Charley

by Tim O'Rourke

  ‘I’m not six any more.’

  ‘And that’s my point, Charley. You’re seventeen years old, for heaven’s sake. When was the last time you went out with a group of friends? Had some fun? Instead you’re sitting in front of the laptop searching for people who don’t exist.’ Dad could sense I was getting angry. ‘Look, Charley, all I’m saying is that perhaps you should get out more. Make some new friends now that Natalie has gone.’

  ‘You just didn’t like her because she believed me,’ I said.

  ‘Now you know that’s not true,’ Dad said, looking hurt. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t like Natalie. I just thought she encouraged you to dwell on those morbid dreams … nightmares that you say you have. It just wasn’t healthy, the amount of time you two spent discussing what you claimed to have seen. Other girls go out and have fun.’

  ‘We did have fun.’

  ‘Okay, look,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to get into another argument. I just think it might help you if you got out more. You know, with some friends, instead of hanging around the house looking for ghosts on the internet. You’re seventeen, Charley. You should be having a life.’

  ‘What, like you?’ I asked, leaning away from him.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He stared at me.

  ‘Nothing.’ I looked away, knowing that perhaps I had said too much.

  ‘No, go on, Charley,’ he said, sounding a little pissed off with me now. ‘If you’ve got something on your mind, let’s talk about it.’

  ‘I know you have women friends,’ I said, still unable to meet his stare. ‘Why don’t you ever bring them back here?’

  ‘This has nothing to do with you,’ he said firmly.

  ‘At first I thought it was because you were ashamed of me,’ I said, ignoring him. ‘I wondered if you were worried that I might start talking about my flashes – my head might start aching, or worse, I might throw a fit. But then I realised why you never brought your lady friends home.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed of you—’

  ‘It’s because of Mum, isn’t it,’ I said, and now I did look at him. ‘It’s been like twelve years since Mum died, I really don’t think she would mind you sharing your bed with someone else.’

  ‘Charley, don’t say something you might regret later,’ he said, and now it was his turn to look away.

  ‘All I’m saying is that Mum wouldn’t have expected you to spend the rest of your life on your own. You’re only forty-five. She would understand.’

  ‘It has nothing to do with you, Charley,’ he said. ‘And nothing to do with your mum.’

  ‘No?’ I said. ‘So why then do you sometimes come home without your wedding ring on? I mean you always wear it, even after all this time. You take it off when you’re with them. It’s like you have to break the connection with Mum. You feel as if you’re cheating on her when you’re with those women. You always smell of soap, like you’ve had to wash them off you – destroy the smell of their perfume. I thought at first it was me that you were trying to hide their smell from. But I was wrong. It’s Mum.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ he said, a grim look on his face.

  ‘Am I?’ I said, trying to keep my anger and confusion from boiling over. ‘Christ, Dad, I’ve even seen you out on the drive scrubbing down the back seats of the car. What, have you had them in there too?’

  ‘I’m a taxi driver, for crying out loud!’ he said. I’d never heard him sound so upset before. ‘You should see some of the people that I have to ferry around. I have to put up with people puking their guts up, smoking, ramming kebabs down their throats! Of course I keep the car clean and tidy. It’s where I work – it’s my job!’

  I knew I’d said too much, but however much I wanted to take it all back, I couldn’t. Those words were already out there. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, so am I,’ he whispered and went to the bedroom door.

  ‘You don’t have to hide stuff from me. I’m not a little girl any more.’

  ‘Then stop acting like one,’ he said, leaving my room and closing the door behind him.

  His last comment made my stomach ache even more than it already did. I was feeling bad about what I had said, and now I felt even worse. It had never been my intention to upset my father. Lying on my side, with my iPhone gripped in my hand, I got one last lingering flash of that girl, Kerry, gripping her phone.

  Closing my eyes, I prayed I wouldn’t see her. Vision or fantasy, I didn’t want to see her being dragged down that narrow dirt track, to see the puddles, to hear Ellie Goulding mixed with the sound of trains thundering past in the distance. I just wanted some peace. I just wanted the dead to leave me alone.

  CHAPTER 5

  Tom – Monday: 02:47 Hrs.

  The rain had started to ease a little, but the walk down the embankment, although not particularly steep, was still treacherous. This time I held onto any branch, shrub or piece of railway furniture that I could find to stop myself falling arse over tit again. One screw-up in front of my new governor was enough for one night. In the distance, I could see a stationary freight train and the torches of police officers.

  The Guv was the first to reach the tracks, and the sound of his feet crunching over ballast echoed back at me. I hated going track-side, to be honest. The place was fraught with danger: slips, trips and every other kind of hazard, and that didn’t include the one-hundred-and-forty tons of steel screaming past every few minutes. The only saving grace was that all trains in the area would be on ‘stop’ or ‘caution’, so we could get the job done on the tracks.

  I’d been to a few one-unders during my short time in the police, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit that I hated them. Some said that they liked them, but that was just a bunch of crap. Bravado.

  Given the choice I wouldn’t have attended any of them. But when I had to, I prayed that the victim had been pulverised. It was easier to pick up a whole bunch of mush than something that still looked close to being human. Because they didn’t look human, not really, not with their arms and legs tangled about them like a slipknot, their head twisted so badly that they looked as if God had placed it on their neck the wrong way round as some cruel joke. Even the bodies of the ones that looked human were usually so dismembered that it could take hours to find every piece of them, if they could be found at all.

  The stench was usually unbearable too, so I always kept a small tub of Vicks in my coat pocket. Just a dab of it on the top lip usually did the trick. As I stood in the cess and fished it from my pocket, DC Jackson shone his torch on me.

  ‘What you looking for?’ he said.

  ‘This,’ I said, holding it up to the light.

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ he said, rolling his eyes. ‘Show some backbone, can’t cha? You’re in CID now.’

  ‘It helps,’ I shrugged, smearing my top lip with the stuff. My eyes watered as the menthol vapour bombarded my nostrils.

  ‘Hey, Guv, have you seen this?’ he called after Harker, who was making his way along the cess in the direction of the freight train.

  ‘Seen what?’ Harker called back, not slowing down.

  ‘The proby has got the Vicks,’ he laughed.

  ‘Looks like he might need it,’ Harker said as he shone his torch in the direction of the train.

  I saw pieces of flesh and entrails glistening back at me from between the two sets of tracks. I knew at once that the girl had been dragged along beneath the train before it had come to a full standstill.

  Ignoring Jackson, I passed him in the cess and caught up with DS Taylor who was just behind Harker. Several officers were gathered at the rear of the train, shining brightly in their fluorescent coats. On hearing our feet treading over the ballast, they turned, one of them shining their torch through the dark.

  ‘Get that light out of my bloody eyes,’ Harker barked.

  ‘Sorry, Boss,’ the officer said and lowered the torch. ‘I thought you might be the ambulance crew.’

  ‘Bit late for that, son, don�
�t you think?’ Harker sighed.

  I flinched as I caught sight of the upper torso of a female sticking out from beneath the train. As we gathered with the uniformed officers, I took in a deep breath and looked down. I had seen worse. The girl’s upper body was still intact, although one of her arms was severed to the bone and lay at an odd angle to the rest of her body. Her hair was dark and her face was smeared black, not with blood, but grease and grime from beneath the train. Her eyes were open, as was her mouth, and her expression was one of fear. She couldn’t have been any older than eighteen.

  ‘Any ID?’ Taylor asked, hunkering down to inspect the body.

  ‘We haven’t found any yet, but we found this just up the track,’ one of the officers said, holding out a gold neck chain. ‘It says “Kerry”’.

  ‘Okay, Constable, I can read,’ Harker said. ‘Bag it for the time being.’

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘Problem?’ the uniformed officer asked.

  ‘I think what my colleague is trying to say,’ Taylor said, ‘is why the need for CID? You know the score – we only get called out if there’s any suggestion that the death might be suspicious. Is it?’

  ‘Well—’ the officer said.

  ‘What does the driver say?’ Harker said.

  ‘That’s the problem, sir,’ he replied. ‘The driver says the girl was just lying on the ground between the tracks – like she was asleep or something.’

  ‘Asleep?’ Harker asked. ‘What made him think that?’

  ‘I dunno really,’ the officer said.

  ‘You don’t know or you didn’t ask?’ Jackson said, unable to keep his mouth shut for too long. It was like he had to keep reminding everyone that he was still there.

  ‘You two, go and speak with the driver,’ Harker said, looking at Jackson and me. Then, turning to the uniformed officers gathered around the body, he said, ‘Well don’t just stand their gawping, put something over her. Show her some respect, for Christ’s sake. And I want these tracks searched for any ID. She must have had a purse, bag, mobile phone, something to say who she was. And when you’ve done that I want the CCTV pulled from the nearest stations in both directions.’

  ‘CCTV?’ one of the officers asked as I headed up the tracks towards the front of the train.

  ‘Just do it,’ Harker ordered.

  ‘I don’t know why he’s bothering,’ Jackson said as we made our way through the dark to the driver’s cab. ‘I can already tell you what’s gone on here.’

  To him, it was obviously an open and shut case. No need to go sniffing out witnesses or evidence.

  ‘So what’s your theory?’ I asked him, pampering his ego.

  ‘Well if you hadn’t stuffed half a jar of Vicks up your nose, you would’ve been able to smell the alcohol coming from the girl. She stank of the stuff,’ he said with some pride.

  ‘So?’ I asked him.

  ‘So, she probably staggered out of one of the pubs down in the town, missed the last bus home, spent the last of her cash on one too many vodkas and in her drunken state decided to walk home.’

  ‘In the pouring rain?’

  ‘She was pissed, wasn’t she?’ Jackson glared at me.

  ‘Still doesn’t explain how she ended up under a freight train,’ I shot back.

  ‘Like I said, she was pissed and decided to walk home. She got halfway there, it started to rain, and fearing that her new hairdo might get ruined, she decided to take a short cut across the tracks. I’ve seen it a hundred times before. These kids think that just because the last train has gone for the night that it’s safe to screw around on the tracks. But what they fail to realise until it’s way too late, is that freight trains run up and down these lines all night long. So what do you think to that, Sherlock?’

  ‘Not bad, I guess,’ I shrugged.

  ‘Not bad?’ Jackson snapped. ‘Bollocks. I’d like to see you come up with something better.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ I smiled to myself, enjoying winding him up.

  ‘Okay, if you’re so sure there’s another way she ended up under this train,’ he sneered, ‘why don’t you put your money where your mouth is. I bet you a score that I’m right and you’re wrong.’

  ‘I’m not a betting man,’ I told him, reaching the front of the train.

  ‘Then CID ain’t the place for you,’ he grinned back at me, hoisting himself up into the cab.

  The driver sat at the controls and stared vacantly out of the cab window. At first, I wondered if he knew we were even there.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  ‘Huh?’ he murmured, turning to look at us.

  ‘Police,’ Jackson said.

  I took my warrant card from my pocket and offered it to the driver. ‘I’m PC Tom Henson from Marsh Lane Police—’

  ‘And I’m Detective Constable Rob Jackson.’ He glanced sideways at me, then back at the driver. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘I’ve been through this already,’ the driver said softly. ‘I’ve already told that other police officer what I saw.’

  ‘I know,’ Jackson sighed. ‘But my Governor can be a real pain in the arse at times. He doesn’t like any loose ends.’

  ‘What loose ends?’ the driver asked.

  ‘Just tell us what you saw,’ I said gently, seeing that the man was in shock.

  His narrow face was as white as paper and his hands trembled in his lap. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to have someone lying in front of your train and be powerless to do anything about it. In a car, at least you can try and swerve out of the way.

  Again he turned to stare out of the window and onto the tracks, which disappeared into the darkness. I could see his eyes, large and round and I knew that he was watching his train collide with the girl, Kerry, all over again.

  ‘I was travelling at line speed,’ the driver whispered. ‘It was raining, but I could still see some way ahead. Then, I saw her just lying on her back across the tracks. I blew the horn and applied the emergency brakes, but I was too close. There was no way I was going to stop in time. Then she was gone. Disappeared beneath me.’

  ‘You said earlier that you thought perhaps she was asleep?’ I said.

  ‘She was just laying there, her arms folded across her chest,’ he said, still looking ahead and into the darkness. ‘I blew the horn and she didn’t even flinch.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else?’ I asked. ‘Was anyone standing beside the tracks, perhaps?’

  The driver shook his head.

  ‘That’s good enough for me,’ Jackson said as he climbed from the cab.

  ‘Hang on,’ I called.

  ‘I’m done,’ he shouted, crunching back up the tracks.

  ‘Thank you for your time. I know that this must be very difficult,’ I said. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll be all right. A relief driver is being sent to take over.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. I pulled out a business card from my wallet. ‘Take this.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just in case.’

  ‘In case of what?’ he said, almost dreamily taking the card.

  ‘You might remember something later.’ I watched him slip the card into his shirt pocket, then I left the cab.

  I could see Jackson’s silhouette in the distance as he headed back towards the rear of the train and Harker. Careful not to twist my ankle, or worse, I made my way as quickly as possible over the ballast. We both reached Harker and the others at the same time, to find DS Taylor rummaging through a small handbag. A young officer stood next to her, looking very pleased with himself. I guessed it had been him who had found the bag.

  ‘The deceased was a Kerry Underwood,’ she said, holding up a provisional driving licence. ‘Eighteen years old and lived at 8 Hill Lane, Willow Shore.’

  ‘Which, if I’m not mistaken, is over in that direction.’ Jackson pointed to the other side of the tracks. Turning to me, he said, ‘See, I was rig
ht. The infamous short cut home across the tracks.’

  ‘What?’ Harker asked, eyeing both of us.

  ‘I’ve been sharing my wealth of experience with the proby,’ Jackson smiled. ‘You know, telling him how these incidents usually pan out.’

  ‘And how is this incident panning out?’ Harker asked. ‘What did the driver say?’

  ‘Just that she was lying across the tracks. He blew the horn to give a warning, then – wham!’

  ‘So he didn’t see anyone else then?’ Taylor asked, placing the drivers licence back into Kerry Underwood’s bag.

  ‘No,’ Jackson said flatly.

  Harker was silent for a moment, then, cocking his eyebrow at me, he said, ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think the driver is in shock and perhaps it would be worth re-interviewing him in a few days’ time,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ Harker asked, not letting me off the hook now that I had chucked my opinion into the ring.

  ‘Something doesn’t quite add up,’ I said, feeling Jackson’s eyes boring into me.

  ‘What doesn’t add up?’ Jackson said.

  ‘You said that she smelt of alcohol, right?’ I said.

  ‘So?’

  ‘And that she probably staggered out of one of the pubs in town. Having spent the last of her money on booze and unable to afford a cab, she decided to walk home in the pouring rain, then take a short cut across the railway tracks where she met her death.’

  ‘Well it looks pretty obvious to me,’ Jackson said, glancing at Harker and Taylor.

  ‘Pass me her bag will you, Sarge,’ I said to Taylor. ‘It’s just that I thought I saw something when you had it open a few minutes ago.’

  Taylor passed me the bag. I opened it, praying that I hadn’t been mistaken. With some relief, I held up the twenty and ten pound notes. ‘She had the money to get a cab – she didn’t have to walk. She must have been pissed out of her brains to choose to walk in the dark and in this weather.’

  ‘Like I said, she was pissed,’ Jackson barked. ‘She didn’t know what she was doing. She staggered out onto the tracks and collapsed unconscious because of all the booze sloshing around inside of her. She was as pissed as a fart.’