Post Mortem Read Free

palmed his car keys and flicked the door lock open.
    â€˜Well,’ he said. ‘Our first job together, you and me, and it’s a big one. I hope you’re a safe pair of hands.’

4
    T he marked car drew up outside PC Lizzie Griffiths’ flat. Arif was in the driving seat, Lizzie beside him. He switched the engine off.
    â€˜Are you sure you’re going to be all right?’
    â€˜Yes, I’ll be fine.’
    Arif, like Lizzie, was young in service. In fact, because she had just a couple of months’ more experience than him, Lizzie was even the slightly senior officer. She knew he had been first on scene, had probably even seen the fall. She wondered how he was coping. They sat together in silence.
    â€˜I don’t know,’ Arif said finally. ‘It just doesn’t feel right. Leaving you. I can sit with you for a bit if you want. We can have some tea.’
    There was a pause.
    â€˜Or something stronger.’
    â€˜No, Arif. It’s all right. I’ll be fine. Thanks.’
    She got out of the car. She was aware of Arif waiting, watching her while she walked down the driveway and then fumbled with her keys. She had a ridiculous sensation, as though she were pretending to unlock the door. When she had got it open, she turned and waved. Everything was hunky-dory. Still, he hesitated for a moment before nodding and driving off.
    As soon as the door was shut, she crouched down on the floor and put her head in her hands.

    Lizzie sat motionless on the edge of her bed. She didn’t know how long she had been there and had no recollection of how she had navigated the distance from the hallway to her bedroom. Her mind felt like a wide-open blank. She picked up her phone and glanced at the screen. She had seven missed calls. She had been distantly aware of the phone ringing, but it had not crossed her mind to answer.
    Tapping on the images application, she flicked through the pictures until she found a picture of herself with PC Hadley Matthews, his arm round her. She considered this for some time until the phone rang again, interrupting the screen.
    Unknown number .
    Immediately she rejected the call. She could think of no one to whom she could speak. She could think of nothing.
    She tried to pull herself together.
    In the back of the ambulance, a female detective constable had seized her uniform and put it into brown evidence bags. Lizzie was sitting now in a white top, white tracksuit bottoms and black pumps provided by the detective when she took her uniform. Lizzie knew these clothes. They were the type given to prisoners in custody when their own clothes were seized for forensic examination.
    Her mind scanned around like a slow computer system conducting a search that never resolved. Or like a freeze frame that wouldn’t play. The edge of the roof, the wind blowing across. In spite of the futility, she kept on struggling to find a way to make it not true, to make it come right, like a dream dreamt again. She could almost see the rainbow wheel in her head endlessly whirring and reaching no conclusion. No results. Disk irretrievably damaged.
    Suddenly she felt that the clothes she had been given were repulsive to her. She got up and changed into some of her ownjogging trousers and a T-shirt. She threw the clothes she had been given into her bin.
    The small effort had exhausted her. She lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t see any way forward beyond this present moment.

5
    C ollins stepped out of the scene tent that sheltered the body of PC Hadley Matthews. She peeled her forensic suit down to her waist, removed her plastic gloves and reached for her cigarettes. Both bodies were ready at last to be bagged up and moved.
    At the outer cordon onlookers were still standing. What on earth, she wondered, could they be hoping for? There was nothing to see now except the tents, and the officers and SOCOs moving around in forensic suits. Nevertheless, it was the