by Shaun Hutson
‘Four years to go, Bill’ Talbot murmured, pushing another square of chocolate into his mouth. ‘Thanks for reminding me, you bastard.’
They continued their leisurely stroll up the platform. ‘Why did the Transport Police call us in?’ Talbot wanted to know. ‘They don’t usually for a suicide.’
‘They’re not sure it was a suicide.’ ‘How come? Did someone see him pushed?’
Rafferty shook his head. ‘They just think-‘ Talbot cut him short. ‘It’s a suicide, Bill, take it from me’ the DI said, stopping and motioning behind him. ‘The bloodstains on the platform and track are right near the tunnel mouth. He wanted to make sure that if the live rail didn’t fry him then the impact of the train would kill him. Some of the dickheads who try and kill themselves down here jump from the middle of the platform. That gives the driver plenty of time to see them so he hits the brake and, nine times out of ten, the train doesn’t even hit them. Runs over them maybe. They might lose an arm or leg, get some nasty burns from the live rail, but that’s it. They jump from the middle because they’re not sure.’ He shrugged. ‘Same as the ones who cut their wrists, you know that. If they cut across the veins of the wrist they bleed slower. They want someone to find them. The ones that do it from elbow to wrist, now they’re not fucking about. They’re sure. So was Hyde, that’s why he went off near the tunnel mouth.’
‘We couldn’t get much out of the driver, poor sod’s still in shock,’ said the DS.
‘I’m not surprised. What about the other witnesses?’
‘We’re taking statements upstairs now.
Talbot nodded.
‘Even money he topped himself,’ the DI said, looking down at the group of uniformed men gathered around the body. They moved aside.
‘Shit’ muttered Rafferty, staring at the corpse.
The stench of burned flesh was almost overpowering now.
‘Where’s his right leg?’ Talbot wanted to know.
‘The train took it off at the hip, we found it ten yards further down the track.’ Rafferty replied.
‘I want a full autopsy report as soon as possible,’ the DI said. ‘And one other thing, Bill.’ Talbot pushed another piece of chocolate into his mouth, ‘someone had better tell his wife.’
Four
Catherine Reed felt sweat beading on her top lip. She tasted the salty fluid as she licked her tongue across it, her breath coming in gasps now.
Her long dark hair was plastered across her face and neck, the flesh there also covered in a sheen of perspiration.
She tried to swallow but her throat was dry, she could only manage a deep moan of satisfaction as the sensations grew stronger. She lifted her feet, wrapping her slender legs around the form above her.
Phillip Cross had his eyes closed, his own body and face covered in sweat as he kept up a steady rhythm, supporting his weight on his fists as he drove swiftly, deeply, into Cath.
‘Oh Jesus!’ she murmured, her legs gripping him tighter, her fingers now clawing at his back and buttocks as if to pull him deeper. ‘Go on. Go on.’
He opened his eyes and looked down at her pleasure-contorted face, an expression of joy etched on his own features as he continued with the hard thrusts.
The phone rang.
‘Shit,’ gasped Cross, slowing up slightly.
‘Don’t stop.’ Cath moaned.
The phone continued to ring.
Cross withdrew slightly.
‘Leave it.’ grunted Cath.
The answering machine clicked on.
Cath hardly heard the voice on the other end of the phone, her own growing exhortations drowned it out.
She pulled Cross closer to her.
‘I know you’re there, so pick up the bloody phone.’ said the voice, sharply.
Cross looked across at the phone and the machine on the bedside table.
He slowed his pace, his own breathing still laboured.
‘Leave it.’ Cath implored.
‘Phil,’ the voice continued. ‘Pick the fucking thing up, this is important.’
They both recognised the voice.
Cross shrugged and ruefully eased himself free.
Cath allowed her legs to slide from his glistening back, her chest heaving, perspiration running in rivulets between her breasts.
Cross snatched up the phone. ‘Cross here.’ he said, clearing his throat. Cath didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. She swung herself off the bed and padded through to the bathroom, the blood pounding in her veins. She twisted the cold tap and splashed her face with water, studying her reflection in the mirror as she looked up. Her dark hair was ruffled, still matted with sweat at the nape of her neck. She eased it away with one hand. Naked, she stood before the mirror, glancing at the image which greeted her. Her smooth skin was tinged pink, particularly around her face, neck and breasts. She let out a deep breath, catching the odd word drifting through from the bedroom.
Why the hell couldn’t he have let the bloody thing ring?
She heard Cross say something else, then the sound of the receiver being replaced.
Cath stood where she was, finally seeing Cross’s reflection in the mirror behind her.
He too was naked and, she noticed, still sporting an erection.
‘That was Nicholls.’
‘I gathered that,’ she said. ‘Do you always jump when you hear his voice?’
There was an edge to her tone which Cross chose to ignore.
‘I’ve got to go to Euston. Now,’ he told her. ‘Some geezer’s just topped himself, Nicholls wants pictures. Do you want to come?’
She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
‘If you hadn’t picked up that bloody phone I would have done,’ she said, a slight smile touching her lips.
‘Ha, bloody ha. So, what’s your answer? I’m going to be gone about an hour. Nicholls said he called me because he knew I was nearer.’
‘How convenient for him.’ Cath said, heading back towards the bedroom where she lit up a cigarette. ‘It’s a good job you live in Camden and not Chelsea, isn’t it?’
Cross was already pulling on his jeans. ‘Are you coming or not?’ he said irritably, looking round, seeing one of his cameras on a cabinet close by.
‘Why not?’ she answered, already collecting her leggings, socks and trainers which earlier had been discarded beside the bed.
They dressed quickly in silence, then Cath spoke again.
‘What’s so interesting about a suicide, anyway?’
‘Nicholls just asked me to take some pictures. I’m a humble photographer, I do what I’m told.’ He smiled. ‘You never know, there might even be a story in it for you. I thought reporters were always on the look-out for a story.’
‘Yeah, very funny. A suicide at Euston. Real frontpage stuff.’ she chided.
‘That’s the point.’ Cross said. ‘It might not have been a suicide.’
Cath’s expression changed.
‘Who was the bloke?’ she demanded.
Cross snatched up his camera bag and pointed to the name he’d scribbled on a notepad by the phone.
Cath looked at the name and nodded slowly, running a hand through her hair.
She was already heading for the door.
Five
James Talbot watched impassively as the four uniformed men lifted the body of Peter Hyde up onto the stretcher laid out on the platform edge.
Ambulance men expertly fastened the plastic body bag around the corpse, but before the zip was closed Talbot looked at what was left of Hyde’s face.
The skin around the right cheek and jaw was burned black, the remainder was a vivid red. One eyelid had been scorched off, leaving the orb glistening in the socket. It seemed to fix Talbot in a baleful stare as he looked on.
He watched as the severed leg was passed up from the track, and tucked neatly into the bag along with the body.
At the far end of the platform, two cleaners stood waiting, mops in hand.
Ready to wash
away the blood.
The DI swallowed the last square of chocolate and nodded permission to the ambulance men to seal the bag once and for all. The zip was fastened.
As Talbot turned he saw a white light which momentarily blinded him.
‘Fucking press,’ Rafferty snapped.
‘How did they get down here?’ Talbot asked wearily.
‘We only closed off this platform,’ Rafferty informed him, striding towards the figure at the far end of the platform.
Phillip Cross continued snapping away. At the bloodstains. At the rails. The policemen.
The black body bag.
Catherine Reed followed him, glancing around her as if trying to commit what she saw to memory, anxious not to miss a detail.
She saw a bloodied tooth lying close to the platform edge.
Smashed loose by the impact of train and body, she assumed.
‘Who’s in charge?’ she wanted to know.
‘Get off the platform, please,’ Rafferty said. ‘You haven’t been given official clearance to be down here.’
‘Was it suicide or was he murdered?’ she persisted.
‘There’ll be a statement issued in due course.’
‘You must think it’s murder,’ Cath said, nodding towards the approaching figure of Talbot. ‘Why else would a DI be here?’
As Talbot drew nearer he slowed his pace, seeing the dark-haired woman dressed in a loose-fitting sweatshirt and leggings. He recognised her. He knew those features.
He knew …
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he hissed, his gaze fixed on Cath.
‘The same as you, DI Talbot, my job.’
Both Rafferty and Cross watched the journalist and policeman as they faced one another.
‘You haven’t got permission to be down here, so piss off,’ Talbot snarled.
‘Are you treating this as a murder investigation?’ Cath said.
‘No comment,’ Talbot grunted.
Cath considered Talbot for a moment and then asked matter of factly, ‘When did you get promoted?’
‘What the hell does it matter to you?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Yeah, curiosity’s part of your job, isn’t it?’ Talbot rasped.
‘A Detective Inspector.’ she said. ‘You’ve done well.’
‘Fuck off, Reed. I told you, you’re not supposed to be down here. Now move it, before I have you arrested for obstruction.’
‘As charming as ever, nice to see some things never change.’
‘I’m only going to tell you once more. Piss off.’
‘When can we expect an official statement?’ Cath wanted to know.
‘You just had it.’ Talbot responded as he turned his back on her and walked back up the platform.
Cath watched him for a second then she and Cross ducked back through the
archway which led to the escalators.
‘What the hell was that about?’ Cross asked as they rode the moving staircase.
Cath exhaled deeply.
‘Did you get plenty of pictures?’ she said, sharply.
‘I asked-‘
‘Forget it, Phil.’ she said, looking back down towards the platform area.
Talbot was standing in the middle of the raised area, arms folded across his chest, an expression of anger on his face.
‘Do you know her?’ Rafferty asked him. Talbot nodded slowly, watching as the body was lifted. ‘You could say that.’ he murmured.
Six
The air inside the pub was thick with smoke and James Talbot inhaled deeply as he headed towards the table in the corner.
What he wouldn’t give for a cigarette!
He tried to push the thought from his mind as he weaved carefully around other drinkers, anxious not to spill any of the liquor he carried.
The pub was in Eversholt Street, just across the road from Euston, and it was busy. The sound of a dozen different conversations mingled with the noise of a jukebox which seemed to Talbot to have been turned up so high that it necessitated everyone in the pub to raise their voice to be heard.
Two young women cast him cursory glances as he passed, but Talbot seemed more concerned with reaching his designated table with full glasses than he did with their fleeting attention.
One of them, a tall woman with short blonde hair and cheek bones that looked as if they’d been shaped with a sander, smiled at him, and the DI managed a barely perceptible smile in return, glancing back to run appraising eyes over the woman’s shapely legs as he reached the table.
He set down the two glasses, sipping his own Jameson’s, feeling the amber fluid soothingly burn its way to his stomach.
Rafferty nodded gratefully and took a mouthful of his shandy.
‘I can’t stay too long, Jim,’ he said, almost apologetically.
‘One drink isn’t going to hurt, is it?’ Talbot muttered. ‘What’s your rush?’
‘I want to see Kelly before my wife puts her to bed.’
‘How is your kid?’
‘Beautiful,’ the DS said, proudly.
‘She must get her looks from her mother, then,’ Talbot mused, glancing at his companion.
‘It was her first day at school today,’ Rafferty began. ‘I wanted to-‘
‘Who was on duty up top this afternoon?’ Talbot interrupted, apparently tiring of Rafferty’s conversation.
‘What do you mean?’ the DS asked.
‘I want to know how those fucking press arseholes managed to get down onto the platform.’
Rafferty contemplated his superior for a moment then cleared his throat.
‘Look, Jim, you can tell me to mind my own business, but who the hell was that reporter? You don’t usually react to press like that.’
Talbot took a long swallow of his whiskey. ‘Fuck them, they’re all vultures anyway,’ he snarled.
‘You said you knew her.’
The DI exhaled deeply and sat back in his seat. ‘She did a story on me about two years ago,’ he said, looking down into his glass. ‘It was all over the paper she works for, I forget which one. Not that I really give a shit.’ He looked at the other man. ‘You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’
Rafferty nodded slowly. ‘Paul Keane.’
‘Yeah, Paul fucking Keane.’ Talbot downed what was left in his glass.
‘Was it true? About you beating him up during questioning?’
‘Her fucking allegations got me suspended for two weeks, didn’t they? Her and her “sources”. Maybe I did rough him up a bit, but I’ll tell you something, I wasn’t the only copper who did.’
‘He did some kids, didn’t he?’
‘Three of them. The fucking nonce. He raped two five-year-old girls and sodomised a three-year-old boy. Whatever he got, the bastard had it coming.’
Talbot pushed away his empty glass. ‘Three years old, can you imagine that?
Jesus.’ He sucked in an angry breath. ‘But that bitch cried “police brutality”
and splashed it all over the front of her fucking rag and there was an investigation.’
‘No charges were ever made against you though,’ Rafferty offered.
“That’s not the point,’ Talbot hissed. ‘She crucified me. She could have ruined my career, and do you know who her source was? Keane’s solicitor. He was more bent than his client. Keane nearly got off because of what she wrote.
He could have been walking the streets now because of her. Newspapers.
Wrapping up fish and chips or wiping your arse, that’s all they’re any good for. All of them.’
He looked down at Rafferty’s empty glass. ‘Another?’ he asked.
‘I’ve got to get off, Jim,’ the DS said, getting to his feet.
‘When are you expecting the autopsy results on Hyde?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘And you still reckon it was suicide?’
Talbot nodded.
‘I don’t know how anyone can do that’ Rafferty said. ‘Kill
themselves. I mean, they reckon it’s a coward’s way out, but I reckon you need a lot of guts to top yourself. How could things ever get so bad you’d want to end your own life?’
Talbot shrugged. ‘It could happen to any of us,’ he said, quietly.
‘Not me,’ Rafferty said, heading for the door. ‘I’ve got too much to live for.’ He chuckled. ‘See you tomorrow.’
And he was gone.
Talbot waited a moment then returned to the bar and ordered another Jameson’s.
The woman with the finely chiselled cheekbones was still there, only now she was talking animatedly with a man slightly younger than Talbot. She didn’t even see him this time as he passed her. As he sat back down he could hear her laughter, even over the jukebox.
Talbot glanced at his watch.
It was too early to go home.
Besides, there was nothing there for him anyway.
He sipped at his drink.
‘Too much to live for.’ he murmured, remembering Rafferty’s words. The DI raised one eyebrow. ‘You’re lucky.’
He swallowed some more whiskey, the smell mingling with the stale odour of cigarette smoke.
He’d have another after this.
Maybe two.
It would take that before he could face the trip home.
Seven
Catherine Reed rolled onto her back, her chest heaving, her breath coming in deep, racking gasps.
‘Jesus.’ she murmured, trying to slow her breathing.
Beside her, Phillip Cross was also trying to get his breath back. He reached across to the bedside table and retrieved the can of Carlsberg there, taking a swig, wincing when he tasted warm beer.
‘Can I have some of that?’ Cath asked, taking the can from him.
‘It’s warm.’ he told her. ‘I’ll go and get us a couple more.’
She too sipped at the lukewarm fluid, watching as Cross swung himself out of bed and walked naked across the room.
Cute arse.
She smiled to herself, stretching her long legs, then bending them, clasping her hands around her knees as if she were preparing for some kind of exercise routine.
Cross looked back at her and grinned.
‘I thought you were going to get the beers.’ she said, looking at him, framed in the doorway.
He nodded and disappeared through into the sitting room. She heard rattling around by the fridge in the kitchen and, moments later, he returned and sat down on the bed beside her, holding out a cold can for her. As she went to take it he pressed it to her left breast, rubbing her already stiff nipple with the cold metal.
