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There are a couple of teenagers on the bridge, so I wait. One girl, one boy. The boy has his arm around the shoulders of the girl, and the girl leans into him, holding a tissue close to her face. Anna’s college friends, I imagine. They’re barely out of school, barely out of childhood.
It’s a dry day, but breezy up here over the busy motorway. I zip my black jacket up to my throat. Like this, I could be a call centre worker or BT engineer. No one sees the insignia on the polo shirt beneath. No one knows I was here last night, talking to Anna, holding her hand while her eyes silently pleaded for something neither of us could put into words.
Her last breaths. The feet in her shoes under my searching fingers...
The girl keeps her eyes to the floor as we pass on the bridge, but the boy thins his lips into a weak acknowledgment of sadness, the tulips wrapped in plastic in my hand offering a brief shared moment of connection. Then the pair pass by and are gone, still huddled together. There are more bouquets now than there were on the news footage earlier. I crouch and, keeping my grip on the tulips, look up the road to where it happened. Traffic flows down all three lanes of the carriageway, cars and vans and lorries rattling past the spot in less than a second. I can still see the indentation in the ditch from where she went in, but other than that, nothing. How did she end up there? That’s the question everyone will want the answer to. Her parents, her friends... How? Why?
‘Rest in peace, Anna,’ I say, as I tuck the flowers in amongst the others. On the tip of my tongue is sorry. It always is in situations like this, those where the outcome isn’t favourable. But I hold it back. Sorry implies fault or failure to act accordingly, and it’s a slippery slope to somewhere you can’t afford to go. Some things I just can’t fix, and that’s a weight I have to bear.
I get to my feet, stand for a second more with my head dipped, then leave for work, putting another tragic case behind me.
*
‘I want to thank you for the way you handled last night’s RTC.’
There’s another hour until shift starts, but Freddie has called me into the briefing room for a quiet word. He’s only this minute come in, half an hour after me, and when we sit he keeps his jacket on, muttering about cost-cutting and freezing his nuts off.
‘It was Sacha who coordinated,’ I say. ‘She did a superb job. Above and beyond.’
‘I know, I’ll speak to her too. I just wanted you to know, Steve, it doesn’t go unnoticed.’ He leans his arms on the table between us and clasps his hands together. His eyes are bright, clear. He’s the only cop I know who can hop between shifts and not lose more than a minute of sleep. For the rest of us, it’s a constant battle of readjustment.
‘It’ll all have a bearing on your promotion, mate.’
‘Anything from CIU?’
‘No other vehicle involved is all I’ve heard so far. They’ll be running diagnostics on the car’s ECU to account for any fault. But I’d bet my packed lunch they’ll conclude driver error. You didn’t smell anything on her?’
‘Nothing.’
I fold my arms across my chest. Young driver, alone, single car collision, probably driving erratically – I shouldn’t be annoyed at the conclusion easily drawn, I’ve seen it time and time again for myself.
‘She wasn’t over the limit, Fred.’
His eyebrows lift. ‘You tested her at the scene?’
‘Course not. She was in a bit of a state.’
‘Well, guess we’ll find out before the end of the day. You know what these kids are like. If not under the influence, it’ll be her sodding phone or something. Where’d you find it?’
Gloved fingers touching metal, something warm, wet. Wrist brushing against ankle.
‘It was in the footwell.’
‘There you go then. Shit, what a fucking waste.’
‘What do you mean, there you go then? That doesn’t tell you anything.’
‘Come on, Steve—’
‘Maybe some prick cut her up and drove off, or an animal startled her, or they’ll find mechanical failure.’
Grey-blue eyes glower at me. ‘Well, I’m sure they’ll address every possibility.’
‘Or take one look at her and draw their own conclusions. Sign off on the paperwork, condemn her death to one of youthful stupidity.’
My words echo around the room in the silence that follows, and as they repeat in my head, I realise how ridiculous they sound. Fred’s glowering turns to a raised eyebrow. He’s not impressed. I sigh and hold my hands up in apology.
‘Have her effects been returned to her parents?’ I ask, thinking of her necklace, thinking of her phone. But the sarge is still looking at me like there’s something he hasn’t worked out yet.
‘This is their investigation now, Steve. Our part is done unless they require our cooperation further.’
I shouldn’t have snapped. Now the cogs of his mind are turning. If anyone can see right through me, it’s Freddie. And friend or no friend, he’s still my sergeant, and I’m pretty sure his loyalty in that regard won’t stretch as far as sympathising with the dilemma Anna put me in last night.
‘You need some support with this one?’ he asks.
‘Don’t be daft.’ I laugh, but I’m the only one who does, and my colleague’s silent evaluation stretches out longer than it should. ‘You’re not serious, Fred?’
He leans closer over the table, though there’s no one in the room but us and the door is closed. ‘There’s nothing wrong in asking for help, mate.’
I’m not sure whether to laugh again or take offence, but seems he really is bloody serious. How many times have I done this? How many fatal RTCs? How many stabbings? How many bodies, burned, beaten and dead have I looked at? How many domestics, street fights, industrial accidents, fires, suicides? How much brutal rage, blind drunkenness, terror, hurt, indignity and desperation? Twenty years. And he asks me this now? Because of one dead girl?
The restlessness from earlier bubbles through my veins so that just sitting here in this chair becomes uncomfortable. I unfold my arms and splay my hands on my knees.
‘Thanks for your concern, Sarge. But save the expense for some probie’s overtime this month.’
I get up and leave the room before he can follow up with any more suggestions. The break room’s quiet. I punch a button on the drinks machine and wander over to the window while I wait for it to trickle diluted coffee into a plastic cup. Jonesy’s missus has parked on the kerb outside the entrance to the car park. I can just make out their smiles through the windscreen as they giggle over something he’s saying. Jonesy points towards her face, but she bats him away. He tries again and this time she grabs his hand. Playfully, he pulls her to him for a kiss.
Newlyweds. Poor sods.
*
17.04.19 22:07
Anna: When can I see you?
Brad: I’ll be on campus Monday.
Anna: That’s too long. How about tonight?
Brad: I can’t, Anna. I’ll see you Monday.
Anna: I think we should talk.
Brad: You’re right. But now’s not the time.
Anna: I realise I screwed up before and I’m really sorry. I miss you.
Brad: We’ll talk next week, okay? I promise.
Anna: I’m already on my way. I just need to see you. Please.
Brad: Alright. Usual place. But we’ll have to be quick. Ellen’s on her way home.
