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?’