She looked around and saw the sandwiches near the door, the Crunchie bar lying close by.
‘No one is coming. Eat, don’t eat. Nothing changes that simple fact. You’re alone here.’
The voice seeped from the walls, like blood running down the concrete. The words in red becoming larger, pulsating, alive. She blinked, and they went back to normal.
‘You fucking … I’ll kill you. I’ll tear you apart, you sick bastard.’
A low chuckling sound was her response.
Then, the lights went out. The darkness returned.
That was day one.
10
Monday 28th January 2013 – Day Two
Almost thirty-six hours after the body of Donna McMahon was found in Sefton Park, Murphy and Rossi parked up near the City of Liverpool University.
Liverpool is the home of four universities. One near the city centre, which could be seen from the windows of the police station where Murphy worked. Two more further out from the waterfront, one to the north near Ormskirk, one to the south, Childwall University.
City University lay just beyond the outskirts of the main hub of Liverpool. In another of Liverpool’s little paradoxes, the city centre isn’t actually in the centre of the city, but to the left of centre as you look at it from above, built out of the port at Albert Dock. Being a former major worldwide port, that was where the money came from, the shipping merchants of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries building their big houses just outside the centre. Murphy had a book somewhere, which detailed the whole history of it, but couldn’t remember where he’d left it now. Probably lost in one house move or another.
Murphy looked around the campus, the vastness of the area taking him aback. There were walkways linking the different buildings, with the students guild building smack bang in the middle. Directly opposite was a bookshop which seemed to only stock large textbooks, which Murphy imagined students would need a wheelbarrow to cart around.
‘We need to walk down to the old library, and there’s a building near there that houses the history department,’ Rossi said, a folded map in her hand. ‘It’s moved since I was here.’
‘I don’t see a library.’
‘It’s straight ahead. About ten minutes’ walk.’
Murphy stopped. ‘Exactly how big is this place? I thought this was it.’
Rossi turned, but didn’t stop. ‘Big.’
Murphy moved, shaking his head. ‘No wonder they had to increase the fees. The council tax alone must be bankrupting.’
‘I doubt they pay …’
‘I know, I know,’ Murphy interrupted, ‘I just didn’t realise it was so big.’
They continued to walk in silence. A few minutes later, a walk across a busy main road, a shortcut across a small grassed park area, and they were at the bottom of the steps which led to the history building. Grand stone steps led upwards to a bulky door, old brass door knocker and number on the front. In the window to the side, a poster hung, asking for solidarity against university cuts. Murphy rolled his eyes and pushed open the door, holding it out for Rossi.
‘What’s the advisor’s name again?’ Murphy asked, as they ascended the stairs inside the building.
‘Lynn Ripley. She was here when I was studying. Don’t know her though.’
They stopped outside the office on the first floor, the staircase continuing upwards to more floors than Murphy could count. He reached out and knocked. A voice from within told them to enter.
The office was neat, tidy, efficient. The window faced out onto the green they’d crossed earlier. Lynn Ripley sat back in her large office chair, smiling tightly. Her hands were clasped together on the lap of her long skirt. White blouse, buttons closed all the way up over her ample chest, to her neck.
They introduced themselves, and Murphy allowed Rossi to take the lead as he scanned the office. Everything had its place, tucked away, maximising space. Clearly labelled. Nothing would be lost in this office.
‘We’re all in a state of shock in the department,’ Murphy heard Lynn say as he tuned back in, ‘she was well thought of by the staff. She would have gone far.’
Murphy waited for the tears to fall, but she composed herself. ‘What can you tell us about Donna?’ he asked after a few moments of silence.
‘She was well liked. Seemed to always have someone to talk to, many friends.’
‘Anyone special?’
‘Not that I know of. We don’t usually get involved in that side of things unless there’s a problem.’
Murphy scratched at his beard. ‘What about teachers, lecturers, anyone take a special interest?’
Ripley took a moment to think and then answered him, ‘No, it was all strictly professional with her lecturers as far as I was aware.’
‘Any problems with other students? Anyone who hung around when he wasn’t wanted, that type of thing?’ Murphy moved forward, leaning on a filing cabinet for support.
‘She lived with a girl … I forget her name …’
‘Rebecca,’ Rossi said.
‘That’s right. She has a boyfriend. Little stocky thing, shaved head. Short man syndrome.’
Murphy nodded, waiting.
‘I saw them arguing a couple of weeks back. In the library. Only caught a bit of the conversation, but it was definitely heated.’
‘What did you hear?’ Murphy asked, the wheels turning.
‘Donna was saying she was going to tell her. I don’t know what that meant.’
Murphy breathed out. ‘I think I have a pretty good idea.’
They walked briskly back to the car, Murphy talking a mile a minute as he laid out his theory to Rossi. ‘So, Donna finds out Will is doing the dirty or worse, behind Rebecca’s back. She threatens to tell Rebecca everything, Will loses his mind, and kills her.’
‘Hmm,’ Rossi replied, looking off into the distance.
‘What? It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened.’
‘I know. There’s just something missing.’
Murphy stopped. ‘We’re picking him up. See if he can massage your worries away.’
‘It’s … just … I don’t know.’
‘Spit it out, Laura.’
They were standing face to face outside the bookshop in the main university square. Rossi was scanning around, not wanting to look him in the eye. ‘I just didn’t get the impression that lad had the capacity to write that letter, and come up with that kind of cover story. That’s all.’
‘Oh. Is that it? He could have got that idea anywhere, Laura.’
‘I suppose.’
‘Look,’ Murphy said, softening his tone, ‘we’ll pick him up and see what he has to say.’
‘What do you study, Will?’
He wasn’t under arrest, Murphy made sure he was aware of that fact. He could see how nervous he was however, clammy hands clasped, making a wet sound as they came together. The touches he gave to his ear every ten seconds or so.
‘Music.’
‘Oh, you want to be a musician? What do you