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.
