Post Mortem Read Free Page A

usual street party that accompanied catastrophe. Mixed-race and white boys in hoodies were fooling around and giving the uniformed officer on the tape a hard time. An elderly lady in a hijab and a cardigan was staring with fixed concentration towards the concourse. Collins would task one of the PCs to make sure this woman’s details had been taken. A white man wearing the paint-splashed dungarees and boots of a decorator was filming it all on his phone. A TV cameraman was also still lingering, hoping probably for footage of the bodies being moved into the vans and driven out. She should warn the forensic team about him. They could back the van right up to the tents, obscure the body bags.
    Collins lit her cigarette then moved over to her car. She pulled out her notebook and, leaning against the vehicle, glanced down at her list of actions. A box was inked and doodled around the words ‘PC Lizzie Griffiths’. The young female constable from the roof had to be the next priority.
    Collins radioed Control and then waited on the spare channel while the operator checked the dispatch.
    â€˜PC Griffiths hasn’t gone to hospital, Sarge.’
    â€˜Not gone to hospital?’
    â€˜No, Sarge.’
    â€˜OK, what does it say on the dispatch? Where has she gone?’
    Collins scratched her forehead irritably while she waited for the operator to get back to her. Finally the radio crackled. ‘The officer has been dismissed from duty. The CAD shows a car taking her home.’
    â€˜Home? Who authorized that?’
    â€˜The duty officer, Sarge. Mr Shaw.’
    Collins threw her cigarette on the ground and lit another one-handed. ‘OK. Thank you, Control.’ She dialled into her mobile. ‘Steve, Lizzie Griffiths, the female PC—’
    â€˜It’s all right, Sarah, I called for an update myself. Tried to talk to her in the ambulance but the paramedic said she wasn’t ready. She’s on her own, apparently. God knows what Shaw was thinking. I’m on my way; turning into her street right now, actually.’
    â€˜Thank God. Take her over to Victoria House. We don’t want her anywhere near her own nick. I’ll meet up with you as soon as I’ve seen Baillie.’

6
    L izzie had fallen into a stupor and the knock at the front door startled her. For a moment, she froze. Then she began to act swiftly, throwing her phone, some pants, a couple of T-shirts and a utility bill into a small backpack. The plate of the letter box lifted quietly and she paused. A cop at the door, then . There was no access to her garden from the front of the building. She would be OK if she moved quickly.
    A male voice called into the hallway.
    â€˜Lizzie?’
    She stopped moving, hoping he would not realize she was at home. After a pause, the voice continued.
    â€˜Lizzie, it’s only me, Steve. You remember me? I came and said hello to you in the ambulance . . .’
    The letter box shut. Lizzie bent down and quietly slipped some trainers on, but as she did so, her phone began to ring. Beginner’s mistake . She heard the letter box open again.
    â€˜Lizzie, I know you’re there. I can hear your phone ringing.’
    Lizzie reached into her bag and grabbed her phone. She rejected the call and switched it off. Then she threw the bag over her shoulder and ran into the hallway. She had to go this way to get out of the French windows into the garden. She could see the fingers of a white male hand holding the letter box open. She heard his voice again.
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous, Lizzie. I can see you. This looks terrible, me talking to you through the door and you running away. It’s bloody silly, for a start. We’ll both look bad.’
    She hesitated. He spoke again.
    â€˜Lizzie, look, I understand. You feel dreadful. You’re still in shock. Stay and talk to me. You can trust me . . .’
    She turned away from the front door and began to run down the