by Danuta Reah
She felt pulled in ten different directions. She wanted to follow up on the photographs. Something was still nagging her mind about the timing. She was sure they’d missed something, and it was close, like it was on the tip of her tongue. But she agreed with Berryman – if they could find a name, they could short-circuit the whole process. The other questions could be answered later.
She was reading through a folder on one David Nathen. She was tired and it was hard to concentrate. Nathen had certainly had the cards stacked against him. Prostitute mother, alcoholic father, series of ‘stepfathers’. A background that contained violence and disruption. One of the ‘stepfathers’ had died in suspicious circumstances. Some evidence of abuse – but nothing that had come to court. Mother dead, now. No information about that – she wanted dates and details. Nathen had been made redundant from his job as a driver four years ago. Would redundancy be sufficient trigger to set him off? Lynne had a sudden vision of the whole of South Yorkshire filled with serial killers. Tired, she was tired. No previous convictions, not known to the police. Too many queries. She put the folder into the growing pile for further checking.
The next one was a William Stringer. Another redundancy, an engineer. Background not so obviously a problem as Nathen’s. His mother was single when he was born – had married a few years later – not the father? She made a note to check. The husband had died in an accident over twenty-five years ago – no recent trauma there – mother died three years ago. It looked as though Stringer had lived with his mother. Would her death do it? Would that have set him off? How had she died? Damn! The information wasn’t there. Another one for more checking. Anything else? Why had Stringer’s name come forward as a possible? She made a note to ask the person who’d pulled the file out.
She moved on to the next one.
The problem with sleeping pills, Debbie decided, was that they left you dull and muddle-headed the next day. She had woken up late, and pulled herself out of bed feeling sluggish and unrested. Her Thursday morning students were a demanding group – adults who were working for university entrance. They worked hard, and expected the teaching staff to work hard as well. Usually, Debbie enjoyed this group and found them stimulating. This morning, she felt she could barely cope. She would have to pull herself together. She couldn’t go on like this.
She was walking towards the staff room at break when she saw Tim coming down the corridor towards her. It was too late to turn back, so she nodded at him and prepared to walk past. He stopped her with a hand on her arm. She shook him off. ‘Yes?’ She knew she sounded impatient, and she didn’t care.
He raised his eyebrows at her tone of voice, but said, ‘I was just wondering if you wanted a lift back. It is your late night, isn’t it? I could run you home afterwards if you want.’
That was nice of him. He lived in Barnsley, the opposite direction from Sheffield. She was ashamed of her bad temper. ‘That’s kind of you, Tim,’ she said, more warmly than she felt, ‘but there’s no need. Louise is giving me a lift back.’
He looked surprised. ‘She doesn’t work late on Thursdays.’
Debbie explained. ‘She’s coming back to pick me up.’
‘Let me do it,’ he said. ‘It’ll save Louise a journey.’
Debbie really didn’t want his company, and didn’t want to be obliged to him. She would probably have to argue about not inviting him in, and even though he was being very nice at the moment, Tim, when crossed, could be vicious. She just wasn’t up to it. ‘No, thanks a lot. We’ve arranged a get-together after work.’ That was a lie. She’d have to tip Louise off about that. ‘But thanks, really.’
‘Oh, well, just thought I’d offer.’ He didn’t seem too put out. ‘You can’t be too careful these days.’ He gave her a wave, and turned back towards his own staff room. Relieved, Debbie headed towards a cup of coffee, but got caught by a student before she made it back to her room, and spent the rest of her break talking through an essay.
Tim sat at his computer screen and racked his brains. This was his big career break if he could just make it come right. At nine o’clock tonight, he must be the one officially taking Debbie home, and she had to be going on the train. She had to re-establish her pattern, and then he could watch and wait.
OK, he had to plan a two-line attack. He had to get Louise out of the picture, and then he had to put himself in. He had an idea, but he needed some more information. He checked his watch. Lunchtime. He picked up the phone.
‘Hi, is that Louise –
—It’s Tim Godber –
—Listen, I need to talk to you about a timetable glitch –
—I know, I know, it’s engineering –
—It’s a bit complicated. Have you got a few minutes if I come over –
—What time are you leaving –
—Fine. See you then. Bye –’
OK, he knew when she was leaving. He had to make sure she wouldn’t be coming back, or – his idea began to form – he had to make sure her car wouldn’t be coming back. Or wouldn’t be leaving in the first place.
It was late in the afternoon. Lynne had spent most of her shift sorting and eliminating names. You could spend days, even in this time of computer records, jumping from one archive to the next, Lynne reflected, as she tracked names through the systems. In some ways, it had been a useful session. She had managed to eliminate three of the five names on her list. David Nathen was proving elusive. He was no longer at the address last recorded for him, and wasn’t on the electoral roll. She’d tried various other databases and records, where Berryman had cleared the obstacles and had people standing by, and drawn a blank. Other people were looking for him. He had run up debts at the address she had, and then moved on. No forwarding address, no police records, nothing she could find – yet – through his health records. Had he vanished deliberately, and if so, had he vanished for a good reason? Their man – he surely needed a secure address, a place to work from. He could hardly be a random killer wandering the streets – could he? For a moment, Lynne’s convictions about all the careful patterns they had identified wavered. Were they imposing patterns on the random actions of a madman? Once more, that tantalizing feeling of something nagged at her mind. She sat quietly, waiting for it to come to her, but her mind remained stubbornly blank. OK, she’d reached a dead end with Nathen. Start again tomorrow – get some people foot-slogging on his trail. She looked at her watch. She was off at eight. She’d just see what she could pull up on Stringer, and then call it a night.
Louise slammed her car door and headed disgustedly back into the college. She was on the phone when Debbie came into the staff room for her break. She waited until Louise finished and looked at her in enquiry. It’s the car,’ Louise said. ‘It won’t start. I’ve phoned the AA, but I’ve no idea when they’ll get here. I don’t know if it’s something they can fix tonight.’ She looked harassed. ‘Listen, Debbie, if they can’t, I’m not going to be able to give you a lift. Have you got enough money for a taxi?’
Debbie pulled a face. ‘That’ll cost a fortune! I’ll think of something.’
Louise sighed. ‘You’ll do more than that, or I’ll stay in college and walk you home. Now, what are you going to do?’
The door opened behind her. ‘Hi, Debbie, Louise, have you got a minute?’ Tim Godber stuck his head round the door. Debbie groaned to herself. He was the last person she wanted to see. Louise brightened.
‘Tim. You’ve got your car here, haven’t you?’ She ignored Debbie’s frantic signals. He nodded. ‘Listen, Debbie really needs a lift back to Sheffield tonight. She mustn’t go on the train on her own.’
‘Of course not,’ Tim agreed. He looked over at Debbie. ‘Do you want a lift? The offer still stands. I’ve got a load of work to do, so I can stay here till nine and get it out of the way. It’ll do me good, but I’d like to get straight off then, if that’s OK with you.’ He smiled rather apologetically in Debbie’s direction. Louise looked pointedly at her.
‘Thanks, T
im.’ Debbie had no choice. It did solve a problem. She tried to sound more grateful. ‘Thanks a lot, really.’
‘I’ll meet you here at nine, then. Listen, I wanted to talk to you anyway about Matt – in your tutorial group?’ Debbie nodded. ‘I’ll tell you about it in the car on the way back. See you. See you, Louise.’
Debbie and Louise looked at each other. ‘I know,’ Louise said after a moment. ‘If my car’s fixed, I can still give you a lift, but you’ve got something sorted for if it isn’t.’
Debbie nodded. ‘It had to be Tim Godber, though. If you knew how much I didn’t want to spend any time with Tim Big Gob at the moment …’
‘Stop complaining,’ ordered Louise. ‘It’s a lift.’ Debbie couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she gave Louise a grudging smile, and got her sandwiches out of her bag.
Berryman picked up his files and stretched. ‘I’m going home,’ he said to Dave West, who was typing a report into the computer in the outer office. ‘We’ve got visitors. I’m a dead man if I’m not home on time.’ West grinned sympathetically. His girlfriend had a lot to say about the amount of time he spent at work these days. ‘Phone me if anything comes in.’ He went out of his office, pulling on his coat. He was tired. What he really wanted to do was sit in the pub, have a few beers, a chat with some of the lads, just a chance to relax for a couple of hours. But Claire had a right to a social life too. He supposed. He looked round the door of the main office, and was pleased to see Lynne Jordan there, going through files on the computer and making notes. ‘I’m off now, Lynne,’ he said.
‘About time.’ She didn’t look up. ‘You’ve been living here these past few days.’
‘Guests.’ Berryman’s face was tellingly blank, and Lynne grimaced. ‘Phone me if anything, and I mean anything, goes down.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He felt himself relax a bit. He knew he could rely on Lynne to make the right decisions. ‘Who’s on tonight?’ Lynne ran through the list of people on duty. As usual, it was too few for the workload, but it was a good team. He checked his watch. If he left now, he could have a quick pint in the Grindstone before he went home.
Tim typed the last line, saved the report on to disc, and slipped it into his briefcase. He ran the whole thing through in his mind again. The only flaw had been that Debbie had broken her pattern recently, being driven into work and home again by Neave, who’d been behaving like her own personal Rottweiler. Still, that seemed to be sorted, now. Tim gave himself a mental handshake and reviewed his plan. His car needed to break down, just like Louise’s had. The thing was, should he really disable it, or should he just tell Debbie it wasn’t working? Would she think it was too much of a coincidence? Not if his car had been vandalized like Louise’s – shockingly – had been. Did he have to make the supreme sacrifice and cut his own petrol line? No, he could get away with just taking off the distributor cap. If he had to try the car in her presence, it genuinely wouldn’t start. After all, he could always pick it up later if nothing happened.
Lynne checked her watch. She should have been off nearly an hour ago, but she wanted to get the information about Stringer off the systems. She wanted more information about his mother’s death. Could that have been the trigger event? She had snarled up originally when she’d looked for his mother under Stringer. The name was different, Howard. So her son had kept his original name. Important? Hard to tell. Each bit of information generated another bit of information. The fax hummed and spilled out more paper. Three sheets. Lynne picked them up and read through them. OK, so Susan Howard had died – in an accident, a house fire. Died of smoke inhalation. She frowned. Presumably, there had been no cause for worry – there was a short article from the local paper about the inquest. Coroner warns of dangers of smoking in bed. But something tugged at her memory. She looked at the record again. That was it! Stringer’s father had died in an accident as well. Nature unspecified. Too many coincidences. Something else to look up. Leave it until tomorrow? It was tempting, but there was just a chance that there would still be someone there … Lynne sighed and picked up the phone.
When Debbie came out of the staff room, Tim was waiting for her, looking a bit apologetic, a bit worried. She managed a smile. After all, he was doing her a favour. ‘Debbie.’ He looked more worried. ‘My car, I was just up there putting my stuff in. It won’t start. I think it’s been vandalized, like Louise’s.’
‘Oh, God. I didn’t know Louise’s car had been vandalized.’ Debbie felt depressed. ‘What did they do?’
‘They cut the fuel lines. Apparently it’s the way you help yourself to petrol these days. Because of locking petrol caps,’ he added in response to Debbie’s look of incomprehension.
Debbie felt guilty. ‘All because you waited for me,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Tim.’ That was obviously the right thing to say, because he looked pleased. She was sorry.
‘I expect they did me the same time they did Louise,’ he said, easily. ‘Don’t worry, Debbie.’
‘Have you phoned the AA, or whoever you do phone?’
‘Oh, yes, but they can’t come for ages. Look, I think you’d better go on the train or you won’t get back till midnight. I’ll walk to the station with you, see you on the train. I tell you what, I’ll even come back on the train with you.’ He looked a bit evasive. Debbie wondered what lay behind that offer. Whatever it was, she wasn’t playing.
‘Thanks, Tim. There’s no need for that. Just seeing me on to the train will be fine.’ She put her bag down and began pulling on her coat. ‘I’m ready to go. I brought all my stuff along to the classroom. I don’t suppose there’s the same rush now. What are you going to do about the car?’
‘I’ll leave it here tonight.’ He looked a bit put out. It must be a great end to the day for him, having to wait for her and then his car packing in on him. ‘I can get a taxi from across the bridge. Look, Debbie, we’ve got a bit of time. Let’s go to that pub opposite the station and have a drink.’
Lynne took another mouthful of coffee. She pulled a face – cold! The caffeine was starting to make her feel jittery. It was getting late, and she was – more and more – tempted to leave it. The clerk at the records office had already stayed on way past his usual time. But there was a pressing sense of urgency she couldn’t account for, along with that nagging feeling of something left, something missed. She had a picture of mountains of paper, the vital piece hidden in the piles, as they searched frantically through. She looked at the fax. Come on!
Steve McCarthy was over the other side of the room, talking to two of the women who were working on the employee files. He looked across at Lynne, and came over. ‘Cath says you’re working on some of the people they pulled up yesterday,’ he said. Lynne nodded. ‘Anything?’ Just as Lynne was about to answer, the fax hummed quietly and papers glided into the tray. Lynne looked at the sender’s address, and felt relief. This was her stuff. She could read it and go.
‘Last lot coming through and then I’m finished.’ She thought back to his question. ‘I don’t know. There’s a couple I’m still chasing up – this odd character who seems to have gone missing, about three years ago. I’ve lost him in the records. And there’s this one I’m waiting for now …’ She was reading as she spoke.
‘If we hit lucky, we could be winding this up in a couple of days, but have you seen …’ McCarthy stopped talking, looking at Lynne’s face.
‘Steve …’ A chill was creeping up Lynne’s body, a feeling of things missed, a feeling of events rushing past her too fast to stop now. ‘This one, William Stringer – his father – his stepfather – died in an accident when Stringer was fourteen. He fell downstairs, Steve. He was drunk, he fell downstairs and broke his neck.’
The rain was heavier now. Tim tried to draw Debbie under his umbrella, but she pulled away and wrapped her scarf round her head. Before they reached the crossing to the station, the rain had penetrated her mac. She could feel her blouse damp against her shoulders, and the icy cut of the wind.
All she needed to do was get on the goddamn train. Once she was in Sheffield, she could get a taxi home, fall into a hot bath, forget about today. And yesterday. And the day before.
Tim checked his watch. ‘We’ve got loads of time. It’s only ten past. Let’s have that drink.’ They were passing the pub that he’d mentioned earlier.
Debbie wasn’t enthusiastic. She didn’t want to socialize with Tim any more than she had to. She just wanted to be home, but the choice seemed to be between the windy platform or the warmth of a pub. ‘OK,’ she said.
McCarthy hung up the phone he’d just used to call Berryman and looked across at Lynne, who was holding the other phone, drumming her fingers on the desk. Her face was tense. ‘He’s coming in,’ he said to her as he hung up. She put her phone down slowly. ‘He wants us to contact Deborah Sykes.’ Lynne shook her head. She’d just tried Deborah’s number. A feeling of roller-coasting disaster was rising up inside her. Deborah Sykes. Deborah Sykes and Thursdays. Hadn’t it been a Thursday …? She worked late on Thursdays. That’s why she’d been at the station that stormy night when Julie Fyfe had been abducted and killed.
And now, too late, that last piece of the jigsaw fell into place. Of course! The timing, the shortening interval. The timing did matter, it was important, but so was the chosen victim. He was prepared to wait until she made herself vulnerable again. He must have known a lot about her to have known that all he had to do was wait. Careful and meticulous. But he didn’t have to break his overall pattern. If he kept to his original pattern then he should be due to kill again four months from the end of September. Which brought them to the end of January. This week.
Lynne listened to the rain lashing against the window, and realized that she’d got it all horribly, horribly wrong.
Neave tried Debbie’s number. It was only twenty past, but if the roads were clear, she and Louise could be back by now. He could do the Moreham to Sheffield run in fifteen minutes outside of rush hour. There was no reply. He banged the phone down in frustration. She might not go home. She might go back to Louise’s. He’d give it five minutes and try there. He had to talk to her.