Only Darkness. Danuta Reah
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу Only Darkness - Danuta Reah страница 10
Название: Only Darkness
Автор: Danuta Reah
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Полицейские детективы
isbn: 9780007476558
isbn:
So that night she went clubbing. She called Fiona, a university friend who was trying to make a career as a jazz musician and singer, but Fiona had a gig that night. ‘Try Brian,’ she suggested, naming the third member of their trio from student days. Brian was free, and so were some of the others, so Debbie enlisted them for a night out. She drank too much, danced a lot, drunkenly snogged Brian in the dark shadows of the club, and then later even more drunkenly snogged a beautiful stranger who appeared and then disappeared through the gaps in her memory. Her friends took her home and steered her through the front door. She must have got herself to bed, because she was there, alone, when she woke up the next morning with her head throbbing, her stomach heaving and her shoes still on. And nothing was any better.
The music is loud and invasive, and he purses his lips with judicious annoyance, then closes his window. He likes to keep the window open because there is a slightly sweet, sickly smell in the room that, he must admit, he finds a bit unpleasant. He can still hear the music, though not so loudly. The young man in the basement flat downstairs has no consideration for others. He really doesn’t approve of that. He decided that morning to let himself have the day off, but already he’s getting a bit restless. He’s the sort of person who likes to be doing things. He wonders if he deserves an hour with his trains – he has been working very hard, after all. Yes.
He pulls down the loft ladder, the loft being the feature that made the house so attractive to him when he looked at it. It was worth all the noise and disturbance he had to put up with by letting rooms. And after all, it wasn’t the worst kind of noise and disturbance. No one paid any attention to him. Everyone left everyone else alone. That was the way he’d been brought up by his mother, to approve of things like that. Live and let live.
The loft is truly magnificent. The roof is high above his head. The floor joists have been boarded over so that he can walk around without fear of putting his foot through the ceiling of his room below. He wired it himself so that he has all the power he needs, but no heating. He doesn’t need heating up here. But there is a small freezer in one corner, and a computer in another. He has all the facilities he needs. What is even better is its size. It stretches over the whole roof area of the house, and, as he found out one day, has access to the roof space of the house next door. The house next door is the first one of a block of three terraces, each one just like his, that have been converted into flats. It is a very simple matter to crawl through, and then climb out on to the fire escape at the back. No one notices one more person using those stairs that serve for every flat in the block.
He turns on the light that hangs from the roof joist – just a bare bulb, no need for anything fancy – and looks with some pleasure at his railway. He’s tried to make it as realistic as possible, to include the other landscape features, the hills, the river, the canal way. When he planned it, he decided to use n-gauge track so that the layout didn’t become too big – even so, it’s a close thing. He gets his map out. Even though it isn’t a working day, there’s no harm, surely, in just looking. After all, he needs to start planning another hunt.
The story appeared in the local paper that Monday: ‘I SAW THE FACE OF THE STRANGLER’ the headline declaimed, above a photograph of Debbie. The article, which was on the third page, was part of a big spread about the murders the paper ran that day. Details of the victims were given again, some quotes from the bereaved relatives and comment from the police. An editorial chided the investigation team – more in sorrow than in anger, it was true. Everyone knows the difficulties of the task these men and women face, and the Standard does not underestimate these. But the women of South Yorkshire are entitled to travel freely without fear … The article about Debbie began: Teacher Debra Sykes, 26, had a chilling encounter the night the Strangler struck. The attractive brunette told our reporter, ‘I just knew there was something wrong. There was something terribly wrong at the station that night.’ The article went on to give the basic details of Debbie’s story, including the broken lights, and the way the man had apparently tried to approach her. The police were quoted as saying that they were aware of the story but had no reason at present to think that Ms Sykes’s experience had anything to do with the killing. The quote rather implied that Debbie was a bit of an attention seeker. There was also an appeal for the man at the station to come forward ‘so that we can eliminate him from our enquiries.’ The article had a by-line: Tim Godber.
The first that Debbie heard about the article was Monday morning, when she was teaching her second-year A-level group again. Leanne Ferris, unusually prompt, dumped her bag on her desk, opened a can of Coke and said, ‘We want to hear about the murderer. Go on, tell us.’ Debbie looked blank. Leanne dived into her bag, and after a few seconds rummaging, pulled out a copy of the paper. ‘They’re doing a big thing about the Strangler, so I got it. Look.’ She showed Debbie the article, and the others crowded round.
‘It’s a good picture, Debbie.’ That was Sarah, with her usual capacity for focusing first on the least important issue. Or maybe to Sarah that was the most important – to look nice if she appeared in the local paper. Debbie recognized the photograph. It had been taken at the staff party in July. In the original, she and Tim had been together. This one was cropped, so she was alone, smiling up at someone who wasn’t there. She didn’t know if she was more angry or upset. She played down both the article and her reaction to it for the students, much to their disappointment.
‘Did he look really scary, you know, mad?’ Leanne’s eyes were bright with eager curiosity.
‘Look,’ Debbie began, firmly. ‘No one even knows …’
‘Did you see the body?’ That was Adam, aficionado of video nasties.
‘No one knows …’ Debbie tried again.
‘Were you scared?’ That was Sarah.
‘Listen.’ Debbie’s voice was louder than she’d intended. She got a moment’s silence. ‘Listen. There’s no reason to think that the person I saw was the killer. No one knows. I just talked to the police and I don’t want to talk about it any more.’
‘Didn’t he chase you then? With a knife?’ That was Leanne again.
‘Oh, come on, Leanne, it doesn’t even say that there. Now I’d just like to …’
‘He cuts their eyes out,’ Leanne said with relish to the rest of the group.
Adam chipped in. ‘He doesn’t use a knife. Not at first. He strangles them.’
‘Oh, trust you to know that!’ That was Rachel, more level-headed than Leanne, quieter. ‘Look, Debbie says she doesn’t want to talk about it. Let’s drop it. Have you marked our essays, Debbie? Did I get an A?’
The session dragged on from there.
Debbie was angry, and she was worried. She left the classroom quickly when the morning was over, ignoring requests from the cohort of poor attenders, including Leanne and Adam, that she go over the new assignment again. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got time,’ she said, and then felt guilty. In the staff room, in response to Louise’s interrogative look, she said, ‘I didn’t talk to them.’
‘I thought you didn’t,’ was all СКАЧАТЬ