by Jill Barry
Eve tucked her hand into Charlie’s elbow. The top of her bright head barely reached his shoulder and she trotted to keep up with his long strides. Typically, he didn’t slow down to accommodate her. The rain had almost stopped and through the remaining drizzle they heard a disturbance ahead. Curious, they hurried towards the sound.
Near the corner of Shepherds Bush Road, where an alleyway joined the street, a group of people was arguing loudly.
‘I told you not to touch her,’ a voice niggled.
‘But she looked so cold; sitting there with her dress all rode up like that,’ said a woman. ‘I only tried to pull it down a bit.’
Even someone with less curiosity than Eve would have stopped to discover what was going on. She could not resist it.
Eve and Charlie reached the group and peered into the gloomy alleyway. Jake strained on his lead, pulling them forward.
‘Calm down, Jake,’ she said, handing the lead to Charlie.
Behind a dustbin to their left, a young girl was seated on the ground, her back propped against the fence that marked the rear boundary of someone’s garden. She didn’t look a day over twenty, maybe because she was so pale, and utterly still. Her clothes were dark with water and her head, the long hair soaked, hung forward over her chest. Her cheeks were white as her blouse. The bare legs stretched out in front looked almost blue in the dim light and, as the woman said, her thin cotton skirt was pulled up to the top of her thighs, almost exposing her knickers. How forlorn and vulnerable she looked; how cold.
Eve moved forward, struck by fascination and compassion. Who could have left this poor girl like a discarded parcel, as if she was of no account at all? Charlie followed, holding Jake in his arms.
‘Do you think it’s a murder?’ a woman asked.
‘Hard to tell. Some doctor will be able to say I expect.’
‘Is she even dead?’ someone whispered behind them.
‘Yea, I think she must be,’ said Charlie, bending down and running his fingers gently across the girl’s cheek, ‘she’s stone cold, poor kid.’
‘How’d she die?’ asked Eve. ‘I can’t see anything wrong with her. Except... well, except for her being here like this.’
‘Dunno,’ said Charlie, standing and addressing the gathering. ‘Has anyone sent for the police?’
The group had diminished to three people; several had gone, probably not wanting to get involved.
‘No, mate, didn’t want to walk to the Police Station in the rain. I didn’t think it was that important.’
Charlie shook his head, exasperated. ‘Bloody hell, mate, that’s the first thing you should have done instead of standing around talking. Eve, you stay here with the body. I’ll run across the Green to the Station. Don’t let anyone else touch her.’
Eve stood near the girl, scanning the ground around her body. The cobbles shone in the meagre light, slick with muddy water. Almost nothing marred the surface of the alleyway – everything had been washed away in the storm. She saw a couple of cigarette butts, a discarded bus ticket and a waxed Sharps toffee paper caught in the weeds at the base of the fence, but nothing else. The odour coming from the dustbin was unpleasantly ripe. She wished someone would hurry and cover the poor girl’s legs; she looked so cold and abandoned. How long had she been there? Surely she would have been found earlier if it wasn’t for the rain; everyone must have been indoors, trying to keep warm. Why had this poor creature come out alone on such a horrible evening so inadequately dressed?
Then Eve thought: no, she wouldn’t have been alone; there must have been someone with her – the person who had killed her.
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