Carla’s first class the following week was teaching a small group of second year students about post-execution death rites. It had been a popular subject in her last job and take-up for this semester had been good at Jericho. However, it soon became clear she was at a disadvantage because her class followed a lecture with Jack Caron. Jack’s course on New England houses was bound to be popular – students from Jericho, after all, were largely pulled from the east coast states. Carla had never had a problem with well-liked colleagues, and she wondered why she felt the pinch of discontent at Jack’s popularity given he’d obviously felt as ill at ease as she when he first arrived. Her students were mainly female, which might explain some of Jack’s star attraction. As she pulled out her notes, she shamelessly listened to two girls discussing him.
‘I bet Byron looked a little like him. It’s the dark hair against pale skin. Shame he’s teaching houses rather than poetry.’ A girl with a fizzy fringe gave the other a knowing look.
‘Oh, I don’t know. We get the option of a field trip at the end of the semester. Think seventeenth century New England.’
‘He brings his wife along, I’ve heard, or if not, she makes a guest appearance.’
‘Shame.’
So, Jack Caron was married. He hadn’t mentioned his spouse during their conversation. He’d suggested he’d been lonely during his first year at the college and now she was discovering that he had a wife.
‘Right,’ Carla cleared her throat. ‘Welcome to the class. Tell me, what do you think happens to a body after execution?’
Over the course of the following hour, Carla’s spirits rose. The students were bright and motivated even if their buzz was a carryover from Jack’s lecture. Towards the end of the hour, she saw a group of four students lingering, waiting to speak to her.
‘Anything else?’ She was dog-tired again and wanted to grab a coffee before her next class.
‘We heard you went out to see the woman found at Silent Brook.’
‘I did. Who told you?’
‘Doctor Caron mentioned it in class. He was talking about locations that have a bad reputation. Did you know suicides used to gravitate there?’
Here was a group of students who, thank God, didn’t know about her background. It was a relief to finally speak to people not walking on eggshells whenever suicide came up. ‘It was mentioned to me. Why do you ask?’
‘Do you believe that places are inherently bad? I mean, you talk about gibbets and their locations. Crossroads, summits of hard-to-reach hills. They must have been chosen for a reason. Do you think an area’s poor reputation is inherent or developed over time?’
It was an interesting question. Carla’s scientific brain rebelled against any mystical belief in the inherent nature of a place’s atmosphere, but she’d worked alongside colleagues who absolutely believed that stones held onto their history. ‘I believe reputation develops over time, possibly a result of its location and geographic profile. The reputation, once developed, can stay in people’s memories. Why so curious?’
The student with the frizzy fringe shrugged. ‘Just interested. I mean, Shining Cliff Wood also has a mean reputation. Jericho’s lovely, isn’t it, and forest landscapes aren’t inherently bad? So how come poor reputations attach to certain places?’
‘Have you been to the wood? Can you feel anything?’
‘Nothing beyond the fact I’m walking down a path surrounded by densely planted trees which are a little overwhelming.’
‘There’s part of your answer then, isn’t it? The vegetation of the area has contributed to its reputation.’
Carla saw she hadn’t convinced the girl, and the group were still discussing inherited memory as they wandered away. She left the building and crossed the courtyard towards her office. To the right, a gaggle of boisterous students exited the door of a building with ‘James Franklin Wing’ emblazoned above the door. It looked newly built – so the family were still big in town, she assumed. She must ask Erin to tell her more about James Franklin.
Back in her office, Carla saw she had an hour before her next class on the archaeology of human sacrifice. Once she’d checked her notes were good to go, she drummed her fingers on her desk, wondering how to occupy her time. She sniffed the air, trying to identify who had been in her office again. Lizzie, Albert’s secretary, had left no trace of perfume when she left the invitation on Carla’s desk, yet here was a light musky smell, difficult to identify whether the wearer was male or female. Carla had decided to cart her laptop and shoulder bag to each lecture, which meant at least her belongings were secure but, once again, she was uneasy at the thought of someone in her office.
She was unlikely to find any answers today and, to distract herself, she picked up the phone and dialled the local police station, asking for Detective Baros. Carla was a little miffed that, having been brought into the investigation, her lack of ideas meant that she was no longer of any use to the team. A woman had died, and she cared enough to want to know if they’d managed to identify the victim. The local press was subdued about the matter, which was strange given that Jericho was considered to be a relatively safe place to live. She wondered if the story had been deliberately supressed now that term had started, but she was loath to subscribe to conspiracy theories. Baros’s desk phone rang unanswered and went to voicemail. She left a message asking for an update on the woman found at Silent Brook and tried Erin’s phone. At least she had her mentor’s mobile, but that was switched off.
With a sigh, she glanced around at Lauren’s things still languishing in her space. The office was due to be cleared later in the week, although she’d got used to the messiness of the room. She felt a connection to the dead woman who’d got so low she’d entered the river to allow the waters to take her to her end. She wondered if Lauren had left a bottle of her perfume on a shelf or perhaps a scarf where the scent lingered on. Picking up her bag, she wandered down the corridor, looking for someone to talk to. She’d been given no guide to the building and had been forced to orienteer herself. Her knowledge of the campus now consisted of the toilets, coffee shop and her seminar rooms.
The door to Jack’s office, further down the corridor, was closed, but when Carla glanced through the window, she saw he was sitting at his desk, talking on the phone. Even through the closed door, she could hear an argument taking place, although the words were indistinct. He was expansive as he made his point, gesticulating at the person on the other end of the line.
Carla slunk away before Jack could catch her gawping at him, her already low mood inflamed by what had sounded like a marital tiff. Towards the end of his life, she and Dan had argued bitterly, Carla shocked by the extent to which her husband resented her zest for life while he was withering away. Now that it was all over, she worried about the lost time spent on these disputes. Carla had been a widow-in-waiting for a long time. Perhaps she would have a chat with Erin, who presented as both sympathetic and worldly. Was it time, even after the trauma of the last few years, to dip her toe into the dating scene?