Let the Dead Speak (Maeve Kerrigan #7)

I nodded. ‘BTP are on their way.’

He looked very slightly reassured and then I forgot all about him as I edged down the steep embankment, slipping on the long grass. She couldn’t be anywhere in plain sight or the men would have spotted her – although they were head-down, focused on doing their work in the intervals between trains. Overrunning was a disaster. They didn’t have a lot of time for looking around.

I looked down the track, then back to the shadows under the footbridge. It was dark there, especially in contrast to the bright sunshine. I started towards it, wishing I had my torch. I could see something under the bridge, a small shape, a bundle of clothes. A split second after I started towards it, the bundle unfolded and turned into a girl.

‘Bethany!’

‘Leave me alone!’ She stood up once she knew I’d spotted her and started to edge away from me, towards the track. Her hair hung in hanks around her white face.

‘Look, I just want to talk to you.’

She shook her head.

‘Please, Bethany, don’t do this. I need your help.’

‘I can’t help anyone.’

‘You know what happened.’

‘No. I can’t say anything.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ I took a step closer to her. Behind me the long two-note call of a train sounded. I glanced back to see the men clearing the track, standing to one side. The track was straight so I could see the train in the distance, the light on the front shining despite the sunshine. I took another sliding step towards the shadows.

‘Bethany, whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘No, I don’t, but you could tell me. We could talk about it.’

‘It’s all in the bible. Do you know your bible?’

‘Not as well as I should,’ I said, trying to smile.

‘For I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me,’ she recited.

‘What sin, Bethany?’

‘Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, oh God, oh God of my salvation and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.’

‘Kerrigan!’

I glanced up to see Derwent peering over the parapet. He looked furious.

‘How did you get down there?’

I ignored him because the train was closer now, the sound increasing as my heart rate rose, and I’d just made the decision to try to grab her when she exploded into movement like a prey animal breaking cover. She ran as fast as she could towards the track.

‘Bethany! Stop!’ I sprang after her, not thinking about the train or the danger of slipping on the embankment. I knew what she intended and I wasn’t going to have it; I wasn’t going to let another teenager die while I did nothing. The train’s horn sounded again, much too loud, much too close and Bethany hesitated for a second, her face flashing like a pale flame in the darkness. I reached out and caught her sleeve as she gathered herself to jump towards the rails. It was like being inside a hurricane as the wind and noise blasted around us; the train was seconds away. Then I was falling and so was Bethany and there was nothing I could do to save either of us. I think I screamed; I know Bethany did. Every muscle in my body tightened, as if that would help … and we fell, tangled together, as the sound of the train broke over us like a wave.

It took a long couple of seconds for me to realise that we had fallen beside the track, not on it, and the train was passing by safely. The wind dragged at me – it was far too close. I was holding on to Bethany, half-lying on her, and I could feel the sobs wracking her body. My head was ringing and I felt weak, my knees and hands trembling. I wasn’t planning to stand up until the train was gone but I wasn’t altogether sure I’d be able to. It didn’t matter. I crawled forward so I could see Bethany’s face.

‘It’s all right. You’re going to be all right.’

‘Leave me alone,’ she sobbed. ‘Why couldn’t you leave me alone? I don’t want to be here any more.’

‘This isn’t the answer.’

She started to laugh while still crying, a hiccupping jagged sound that made me wince.

And then it was as if the bubble surrounding us had burst as the men reached us, running awkwardly in their heavy work boots: big hands helping to set us on our feet, guiding me up the embankment as I twisted to see that Bethany was following too, a jumble of accents around us – English, Eastern European, Irish, Jamaican, Glaswegian … London, basically. I felt giddy and knew that was shock, like the tremor in my joints and the frantic buzzing of thoughts that made my head feel like a jar full of wasps.

I looked up to see a BTP officer unlocking the gate, and Derwent standing behind him, his face sheet-white. I ignored that, needing to concentrate on Bethany, on making sure they didn’t let go of her.

‘Do you need an ambulance?’ That was the BTP officer.

‘I don’t think she’s injured but she’s suicidal. She needs to be sectioned.’

He reached out and took hold of Bethany’s arm, guiding her gently through the gate.

‘All right, love. Let’s get you into the car so you can have a sit down.’

Bethany was limp, unresisting. The BTP officer supported her for the few stumbling paces it took her to reach his car. I watched him fold her carefully into the back seat, glad that he was being gentle. She needed care, not anger.

‘Do you feel up to giving us a statement?’ The other BTP officer was beside me, his notebook in hand.

‘Give her a chance,’ Derwent snapped.

‘No, it’s OK.’ I stood beside the officer and told him what had happened, as the workmen talked to the other officer and Derwent, then drifted back to work in ones and twos. The excitement was over. They’d be falling behind schedule. The work had to be done. I smiled thanks at them when I had the chance, especially the man who’d let me onto the embankment. He shook his head at me slowly.

‘Warned you.’

‘I take full responsibility.’

‘You better, because I ain’t gonna.’ He gave a wheezy laugh and passed through the gate with a wave.

The BTP officer was serious, unsmiling and painstaking. This would mean paperwork, I assumed, and lots of it, so I let him take his time, ask his questions, tick his boxes. An ambulance arrived and they took charge of Bethany. They asked if I needed to be checked over and I said no. I had bruised a knee and pulled something in my shoulder, but it was minor. Better than being splattered over two hundred metres of track, anyway.

Behind me, Derwent fidgeted and paced until at long last the officer was finished with me.

‘I’ll write it up and send you the statement to approve.’

‘Great, thanks.’

He went back to his car and finally it was only Derwent I had to deal with; I would have slightly preferred another train. I looked around for him and found him staring down the track, his expression remote. I walked over.

‘I think that went well, considering.’

‘Do you?’

Jane Casey's books