Tuesday
Everyone’s heard about desperate souls ending their lives on the train tracks. I had a distant cousin who did just that. But what was happening now seemed fantastical, like a script from a tragic film or TV movie. Goose bumps covered my arms, but I felt hot at the same time. I had to remind myself I was okay. Alive and unhurt. I hated myself for looking, but I couldn’t avoid it, and I hustled to the end of the platform, where a crowd of people had materialized. Where had all these gapers come from? A few people were on their cells, presumably calling the police. But others were already taking pictures and probably posting them online.
I looked around for a Burberry plaid scarf, which Parks had said he was wearing. I didn’t see it. I pushed farther into the crowd but was hampered by a woman who had assumed the role of town crier. I used to work in TV news, and I’ve noticed that people often fall into predetermined roles when tragedy strikes. There’s the town crier, who tells everybody else what’s going on as if he or she has inside information. There’s the Greek chorus, people who listen to the town crier and react with the appropriate horror, sorrow, or fear. Then there are the naysayers, who want nothing to do with the event and barrel through it in an attempt to flee or deny its existence.
I elbowed my way through the crowd, triggering a couple of “Hey, watch it, lady…” comments, but I still didn’t see Parks. Unease tightened my stomach. The engineer of the train was now on the platform, having cut the power to the train and third rail. He was staring down where a male, with most of his face hidden, sprawled across the tracks. A portion of his cheek was visible, blackened from electrocution. I couldn’t see his face, but when I saw the flap of a beige, black, and red Burberry plaid, I froze.
A wave of nausea rose to my throat, and I clapped a hand over my mouth.
Someone nearby peered into my eyes. “Are you all right?”
I shook my head. I was about to say something when a loud voice cut in.
“Police. Everyone get back. Give us room.”
The crowd parted to let two officers pass. They’d arrived fast; they must have been patrolling the station. The first officer was a woman. She grimaced when she saw the body.
“Shit.”
The male officer followed, looked down at Parks, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he turned to face us. “Time to go, folks. Show’s over. But before you do, the sergeant here is gonna need your names and numbers. We’ll have someone contact you. Anyone see him jump?”
I was rooted to the platform, trying to process what had happened. A siren shrieked from upstairs. The paramedics had arrived. The cop tried to keep a modicum of order. “Get back. We got a stretcher on the way. Anyone know this man? Anyone see what happened?”
He turned in my direction. My stomach knotted. The officer’s eyes narrowed as if he thought I knew something. A wave of guilt washed over me, but I knew from experience that saying anything was going to involve repeating the same thing to different officials for the rest of the day and night. It would also eventually involve Delcroft and Charlotte Hollander. Given my current situation, that would be a disaster. If the company was dragged through the press because of their connection with Parks, and if my name was linked to the mess…I shivered at the repercussions. I felt as guilty as hell, but I kept my mouth shut.
Thankfully, the town crier interceded. “I saw him, Officer.”
The cop turned his gaze to her. “You saw him jump?” He pulled out a small notepad. “What’s your name?”
“Brenda Huffmann.” She was a blowsy woman, with thinning gray hair. I sensed this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her and she was determined to make the most of it. “Well, yes. Kind of.”
“What does that mean? Where were you?”
“Well, uh…I was down there.” She gestured vaguely toward the stairs near me.
“Ma’am, how far away were you?”
Her face reddened. “Well, I was kind of in the middle between the two sets of stairs.”
The officer sighed, as if he realized whatever she had to say would be worthless. Still, he made the effort. “Yeah? So what did you see?”
“Well, it was really fast. All of a sudden. First he wasn’t there; then he was.”
“Where did he come from?”
She glanced around at the remaining gapers, like she was fishing for support. I knew the guy. I should say something. I didn’t.
“I—I’m not sure,” she said tentatively. “The other train?”
Another man chimed in. “I thought I saw him get off the other train and head for the stairs, but then…”
“What?” The cop asked.
“I—I don’t know,” the man stammered. “It happened so fast.”
I heard a commotion at the top of the steps.
The cop looked up. “Okay, everyone back.”
The paramedics trotted down carrying a gurney, a cardiac defibrillator, and a duffel probably full of other equipment. They glanced down at Parks’ body.
“Well, I guess we won’t be needing that,” one of them said, pointing to the defibrillator.
A new, artificially loud voice cut in. “Everyone’s gonna have to clear the area. Emergency protocols are now in place. Trains will be delayed for the next few hours. Buses are on their way to take you where you need to go.” A self-important-looking man in a CTA uniform came toward us. “Come on, now.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “There’s nothing more to see.”
The police officer pulled him aside and spoke to him.
The CTA man cleared his throat. “Before you go, please give the officers your name and number. We’re going to need to interview you.” His sudden use of the proprietary “we” made me want to smile. Almost.
The police officers were joined by four more uniforms and two men in plainclothes. Detectives. This was my last chance to step forward. To tell them what I knew. No. The risk was too great. The guilt I felt for thinking about myself at a time like this intensified, but I knew I might never work in this town again if my name surfaced along with Delcroft’s and Hollander’s. I also thought about what Susan, Luke, my father, and even Rachel would say. “Don’t get involved Ellie—Mom—honey. Nothing good ever happens when you do.”
They were right. I’d have to deal with it in purgatory. I turned around, ready to walk away from the scene. The nearby steps were braced by a sturdy concrete buttress wider than several columns, and the reinforcing support was only a few yards from Parks’ body. In fact, the structure was thick enough to block the view from where we stood. Which meant that no one, including me, could have seen exactly what had happened when Parks jumped.
I studied the concrete support as I turned to start down to the opposite end of the platform. But I wasn’t really watching where I was going, and I accidentally kicked something with my boot. It rattled.
I looked down and spotted a crush-proof box of Marlboro cigarettes. Parks smoked Marlboros! And I was only about six feet from the edge of the platform where he had jumped. I bent over, made sure no one was watching, and slipped the box into my coat pocket. Then I slowly walked away.