by Neil White
Seventy-Three
Joe heard the scream, short and loud. It hit him like a grab to the throat, making him gasp. ‘Ruby!’
Gina pulled at his arm. ‘Come on,’ she said, and set off running, scrambling over rubble, weeds and discarded metal.
Joe followed, grimacing at the pain in his leg. Gina was heading for the darkest spot, pulling out her phone, pressing the button to provide a glow. The light bounced as she ran, making the shadows of the undergrowth shift and move on the walls.
Gina tripped on something, her phone tumbling out of her hand, but Joe kept on going, dragging her up by grabbing a handful of her jacket as he went past.
The overhang of a large doorframe seemed to loom ahead, and so Joe ran at it, not knowing if he would meet something solid. His hands were out in front of him, ready for the impact. He grunted as he hit more metal, but there was movement. He pushed hard with his shoulder, shouting, snarling. The metal scraped on the ground as it moved, slowly inching open. Gina joined him, pushing hard, grimacing.
‘Someone’s placed a rock behind it,’ Gina said, straining.
They made a space big enough to squeeze through. Joe went first, shedding his jacket as it snagged on the rough edges, and then he held the metal back so that Gina could get through.
Once on the other side, Joe tried to get his bearings. It was dark, but he could see stairs that went upwards, the faint glow from the top picking out the long bar of a handrail. There was the steady drip of water from somewhere, the noise bounced around the tiled stairwell, and there was a faint glow at the top. Joe set off, using the handrail to guide him upwards.
‘There’s only one way,’ he said, and then shouted, ‘Ruby!’
There was no response.
He started to run.
Sam heard the scream. It changed everything.
He looked along the tracks. The next train was coming in, swaying on the tracks, screeches and bright lights, rumbling towards him, but that didn’t matter anymore. Ruby needed him.
He ran along the platform, ignoring the pain from his shoulder as he went. Evans and the others were gone. The train got closer. As he looked along, the platform was busy, a train on the opposite side spewing out passengers who had come in from the northern stations. There were guards and more transport cops and people with suitcases. He needed to get past them and beyond the train. They would slow him down.
Sam looked back towards the train. It had cleared the end of the platform and was now moving along, faces visible at the doors ready to be disgorged. He dodged people on the platform, weaving in and out, his breaths coming faster, not used to the exertion. He barged into someone, catching his injured shoulder. He cried out in pain as the other man went to the floor. There was a shout but Sam kept on going.
He looked across. He could see where Mayfield station ended and spilled out into the night, its mouth cavernous. Where there had once been an offshoot into Mayfield was just empty land that led to the tracks that fed into Piccadilly. Sam looked down at the rails. They were black and oily apart from the sheen on the top of the rails. There was a line of paving slabs on the other side, tight against the wire fence that overlooked the long drop to the street below. But it gave him a clear run and ended on the right side of the tracks.
He took one last look along the platform. The train was close but slowing. He could do it.
Sam jumped down from the platform, his shoes slippy on the oil of the sleepers. Someone screamed behind him. He didn’t stop. The train blared a horn and the brakes screeched louder. It was closer than he realised, the lights bright in his eyes. His feet found the sanctuary of the paving line as the carriages flew past him, the wind making his hair fly up and his face contort into a grimace.
He couldn’t stop to think about the train. He took one more look at Mayfield, at the flicker of torch beams through the crumbling roof. There was more movement there now.
He started to run.
His feet were slipping but he didn’t hesitate. He was above the line of the streetlights as he went, moving quickly, not wanting to look down, only a wire fence stopping him from falling. There were trains pulling in ahead, but they were on the other lines.
He looked over at Mayfield again. He was running along its length. He could get in that way.
His chest ached, his legs in pain, but he strained for one last burst. He could do this.
Ruby thrashed her head around, kicking out with her feet, trying to stop Carrie from getting a firm hold with the plastic. It was tight on her face, smoothing out her skin.
‘Just stab her,’ Ronnie said, behind Carrie, his voice frantic. ‘It’s taking too long.’
‘I want Sam to see that the little bitch knew what was happening.’
‘We’ve got to go.’
Carrie turned as the shout of ‘Ruby!’ came from the stairwell. The plastic sheet slackened. Ruby took a breath, a long gasp, and then she lashed out with her feet, shrieking, sending Carrie sprawling backwards.
‘You bitch!’ Carrie snarled.
Ruby screamed again. ‘Joe, Joe!’
Carrie scrambled to her feet and pulled out the knife from her pocket. It was a dagger, long and sharp, jagged edges catching the glare from the torch that she had dropped onto the floor.
‘Ronnie, have you got your knife?’ Carrie said.
‘Yes, here,’ he said, holding it up.
‘When they get up here, kill them.’
Carrie grabbed Ruby under her arm, her bound wrists making it easier to lift her. ‘Come with me.’
Ruby tried to pull away, until the knife jabbed under her chin, cutting her, making her yelp. Blood trickled onto the tip of the blade.
‘You either come with me or I skin you right here,’ Carrie hissed at her, and then pulled at her arm again. Ruby went with her this time.
‘Where are you going?’ Ronnie shouted, as Carrie started to run, prodding Ruby forward with the knife in her back.
‘She’s the only negotiating chip we have.’
‘What about me?’
‘Kill those bastards and then join me.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Carrie paused, and then said, ‘Sacrifice yourself, like Ben did. If you love me, you would.’ She turned back to Ruby and gave her another jab in the back with the knife. ‘Now run.’
Ruby felt herself propelled along as Carrie hooked her arm through hers, so that the knife was pressed against her ribs.
They were heading for the exit, towards the railway lines.
Joe’s legs were aching, his chest heaving from running when he got to the top of the stairs, but he wasn’t going to stop. He burst into a large open area, the station platforms, the rail sections overtaken by weeds and bushes that grew high in the middle.
‘Ruby!’
‘There,’ Gina said, pointing.
There were two figures ahead, running towards the exit, huge and open, the glow of the rail lines and buildings beyond like a beacon. The lights of a train went past. Joe recognised Ruby. The long skinny legs. Why didn’t she turn to run away, fight back?
Joe set off running again, the way lit by the moon that filtered through the roof spaces, although it didn’t reach the sides, where the walls seemed lost in shadow. He could hear Gina trying to keep up with him, her exertion coming as short gasps.
They skirted past the old ticket office, still intact, a ghost, and towards the long stretch of the platform. Ruby and someone else – Carrie, he presumed – were framed in the light that came in from the tracks outside, like two small black figures heading out of the darkness. Where was Ronnie?
Joe felt like he was gaining, but Ruby was forty yards ahead, maybe more, and every muscle in his body was telling him that he couldn’t run anymore, the gash on his leg sending shards of pain through his body with every pound of his foot. But he couldn’t stop, he knew that.
Then there was movement to his right. Someone in the shadows. A flash of metal, and then a shout, a roar of anger, and the r
ush of someone towards them.
Joe gasped as a moving shoulder caught him, sent him sprawling to the floor, his arms jarring as they broke his fall. He looked towards Ruby; she was getting further away. Then he heard another roar, and saw a shadow appear over him, the arm raised, the metal of a knife blade catching the light. Joe raised his arms to protect himself, with no time to scramble away, waiting for the thrust of the knife, and agony, and terror.
There was the rush of someone else. Gina. She led with a fist, catching his attacker on the jaw, knocking him to one side, falling, the knife skittering across the floor as he hit the cold concrete of the ground. Then she was on him, panting with exertion, pushing his arm up behind his back so that he cried out in pain.
Joe recognised the voice as Ronnie’s. He looked at Gina, who was sitting on him.
‘Go after her, Joe!’ she shouted. ‘I’ve got him.’
Joe didn’t need to be told again.
He scrambled to his feet and set off running. Ruby was in the open now, heading straight for the tracks. He wasn’t going to make it.
Sam saw them emerge out of the old station, Ruby and Carrie, heading towards the railway tracks, their outlines visible through the bushes and long grasses that had taken over the entrance.
There was no way forward. There were just the tracks, some electrified, but he realised that Carrie wasn’t stopping, that she would know that they couldn’t get out that way. She was taking Ruby to the tracks.
Sam couldn’t keep up the pace. His police work had become deskbound, all those accounts and bank statements, and with one arm strapped up, it was too hard. Tears started to stream from his eyes. He wasn’t going to get there. He was about to lose another sister. He wanted to say sorry to her, to his mother, because of what she would endure again. Another funeral. Another dead child. He should have jumped, he knew that now. It had come to this, because he thought he could save her.
He slowed to a halt, his good hand on the wire fence, and watched the small silhouettes make for the train line. He was panting hard, his lungs aching, his legs burning with exertion, and he wanted to throw up, angry that he had let her down.
Then he saw something else. Another train, a relentless unstoppable line of passenger carriages heading for one of the other platforms. There was a ping of a tannoy behind him. The train was approaching the station. Carrie and Ruby were running towards it. He had to get there first.
He set off running again.
Ruby was screaming with fear as they ran towards the lines. The woman’s arm was locked around hers and the knife was sticking into her side. Grass and weeds thrashed at her legs.
She tried to pull away, but Carrie thrust with the knife, going in a few inches, making her sag to her knees. Her shirt became damp and sticky.
‘Keep running,’ Carrie snarled at her, yanking on her arm again.
Ruby ran, becoming lightheaded as she bled, succumbing to the terror and pain. She was running on instinct alone, fear keeping her legs moving, in spite of the searing agony from the fresh wound between two ribs, the ache of her lungs, the chafing on her wrists as the rope rubbed.
The railway lines were close. She could see them ahead, a mesh of metal and concrete and overhead wires.
‘Nowhere to go,’ Ruby said, her words coming out as short gasps.
Carrie ignored her. Ruby tried to slow down but Carrie just kept on pulling at her, driving them forward. The bright metal of the railway lines was right in front of her and Ruby expected Carrie to veer away, to run alongside where she could see a path, but instead she stepped over the first set of rails and then onto the oil and gravel of the next, the concrete sleepers slippery.
Ruby tripped and stumbled, falling onto the rail, her body over the metal, knocking the breath from her lungs, unable to break her fall with her arms tied behind her back.
‘Get up, get up,’ Carrie shouted, and pulled at her, making her arms strain behind her back.
Ruby cried out in pain and scrambled to her feet, her knees bloodied now, snot and tears blending with the sweat on her face. She felt sick from pain and crying. She couldn’t fight anymore. There was nothing left except a desire for it all to end.
There was a noise ahead, vibrations under her feet, the glare of headlights in the distance.
‘There’s a train!’ Ruby screamed, her knees sagging. ‘We’ve got to go.’
‘No,’ Carrie said, and gripped Ruby round her waist.
Ruby wriggled, made alert by a new terror. ‘We’ve got to get off the tracks!’
Carrie gripped tighter.
‘No, we can’t stay here,’ Ruby said, and she fought to pull away, desperate, screaming, stamping at Carrie’s feet, kicking back at her shins, but Carrie was holding too tightly.
‘This is for Sam,’ Carrie shouted in Ruby’s ear, anger in her voice, not fear. ‘I want him to find you like this, so that he knows you felt terror at the end.’
‘But we’ll both die.’
‘I’ve no life left. I’m ready.’
The train was getting closer. There was the sound of the horn, loud and strident. Another blast. There was the ear-splitting screech of brakes, the thump and thud of carriages coming together, but it was going too fast, too close. Ruby struggled again, turning, thrashing, fighting, but Carrie’s arms were clamped tight. The noise was deafening, the lights making her look away. The rattle of the tracks sent vibrations through her legs, almost sending her to the floor again. She screamed but it was lost, and so she wailed her goodbyes. To her mother. Her brothers. She screamed that she was sorry for everything and then closed her eyes, waiting for the collision, praying that it would be quick.
Sam wouldn’t make it, he knew it. He was shouting as he ran. Shouting for Ruby, just a silhouette against the train headlights. The screech of brakes, the blast of the horn. It was going too fast.
One final burst, his chest aching from effort, his hair stuck to his forehead by sweat, Ruby outlined in the glare of the lights, braced for impact, turned away, Carrie holding her. He was just a few feet away, his whole world filled by noise and lights and fear and screams and the blast of the train as it tried to slow down, but it had been going too fast, was still too far from the station.
He reached out with his good arm. It was one swift movement, no time to think or work it out. His arm went around Ruby’s and he pulled hard, falling to the floor, Ruby coming with him, his strapped-up shoulder about to take his weight. He cried out in pain, but it was lost in the roar of the train as it went past, his back jarring on the rails next to it, winding him, the brakes still making the wheels scream. There was just the flash of the passenger carriages, Ruby not with him, lost amongst the shadows of the train.
Then he lifted his head to look further along the tracks, back towards the station, where the train was coming to a stop, and he saw her, thrown against the fence like he had been, blood and grazes on her face where she had landed on the stones. Her hands were tied behind her back.
Then she lifted her head, panting, crying, and then Sam started to cry too, through exhaustion, through relief, tears pouring down his cheeks. He had saved her. No, the bound wrists had saved her, had allowed him to use her arms like a hook and just yank her away, throwing her to the side.
He heard the sound of footsteps and someone shouting Ruby’s name. He lifted his head. It was Joe, running alongside the tracks, his tie flying over his shoulder, blood on his shirt, his trousers torn. When he got to Ruby, he sank to his knees and pulled her in to him, his eyes skywards, sucking in air. Ruby put her arms round his waist and shuffled her legs to get closer to him. She was going to be all right.
‘Carrie?’ Sam shouted, and he looked back along the tracks. There were pieces of cloth on the gravel next to the train, but they were glistening, and he realised that they were pieces of Carrie, her body dragged along and shredded like tissue. Beyond, he saw people running towards them, the bright green of the transport cops.
Sam lay back and let the cold stones c
ool him. He looked at the stars above, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
It was over.
Seventy-Four
Monica’s funeral was a week later, after the postmortem had been done, along with one by the defence pathologist, the legal procedures now concluded. Ronnie Bagley had gone back to Mahones. They had sent their regrets for Monica by way of flowers and a letter, but Joe knew that they were doing what he would have done by taking on the case. It was what they did, Joe and Mahones – deal in misery, help the wicked. Joe had come face to face with it and he questioned whether he could still do it, but he knew he would. It was the world he had chosen, for better or for worse.
The funeral had been difficult. Joe had met her parents. They were good people and said that they didn’t blame Joe, but he knew there was an undercurrent of resentment, that if she had worked somewhere else, then she would still be alive, that it was her short time in Joe’s department that had killed her.
They were at Southern Cemetery, a spread of large grass squares peppered by gravestones on one of the main roads out of the city. Buses and cars rumbled in the distance, but it was quiet as Joe faced forward, the area tranquil and reflective, towards the open space in the ground that would be Monica’s resting place.
Monica’s family was grouped closer to the grave, Gina with them, but Joe hung back, Sam alongside him.
Joe turned to Sam. ‘Thanks for coming.’
Sam nodded. His arm was still strapped across his chest and he had a few more grazes and bruises than before, but he was alive. Ruby was alive. ‘I had to be here,’ he said. ‘I feel as responsible as you do. If I had known Carrie was there back when I arrested Ben Grant, none of this would have happened.’
‘Ifs and buts,’ Joe said quietly, and they both looked towards the coffin that was next to the grave. The vicar was saying something but Joe was too far away to make it out.
