Only Darkness. Danuta Reah
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DANUTA REAH
ONLY DARKNESS
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublisher 1999
Copyright © Danuta Reah 1999
Danuta Reah asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780006513155
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2016 ISBN: 9780007476558 Version: 2016-10-04
For my mother, Margaret Kot, who died
before this manuscript was accepted for publication.
Contents
It was a Thursday in December, the night that Debbie saw the killer.
She had just finished her evening class and was on her way out of the college. It was late – about nine-thirty. The students had kept her talking after the class was finished, and by the time she had dumped her books in the staff room and grabbed her coat, Les Walker was standing in the entrance lobby waiting to lock up after her.
He jingled his keys as she approached and tapped his watch meaningfully. ‘Not got a home to go to?’
‘Doesn’t seem much point now,’ she said, looking at her watch in response to his gesture. ‘Sorry. Are you on again first thing?’ Debbie hated keeping people waiting. ‘Have I stopped you from going home?’
Les shook his head. He didn’t seem too put out. ‘No, it’s gone ten by the time we’re finished here. Got to check all the rooms on the top yet.’
He opened the heavy entrance door. A gust of wind pushed it in against him, and a spatter of rain hit the floor. ‘Wild night,’ he observed. ‘Got your car in the top car park? We’ve not locked it yet.’
‘No.’ Debbie looked apprehensively at the shiny dark of the pavement. ‘I’m on the train.’
‘You be careful then.’ Les was serious now. ‘Remember those girls …’
Thanks, Les, I needed that. ‘That was way over outside Doncaster.’
‘Not got him yet. He’ll do it again. That kind of nutter, he’ll keep on till he’s caught. They want hanging, doing something like that, I’ll tell you …’
The sound of feet on the steps outside silenced him, and Rob Neave, the security officer, pushed his way through the door. His hair was plastered to his face with the rain, and water was dripping from his jacket. ‘Finished over here?’ he said to Les. He acknowledged Debbie with a nod.
‘Just got the