Post Mortem (40 page)

The lock slipped with an anonymous click. She pushed the door quickly and the darkness of the lobby revealed itself. With a foot in the door, she reached back on to the pavement and propped it open with a Coke can. She started climbing the stairs, flashing in and out of the late sunlight as she hit the open walkways and then dipped back into the darker stairways. At the top landing was the dark maw of the service stairway leading to the roof. She leaned over, resting her hands on her thighs, drawing in breath. After a brief pause, she climbed the service stairs quietly. The metal fire door was locked, but she saw, in the corner of the uppermost step, the fire key with the brown lace looped through it – Hadley's.

The door opened inwards. As she stepped from the darkness of the stairs, the sunlight threw everything into an indecipherable brightness. She shielded her eyes against the rapidly pinkening wash of sky. Then the scene condensed and made itself clear to her scorched eyesight.

On the edge of the roof was Hadley. Beyond him was the girl, Farah, and beside her the small figure of Ben. The child's back was towards Lizzie. She could make out the shape of the bear suit, the little furry ears.

As she reached the lip of the wall, Lizzie saw that there was about a metre of hard surface between the edge of the wall and the drop. It was on this that all three stood.

The wind was cold and bracing, whipping remorselessly across the high surface, as if they were on a mountaintop. The consequences of the drop, falling away, were a physical sensation inside her. Hadley turned to look at her over his shoulder. His drawn and fearful expression unnerved her. Then Ben turned too. His face was stretched with fear, and close up she could see that he had been crying.

‘Hello, police lady.' His eyes were unspeakably wide, and in his fear he gave the impression of a child relying on his very best behaviour. It had filled Lizzie with an almost uncontainable terror to see him so.

‘Ben, you're doing really well. I want you to stay calm. Can you do that for me?'

The only sign of agreement had been the smallest dip of his nose.

‘And hold on tight to Farah's hand.'

Again the nose dipped: he was going to be good and everything would be all right.

Briefly she caught Hadley's eyes. He seemed to be trying to communicate with her as if by telepathy, seeking some sort of shared strategy perhaps. At first her terror stopped her thinking: they were all so close to the edge. But then, suddenly, the awful simplicity of it struck her. She imagined the phone somehow taken from Farah, snatched from her hand or forced from her pocket.

How could she stop this terrible, stupid game?

She said, ‘Farah, I'm sorry.'

The girl looked at her evenly. ‘Sorry now.'

‘I didn't know . . .'

‘You didn't know, but you told him, didn't you? What did you think would happen?'

Lizzie looked at Hadley and she saw that his eyes had shed their customary complacency. It was unnerving to see him so unmanned. In a barely perceptible gesture he turned his hands slowly outwards, but Lizzie could not read the movement.

Farah said, ‘I've told him not to speak. He's said enough.'

Lizzie struggled to think of the right thing to say or do, but all that came into her mind was a silencing terror, a premonition of enduring catastrophe. Then another thought dawned. Perhaps Farah had been waiting for her. Perhaps her arrival had made the audience complete. How did this end? She could not see Ben's face, just the child's back – his bear suit and the two ears.

Farah in any case was glancing down at Ben. She said, ‘Do you trust me, Ben?'

Again there was the slightest movement of his head, the slightest assent.

‘Would you trust me if I told you we were going to jump out together? You'll be perfectly safe. I can fly.'

Ben turned slowly to look over his shoulder towards Lizzie. His eyes were wide open with a question. Lizzie did not dare to interrupt, was afraid of any word or gesture that could be construed as disrespect. With as much confidence as she could muster, she gave him the gentlest nod.
Yes, Ben, you trust her
. And he turned back to Farah and said in his piping boy's voice, ‘Yes. I trust you.'

Farah looked out again towards the drop. Lizzie saw her hand tighten around Ben's. She spoke quickly. ‘Farah, let me stand on the ledge with you. That would be fair. Ben's not played any part in this, but I have. You're right: I am sorry now. Very sorry. You let Ben go and I will stand next to you.'

Farah was still looking out. Ben was clutching her hand tightly, as though they were about to cross a busy road. Lizzie had told him to hold on to her, and he was doing what he'd been told by the lady in uniform. Lizzie glanced at Hadley, but Farah had rendered
him powerless. He dared neither speak nor move. Still there was something watchful in him.

Lizzie said, ‘It was unfair; I can see that. We bullied you and we didn't think there would be any consequences.'

She could hear how inadequate her words were, but she could think of nothing else to say. Farah muttered something under her breath. Lizzie couldn't hear her. She said, ‘Please—'

Farah spoke over her, louder. She sounded desperate, frightened. ‘I trusted
you
. I didn't think you were like
him
.'

There was a silence. The wind whipped around them.

‘He
mocked
me.'

Hadley made a slight move, as if to speak. Farah raised her free hand:
Don't
. The boy bear gave out a tiny nervous squeak as though he knew instinctively the exact measure and beat of the music that was playing out on the roof.

Birds were wheeling overhead, buffeted by the wind. The sky was streaked with jet streams.

Farah said, ‘I used to come up here, after school. It was a place I could be alone. But a couple of days after I called you, he was waiting for me on the stairwell, in the dark. I don't know whether he'd followed me or not, but he was there. He took the phone out of my school bag . . . He said – Farah glanced across at Hadley, her eyes full of loathing – ‘
Isn't that just like a wop – brings a knife to a gun fight
.' She turned back to Lizzie. ‘I didn't know what it meant so I googled it, and it's from a stupid film.
The Untouchables
. Can you believe it? Can you believe he said that? Did he think he was being
funny
?'

Lizzie could not bring herself to look at Hadley. She was so angry. Why had he said that? Bravado? Intimidation?
Had
he actually thought it was funny?

She said, ‘I'm so sorry, Farah. Really, I'm so ashamed. If you step back over the parapet, you can talk about it to someone independent. I'll tell the truth this time. I promise.'

Farah shook her head. ‘No you won't. You don't understand. I
hate
you. Why ever would I trust you after all this?'

Echoing up from the concrete plaza below, Lizzie could hear sirens wailing.

‘Look, you think there's no way back, but that's because you're young. I know it feels terrible, but none of this is worth dying for. There
is
a way back. Let me stand next to you, then you can have time to make your mind up. I know it's not fair. If someone has to pay, please, let it be me, not Ben. He's innocent.'

And then Farah had shouted out wildly and suddenly: ‘But I am innocent! I am innocent too!'

Ben wailed with terror. Farah had placed her right hand on the wall to steady herself and then looked down over the edge, pulling him forward with her. Even this slight action was perilous; the tiniest adjustment of balance could be fatal. Her left hand was still clasped tightly around the boy's. Struggling to master her terror, Lizzie took another step forward and knelt down by the wall. From here she could see the crowd gathering on the concrete below.

‘Farah, please, you are innocent, yes, yes. But he's a child. I remember you saying – what was it you said – that you were
good
. I believe that, Farah. I believe you are good. I don't believe you want to harm a child. Hold on to him and I'll put my hands round his waist and guide him over. Or I can stand next to you first and we can pass him over together. I'll come and join you on the ledge. You can decide then what to do.'

The closeness of the calamity was making Lizzie's arms shake, her hands sweat.

Suddenly Ben spoke, his voice a frightened squeak. ‘Please Farah.'

Farah looked down at him. She placed his hand on the wall with her own hand on top. Slowly she squatted down opposite him. ‘Ben, I'm going to let you go. But I want you to remember that I let you go. Will you remember that?'

Ben's eyes flicked to Lizzie. She nodded quickly.

Ben spoke slowly. ‘Yes. I will remember that you let me go.'

Farah loosened her grip on his hand. Quickly, before the girl could change her mind, Lizzie leaned forward and wound her arms round his waist. The boy turned in to her. His breath was warm and shallow on her face. He burrowed against her, warm and furry in his bear suit. Still Lizzie feared that Farah would change her mind or that some terrible mistake would happen.

She said quietly, ‘Ben, climb very carefully over the wall. Use your hands. Hold on to me. Hold on tight. You can grip me as tight as you like. Don't let go. Not for a second.'

She locked the fingers of her left hand around her right wrist so that the boy could not fall. Whatever happened, she would hold on to him. She would never let him go. He was climbing and she held him tightly. His small hands were on the top of her head and on her shoulder. He put a hand over her left eye and squeezed her cheek. It was like a game. One leg was over the parapet wall. She ducked her head so that it was not in the way. She could feel his weight shifting, the warmth of his body. He was moving towards safety. Everything would be all right. She would stand on the ledge and Farah would agree to turn back from disaster.

The boy had both feet on the roof beside her. His weight was still leaning in on her. Lizzie turned to her right. Hadley caught her eye, and she realized at once that of course he would never let her step out on to the ledge.

He said, ‘I'm sorry, Lizzie. I'm really sorry.'

Farah too seemed to know how it ended, for she glanced at Lizzie and then leaned out. There was something sorrowful about the movement, and Lizzie's voice was ripped out of her in a terrible noise that was unknown to her. She tried to grab at the girl, but she was too far away. Hadley's arm was flung out too, his hand open as he sought to catch hold of Farah and was lost.

And then there was just absence. Lizzie heard the terrible sigh of the crowd beneath.

The boy was standing next to her. She could not breathe. He had his arms around her.

‘Don't cry, nice police lady.'

Kieran had been there when she could make no sense of anything.

He did not hug her. Clear in this moment of disaster, he chose instead to say, ‘A call came from a member of the public that she was up here on the roof.' She did not understand why of all things he had said that, but she understood his reasons now. He had wanted her to be able to explain her presence on the roof if she hadn't heard the dispatch to Portland Tower.

The boy was in her lap. She was shaking, but she held on to him tightly. She was getting colder and colder. She had needed to hold on to him. He was her consolation. But his mother was at the scene, waiting for his return. The female detective had explained, kneeling down beside her: she had to let Ben go to his mother. The boy was peeled away from her. Separating from him made her sob.

In the ambulance, the paramedic had wrapped a silver blanket round her and told her to lie down. He asked for her name and date of birth. She knew the routine of the questions, but they were strangely inapplicable to her. She was not injured. She was not a victim.

She said, ‘I'm fine.'

The paramedic had a clipboard and a yellow form that he was resolved to complete. She felt the numbness spreading. She closed her eyes. His voice was like the distracting whine of a mosquito. She felt the possible consequences driving deep into her life and spreading out like the shock waves from a bullet.

That was what she remembered: the shock coming in waves, like the roar of the sea held to her ear. The tide ripping out the rounded pebbles from beneath her feet.

She began to walk along the beach. The pebbles, in shades of grey and blue, crunched and shifted beneath her.

If Farah had taken her offer, had stepped to safety over the parapet, would Lizzie have been true to her word? Would she have told the truth about the statement and the phone, the whole shameful episode?

Well, that was the past. Farah had not taken the offer. She had leaned out into the drop, and now she was gone. Lizzie had decided to do what anyone else would have done. She had decided to get away with it. Now she had somehow to remake her idea of herself.

Hadley would be in the ground by now. Lizzie imagined the mourners gathered around the grave, the sound of the fall of earth on the coffin and then the cold loneliness of the graveyard. She remembered him sitting with the tortoise in the flat of his hand, the perfect hexagonal geometry of the animal's shell.

The phone in her coat pocket buzzed. She pulled it out and read the text. It was from Kieran. He was worried about her. He wanted to meet her.

Lizzie looked along the shoreline towards the lights of the beachfront café. She imagined Kieran sitting before a cup of tea, waiting for her. She turned slowly and began to walk along the beach towards him.

The sea rushed and lapped restlessly. Lizzie could not fathom her feelings. They moved within her, deep and shifting beneath an unknowable weight of water.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I am indebted to Anne-Marie Doulton and Margaret Stead for support, encouragement and for being on my case. Love and thanks to Uri, Daveed, and Yoni for their tolerance, kindness and humour. Love and thanks also to Jane Robinson for the long game. For the laughs and the serious business thank you Paul Needley, José Lagares, Gordon Hughes, Lee Spicer, Harbir Kooner, Adam Ghaboos, Craig Burnett, Monique Nolan, Richard Scudamore, Kevin Hurley, Neil Scrimgeour, Michelle Colyer, Simon Fricke, Steve Wallace, Gaye Lloyd, Rita Tierney, Steve Ramshaw, Dean Westwood, Ed Rigby, Richard Clark, Lee Baker, Jennie Morley, Esther Sinclair, Jason Montanana, Mike Armstrong, Asli Benson, Julie Rowe, Ross Foxwell . . . Once I started writing this list I realised it would never be complete. I owe gratitude, respect and affection to so many people I worked with in the MPS – still out there, doing a difficult job.