and pushed her chair back a bit as Tim moved his forward. She was reflecting on the potential for farce if she and Tim ended up in a chase and retreat round the table, but he acknowledged her unspoken wish and instead leant forward across the table towards her. ‘I really am sorry, Debbie,’ he said. ‘I just saw a story and
went for it. I wanted to apologize at the time, but I didn’t know how.’

‘
Sorry
usually does it quite well.’ Debbie wasn’t letting him get away with that.

‘Yes, OK. Don’t be hard, Debbie, it doesn’t suit you. You sound like your gorgon-lady colleague.’

Debbie was torn between being offended on Louise’s behalf and reflecting that Louise would be pleased to know that Tim thought she was a gorgon. ‘OK, you’ve apologized. I accept your apology. Is that all?’

She could tell that she’d annoyed him, but he kept his temper. ‘I wanted to say how sorry I am about your student, Sarah. I didn’t really know her – but I used to teach her. She was in my media group last year. For a while.’

‘Louise said she was talking to you at the end of last term,’ Debbie said. She was surprised when Tim looked taken aback. It seemed a strange reaction. Maybe Louise had got it wrong – or maybe it was just that he didn’t like Louise. ‘She didn’t come to class, you see, and I wondered if she was looking for me.’

Tim was staring into his cup, frowning. He looked up. ‘No, no, it was nothing really. Well, she was looking for you to tell you why she’d missed her class. She was worried you’d be angry with her, so I just said some soothing words about what a nice person you were.’

That last bit
was
bullshit. Debbie was surprised that Sarah had been worried enough to come into college. She’d missed classes before. All the students did from time to time. Debbie rarely got heavy with them about it – she understood the pressure they were under. ‘Is that all she wanted?’

‘All she told me about,’ Tim said lightly. ‘I’m not saying there wasn’t something else, but if there was, she didn’t tell me.’

That would fit. If there had been something worrying Sarah, she would have to talk to someone she trusted. It had taken Debbie the best part of two years to win Sarah’s trust – she wouldn’t be likely to confide in Tim. Debbie shook her head. It was a mystery and one she’d like to solve – she felt that she had somehow let Sarah down. Perhaps she’d talked
to the other students. She looked across at Tim. ‘Did she seem upset, worried?’

‘No, not really. She just wanted to let you know about the class.’

That didn’t seem right. Tim had said that Sarah
was
worried. A strand of Debbie’s hair had escaped from its mooring, and she twisted it round her fingers. There was nothing she could do for now. She changed the subject. ‘What about the meeting? What do you make of it?’

‘Oh, it’s the usual. Give them the option of getting it wrong or getting it right, and they’ll go for getting it wrong every time. It’s no skin off my nose. My work’s expanding here. If they try to make me redundant, they’ll be in trouble. I’ve got plans, anyway.’

‘I’ve got to go.’ Debbie had had enough of Tim. She picked up her bag and stood up. He jumped to his feet.

‘I’ll come across with you,’ he said. Debbie couldn’t think of any way to refuse. His staff room was in the same building as hers. As they waited to cross the road, Debbie saw Rob crossing from the other side. He saw her and gave her that same rather closed smile. Debbie glanced at Tim and caught him looking at her speculatively. She felt her face going red again.
Shit.
As they were going up the steps into the Broome building, Tim said, ‘Fancy a drink sometime?’

‘No.’ Debbie was certain about that. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about it, and she didn’t want to be emollient about it. ‘I’m teaching now. Bye, Tim.’

Well, it could have gone better, but it could certainly have gone worse. He’d established that he and Debbie were talking to each other again. Now he had to get round her prickliness and hostility. He’d hoped for an evening over a few glasses of wine, maybe a club or some food afterwards, reinstate their on-again off-again relationship. Tim wasn’t too worried. He could charm Debbie again. Now for the other problems. He should have been ready for that question about the Peterson girl. Trust that eagle-eyed cow to spot him! And what was the situation with Debbie and Neave? The encounter outside the college didn’t look too friendly. With a bit of luck it,
whatever it was, was over – if it had been anything in the first place.

He sat at his desk and thought. He
wanted
that big story. Berryman could cut him out, but he had something real, something that no one but he knew. Someone was following Debbie, and he had a good idea who that someone was. He’d planned to talk to the Peterson girl again, but she’d got herself killed. He’d been worried about that at first, worried that the Strangler had got her. When it turned out to be the boyfriend and he’d had a fright for nothing, he’d been angry. Of course, it was a terrible tragedy, but he hadn’t been sure how long his stopper would have worked. She couldn’t have been too bright to have fallen for it in the first place, and she was bound to have mentioned the whole thing to somebody soon. Well, she wouldn’t now. But he needed more information, he needed something that would stand up before he could write his story. He’d show Berryman up. He imagined his headline.
Blunderman bungles in Strangler killings.

Tim hadn’t wasted his Christmas. He’d spent a lot of time with a computer friend, and a lot of time trawling round some not-so-public files. The result of that was he’d met up with – more by good judgement than luck – a clerk who worked for the local police, one who worked with Berryman’s team, to be exact. He hadn’t said anything to her yet about the case, but he was planning to work round to it that night, ask her how things were going after they’d had a few drinks, see how she responded. She was plain, plump, quiet. He was reasonably confident she’d give him what he wanted. He smiled. It should be easy.

The first days back after a break were always difficult, but this particular start of term had been worse than most. By Wednesday, Louise and Debbie were exhausted, and in an almost unspoken agreement, they ended the day at six o’clock in a wine bar in the town centre. ‘Dan says I’m turning into an alcoholic,’ Louise said gloomily. ‘He’s probably right.’

‘That’s what my mum says,’ Debbie agreed. ‘Oh, God, what a week. I saw the A-level group on Monday. I didn’t know what to say to them.’

They talked about Sarah for a while, but Debbie was relieved when the topic changed to the problems at City.

‘You really do need to move on,’ Louise advised her. ‘Even if your job was safe – and you don’t need me to tell you what’s happening – you’ll stagnate here. You need to expand your experience, get some management responsibility, go somewhere where they’ll appreciate you.’

‘I know.’ Debbie was beginning to realize this. ‘I just hate the thought of leaving. I’ve got a house, friends, a life – I’m happy here.’

‘It’s none of my business, but you don’t seem too happy at the moment.’ Louise looked at her. ‘You’ve been down for a while, and at the end of last term you looked really low. I can probably put a name to the problem, as well. Rob Neave, right?’

Debbie felt herself going red. ‘Is it that obvious?’ she said, angry with herself.

Louise raised an eyebrow. ‘I may not be a counsellor for Relate,’ she said, ‘but when two people who seemed to be getting on fine suddenly grow two left feet in each other’s company, then I draw my own conclusions.’ She looked at Debbie and added more seriously, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ Debbie stared into her wine glass. ‘You can tell me to mind my own business,’ Louise added. ‘Probably will. But I’m worried about you.’

Debbie sighed. ‘I did start something with Rob, but it sort of stopped before it really got anywhere. It was just the wrong set of circumstances at the wrong time, or it never would have happened.’

‘Oh, I expect it would,’ said Louise. ‘It’s been a disaster waiting to happen for weeks. Look, in my capacity as nosy friend and line manager, I’ve been asking a few questions and calling in a bit of old gossip.’ She stopped Debbie’s protest with a look. ‘You probably think you don’t want to know, but you should. Rob Neave, he’s a lovely man, I grant you that, but he’s had a rough life. He’s quite damaged, I think.’

‘I know about his wife and his little girl,’ Debbie said. ‘He told me. That was why …’

Louise nodded. ‘I’d kind of worked that out,’ she said.
‘There’s a bit more, if you want me to tell you.’ Reluctantly, Debbie nodded. ‘Well, for a start, he was brought up in a series of children’s homes, which isn’t the best background to have. Not that I’m blaming him for that, you understand. But I talked to Claire – she’s married to someone who used to work with him. Apparently her husband and Neave, they used to hang out together, did all the usual man stuff, women, booze, you know. Claire said that all the women fancied Neave, but she thought he was a cold-hearted bastard. That was before she and Mick were married – she was just a clerical officer, a civilian, but she saw a lot.’

‘That was ages ago,’ Debbie said.

‘Oh, yes,’ Louise agreed. ‘I’m just giving you some background. Well, it seems that all this changed when Neave met his wife. He was bowled over, Claire said. He stopped going out, stopped going to the pub with the lads, stopped socializing with his colleagues. It’s an important thing in the police – a kind of mutual-support thing. You tend to stick to your own, so that didn’t go down too well. Claire said that it was fine by her – it slowed Mick down enough for her to grab him on his way past – but it caused a bit of resentment.’

‘I know he hasn’t got over it yet. I don’t think he ever will.’ Debbie was thinking about his face as he talked to her in the pub that Friday.

‘Claire showed me this. I asked if I could borrow it.’ Louise got an envelope out of her bag. ‘It was taken just over two years ago.’ She took a photograph out of the envelope and passed it over to Debbie. It showed a couple on a beach. It looked like one of those fine days of early winter, because the light was brilliant, sparkling off the sea, but the sun was low in the sky and the couple were wearing gloves and scarves. The man was standing behind the woman with his arms round her waist, laughing at something behind the camera. She was leaning back against him, one hand shielding her eyes, obscuring them with a band of shadow. The bright light seemed to have bleached all the colour from her, except for her hair which was a red-gold blaze. Debbie tried to get some sense of the woman’s face, but there was nothing to see, just shadows. Rob Neave and his wife. He looked so young, so happy. Louise
took it from her. ‘Just two years ago, and it changed him that much,’ she said. ‘Do you see what I mean?’

Debbie did. She looked at Louise, waiting. Louise took the picture back, looked at it again and went on, ‘He wasn’t equipped to cope with any of it, I shouldn’t think, poor bastard. You don’t learn a lot about relationships in a children’s home. What you learn is how to survive. Which is just about what he’s doing.’ She looked pointedly at Debbie. ‘You’ve got to survive as well.’ She put the photograph back into the envelope. ‘You wouldn’t believe the problems I had getting that lot out of Claire without her cottoning on why I wanted it. When I asked for the photograph I think she thought I was after him myself.’

Debbie had to know. ‘What was she like? His wife, I mean.’

‘I don’t know. I never met her. I was never in that crowd. I just know Claire. Claire didn’t like her – said she was arty, bohemian. Not Claire’s type, in other words. She was a musician. Played the violin, I think, and very well by all accounts. She was in her last year at university when she met Rob. Mick described her as weird, but he didn’t define his terms. I don’t know what he thought about her, apart from that. One thing Claire did say, she was beautiful.’

Strangely, that bit hurt. Debbie could cope with the idea that this woman had been talented and artistic in ways that she herself was not, but the idea of her being beautiful was harder.

‘I’m pathetic,’ she told Louise. ‘I’m jealous of her. She’s dead, her child’s dead and I’m jealous.’

‘You’re human.’ Louise had no patience with self-castigation. ‘What, specifically, are you jealous of? That he was in love with her? At least it shows he’s capable of it, and I can tell you, Claire never thought he was before.’

Debbie pulled a face. ‘That she was beautiful, actually,’ she said. ‘I told you I was pathetic.’

‘Yes, you are, but it’s par for the course. I’d be at a bit of a loss if you were going green about her musicianship, but her being beautiful shouldn’t present you with any problems.’ Louise looked at Debbie for a moment. ‘I’m not trying to
interfere. I just think you need to know what you’re getting into.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything to get into any more.’ Debbie sighed. ‘I told you, it’s over before it really began.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t bank on that,’ said Louise.

Gina Sykes sat in front of her fire, reading the paper. The house felt unbearably quiet. Some nights it seemed empty, then she would put on some music, turn on the television, to give the illusion of company. Tonight, though, the quietness disturbed her. It was a waiting kind of silence. She didn’t like it. She kept looking over her shoulder, thinking someone had come in through the door. She looked at the clock. It was midnight. Maybe she should just go to bed. The stuff for her nightcap was all set out in the kitchen, the cup with the cocoa mixed to a cream with a little milk and a measure of rum, the milk in the saucepan waiting to be heated. She liked to drink her cocoa in bed then read until she felt sleepy. She lit the gas under the milk and watched to make sure it didn’t boil. The taste of boiled milk spoiled the taste of the cocoa. Just as the milk began to foam, she poured it over the cocoa in her cup, stirring it to make it dissolve. The smell of the alcohol was very strong. She liked the smell of rum. It reminded her of Christmas.