at twenty-one thirteen hours, by the police surgeon.’
‘Thank you, officer.’ The coroner leafs through some papers on his desk. ‘An initial autopsy shows that the cause of death is asphyxiation. The pathologist is still waiting for
toxicology reports on alcohol levels and so on.’
Tim’s dad is motionless.
‘Mr Ashley? I’m sorry for your loss. Today’s hearing will be brief, I’m afraid. There will be the opportunity to ask questions when the hearing resumes once I believe I
have sufficient evidence to proceed.’
‘All I want to know is why .’ His soft accent is the same as Tim’s. I was too hard on him, earlier. The poor guy is totally lost.
‘We will do our best to find out, Mr Ashley, you have my word.’
That’s when I feel it again: the certainty that someone’s watching me. I look behind me, half expecting to see Ade waving, but there’s still no one sitting in the gallery
except me. I turn back. Tim’s father is staring bleakly into space. I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking – that this procedure in this stuffy sanitised room
seems so wrong.
‘So, Mr Ashley, you understand that I am adjourning this inquest until a future date, to be confirmed, when investigations are complete.’
But Mr Ashley is understanding nothing. And neither am I.
I wait until everyone else has left. Back in the entrance hall, the journalists say noisy goodbyes before rushing off to write their stories. After a few words with the
coroner’s officer, Mr Ashley half steps, half stumbles outside and the cameras flash briefly and he ignores shouted questions. If he even hears them.
Then everyone’s gone except him and me.
He lights a cigarette. His son hated smoking, but when Mr Ashley’s lips tighten around the cigarette, his expression of concentration reminds me so much of Tim that I want to scream.
Should I try to talk to him? I could comfort him . . . but then what? Tell him that his son has been reunited with Meggie in the afterlife? Yeah. That’d help. Mr Ashley throws his
cigarette to the floor after a few breaths, then stubs it out under his shoe. He looks up at the court building once, before walking into the street.
Something’s moving . I catch a change in the light, out of the corner of my eye. I twist to my right, and focus on the graffiti-covered entrance to a multi-storey car park. The
movement definitely came from that direction.
Nothing seems to be moving now, yet I’m sure I didn’t imagine it.
Tim’s father’s shoulders rise and fall. Sighing, or crying? I can’t tell. He walks. I wait. If there is someone in the car park, then it’s as likely that
they’re following him as me, surely?
But as he walks away, no one emerges from the car park. The coroner’s officer glances at me as he locks the metal gate.
The car park has five storeys. There’s a barrier, but no signs of life. Round here, the streets are lined with derelict warehouses. All I can see as I look up are the dead black
reflections of the panes.
No one knows I’m here.
The thought makes me shudder, but I try to stay calm by thinking it through. The car park is well lit. It’s not even eleven in the morning. If there’s no one in there, then I’m
not in danger, and even if there is someone lurking, nothing bad can happen. It’s not even eleven in the morning.
I try to tune into my instinct. My heart’s racing, yes, but I don’t feel terror , that paralysing force of evil I felt in Meggie’s room.
I cross the road, which is gritty with salt and melted ice. That car park smell of petrol and pee gets stronger as I climb over a low wall. Now I’m closer to where I saw something –
no, it has to be someone – move.
Should I text someone so they know where I am? Lewis, maybe?
No. If there’s someone hiding in the car park, I don’t want to let them get away. They must be connected to Tim, to Meggie, to Burning Truths.
It could be the killer.
The thought makes a pulse throb in my
‘Thank you, officer.’ The coroner leafs through some papers on his desk. ‘An initial autopsy shows that the cause of death is asphyxiation. The pathologist is still waiting for
toxicology reports on alcohol levels and so on.’
Tim’s dad is motionless.
‘Mr Ashley? I’m sorry for your loss. Today’s hearing will be brief, I’m afraid. There will be the opportunity to ask questions when the hearing resumes once I believe I
have sufficient evidence to proceed.’
‘All I want to know is why .’ His soft accent is the same as Tim’s. I was too hard on him, earlier. The poor guy is totally lost.
‘We will do our best to find out, Mr Ashley, you have my word.’
That’s when I feel it again: the certainty that someone’s watching me. I look behind me, half expecting to see Ade waving, but there’s still no one sitting in the gallery
except me. I turn back. Tim’s father is staring bleakly into space. I wonder if he’s thinking what I’m thinking – that this procedure in this stuffy sanitised room
seems so wrong.
‘So, Mr Ashley, you understand that I am adjourning this inquest until a future date, to be confirmed, when investigations are complete.’
But Mr Ashley is understanding nothing. And neither am I.
I wait until everyone else has left. Back in the entrance hall, the journalists say noisy goodbyes before rushing off to write their stories. After a few words with the
coroner’s officer, Mr Ashley half steps, half stumbles outside and the cameras flash briefly and he ignores shouted questions. If he even hears them.
Then everyone’s gone except him and me.
He lights a cigarette. His son hated smoking, but when Mr Ashley’s lips tighten around the cigarette, his expression of concentration reminds me so much of Tim that I want to scream.
Should I try to talk to him? I could comfort him . . . but then what? Tell him that his son has been reunited with Meggie in the afterlife? Yeah. That’d help. Mr Ashley throws his
cigarette to the floor after a few breaths, then stubs it out under his shoe. He looks up at the court building once, before walking into the street.
Something’s moving . I catch a change in the light, out of the corner of my eye. I twist to my right, and focus on the graffiti-covered entrance to a multi-storey car park. The
movement definitely came from that direction.
Nothing seems to be moving now, yet I’m sure I didn’t imagine it.
Tim’s father’s shoulders rise and fall. Sighing, or crying? I can’t tell. He walks. I wait. If there is someone in the car park, then it’s as likely that
they’re following him as me, surely?
But as he walks away, no one emerges from the car park. The coroner’s officer glances at me as he locks the metal gate.
The car park has five storeys. There’s a barrier, but no signs of life. Round here, the streets are lined with derelict warehouses. All I can see as I look up are the dead black
reflections of the panes.
No one knows I’m here.
The thought makes me shudder, but I try to stay calm by thinking it through. The car park is well lit. It’s not even eleven in the morning. If there’s no one in there, then I’m
not in danger, and even if there is someone lurking, nothing bad can happen. It’s not even eleven in the morning.
I try to tune into my instinct. My heart’s racing, yes, but I don’t feel terror , that paralysing force of evil I felt in Meggie’s room.
I cross the road, which is gritty with salt and melted ice. That car park smell of petrol and pee gets stronger as I climb over a low wall. Now I’m closer to where I saw something –
no, it has to be someone – move.
Should I text someone so they know where I am? Lewis, maybe?
No. If there’s someone hiding in the car park, I don’t want to let them get away. They must be connected to Tim, to Meggie, to Burning Truths.
It could be the killer.
The thought makes a pulse throb in my
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