‘See you again,’ he said cheerfully.
Wildman allowed himself to fall. His feet didn’t move. His arms remained calmly by his side. He just dropped backwards, as though it was a trust exercise and someone was going to catch him.
But no one could catch him. The green netting parted soundlessly behind him. Guy Wildman was still smiling as he plunged backwards, head first, and tumbled to his death.
FOUR
Gwen pushed her way through the police cordon. Her words were ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’ as she moved the police constables aside, but her tone was ‘get out of my way’. She knew that coppers responded to the sound of authority, were less likely to question her seniority because they were accustomed to simply obeying orders that were spoken clearly and unambiguously. It was a technique she’d seen the other Torchwood members use, even the more reserved Toshiko. Gwen was still trying to be polite about it. Unlike Owen, who was more likely to wave his ID, shout ‘Coming through!’ and then barge his way past. Sounding more assertive meant that Gwen got things done faster, got to her destination sooner. Not that Wildman was likely to be going anywhere in a hurry, mind. His last journey had come to an abrupt end after only a few seconds.
‘Sorry… Excuse me… Thanks… Keep those pedestrians back there, please…’
The only time it was awkward was when she came across her former colleagues. Like now. The blue flashing light of the nearby police car strobed over the chubby features of Andy Davidson. Once upon a time, he’d been showing her the ropes. Today, she was asking him to stay behind them.
‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ Andy said to her. But she noticed that he still held the yellow-and-black cordon tape up for her. ‘People will start to talk.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, stooping under the tape. ‘I imagine people are talking anyway, aren’t they Andy?’
‘Special Ops?’ he said. ‘Bound to have tongues wagging, isn’t it?’
Gwen chose not to answer his next, unspoken, question: What is your job now, Gwen? She let Andy guide her down the road, and along the length of a bendy bus that seemed to have stalled in the middle of the carriageway.
‘Can this be moved?’ she asked him.
‘Wait and see,’ he replied.
They rounded the front end of the bus. The windscreen was a crazed spider’s web of splintered glass, with a long smear of blood down its full height. The diesel engine was still chattering away. And the crumpled remains of Guy Wildman lay sprawled under the front wheels.
‘He was determined, this bloke.’ Andy pushed his cap further back on his head, so that he could stare up at the building site and point. ‘Eight floors down. Smacks into the top of the bus. Slides down the front. Bus doesn’t stop in time. Finishes the job.’
A dark pool was spreading beneath the bumper, like a target that had Wildman’s head in its dead centre under the front of the bus.
‘Scraped him along the tarmac for several metres.’ Andy sucked air through his teeth, like a plumber appraising a quotation. ‘I suppose we’ll be left to shovel up the bits, as usual.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, high-rise suicide isn’t very Special Ops, is it? I’d have thought you’d be more involved investigating all these vagrant murders. Serial killer, is it?’ He obviously wasn’t deterred by her silence. ‘Can’t you tell us anything, Gwen? Or aren’t we a part of the team any more?’
‘I would tell every one of you,’ she said gently. ‘Except then I’d have to become a serial killer myself.’
Andy studied her thoughtfully. ‘I’m starting to believe that you’re not joking when you say things like that.’ He concealed his disappointment badly. ‘Ah well, I’ll get the forensics team out here.’
‘Not this time, Andy.’ Gwen felt that keen awkwardness again, the sense that she was clumsily rejecting her friends on the force, and couldn’t yet find a graceful way to do it.
As if to underline this, Owen brusquely charged up to them. ‘Are you coming, Gwen?’ He had stopped right in front of Andy, like he didn’t exist. ‘Tosh is snapping on her rubber gloves, and you’re not gonna want to miss this one.’ Owen strode off around the bus.
Gwen shrugged a kind of apology at Andy. ‘While we’re on the subject,’ she said as she turned to go, ‘you don’t want to talk about cleaning up if my boss is listening.’
Andy had the grace to look embarrassed at this. ‘Mitch? Yes, I heard about him chucking up at the scene.’
‘I hope he’ll be all right.’
‘Not after the lads find out, he won’t be. I reckon that he’ll be over it by about… ooh, eight months? But you know what Mitch is like, he’s a bit of a…’ Andy trailed off, aware that Gwen was giving him a tight smile while looking meaningfully over his shoulder to the cordon. ‘Ah, all right then. Well… Be seeing you.’
He turned on his heel and retreated, away from the scene of crime. Gwen wasn’t sure whether she heard correctly, but she suspected he’d sarcastically added a murmured ‘ma’am’ before he went.
‘Whoa! Whoa!’ yelled Owen as Gwen reappeared at the front of the bus. ‘No, not you, darlin’.’ He stood up and banged on one of the unmarked parts of the windscreen. ‘Tosh, what are you doing with that bus driver?’
Toshiko’s head appeared through the driver’s side window. ‘He’s in no fit state to drive.’
‘You can bloody talk. Try reverse gear, would you? I want some of him left for the autopsy.’
There was a horrendous grinding of gears, and the whole bus seemed to shudder. With a further reluctant groan and a startling hiss of air brakes, the vehicle slowly moved backwards. From beneath the front of it emerged the gory mess of Guy Wildman. He must have hit the bus head first before crunching into the roadway and then being dragged along underneath for some distance before it stopped. Wildman’s limbs were twisted into impossible angles. The shattered remnants of his head lay in a bloody pool that encircled it like a gruesome halo. There was so much blood that it created a reflective surface, in which Gwen could see the streetlights that had started to come on around the scene of the accident.
Owen considered the brutalised remains. ‘This is going to bugger up the tourist trade again. They’re only just getting over the death of Gene Pitney in that hotel across the way. Remember that? He was on tour in Cardiff, and dropped dead in his hotel room.’
‘How awful,’ said Gwen.
‘I think something got a hold of his heart,’ said Owen, still poking at the corpse. ‘Not what the manageress had in mind when she told him that checkout was before 10 a.m.’ He positioned a small daylight lamp beside the fresh corpse, and began snapping photographs on a digital camera.
Gwen had seen Owen at so many scenes of crime now, yet was still amazed by his detached view. She wondered if his disparaging attitude was part of his training as a doctor, something that kept him separate from patients and relatives in the face of death, and now kept him sane amid the madness of what they did.
Toshiko joined them by the body. She’d given up trying to park the bus neatly, and had left it jack-knifed with two wheels across the opposite pavement. ‘Nasty,’ she said. ‘Did he jump or was he pushed?’
‘Suicide.’ Gwen remembered Wildman’s demeanour beforehand. So different from the panic he’d shown when fleeing from them in the street. ‘He was absolutely calm,’ she said. ‘Smiling at us. He was ready when he finally jumped.’
‘Jumped?’ Toshiko was surprised.
‘No,’ Gwen corrected herself. ‘He didn’t jump. I’ve seen people jump before, it’s a kind of last desperate act, once they’ve screwed up the… yeah, the courage to do it, I suppose. Wildman here, he simply let himself fall. Dropped off the eighth floor like he was collapsing backwards onto a bed.’