Read Online Strike a Match (Book 1): Serious Crimes by Frank Tayell - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank Tayell
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She could apply, but she’d be starting ten years behind everyone else. Of course, first she’d have to find a trade she wanted to learn. Then she’d have to wait another year, because she’d been so certain that she’d get a place at university, she’d missed the deadline for applications.
That left mining, farming, or factory work. They paid well, far better than policing, but it would be a job for life. She didn’t want to spend the rest of hers stuck to a workbench or coal seam. She wanted to see the world because she was sure there had to be more to it than she’d ever known. There were the Marines, of course. Thanks to widespread malnutrition, her entire generation suffered from stunted growth, so she didn’t think anyone would have questioned whether she was old enough to join the military. She herself had doubted that she’d make it through the physical training. That left the police. At first Maggie had been adamantly against it, more so than she’d been over lying about Ruth’s age. Then, a week before the deadline, she’d relented. Ruth had applied, and she’d got a place.
“And now look where I am.”
She counted out the pebbles. There were sixteen in a rough circle, with two more in the middle. “Happy birthday, Ruth, however old you are.”
There was a loud ‘caw’, as a raven landed in the field ten feet from the corpse.
“Shoo!” she shouted, picking up a pebble and throwing it at the bird. It hopped a few paces out of the way and cawed at her again. She sighed, and went to stand closer to, but upwind of, the body.
After half an hour, a second raven joined the first, and no matter what Ruth did, neither would move more than a dozen yards from the victim. When a train’s whistle pierced the early afternoon air, she couldn’t remember being more relieved.
Unlike the train that had brought them to the scene, this one came to a complete stop. It consisted of an engine, a tender, and a single carriage. A man and woman, both wearing off-white coats, jumped out. They grabbed a stretcher from the train and ran down the embankment towards her.
“The body’s over—” Ruth began.
“We can see it,” the woman snapped. Ruth stared at her for a moment, but decided that nothing she could say was worth the risk of having to walk back to the city. She grabbed the crime-kit, briefly considered leaving the sign where it was before she balanced it on top, and pulled the trolley up the embankment.
“Sorry,” a bearded man standing in the doorway to the carriage said, though from his tone he didn’t mean it. “Coroner’s only in this carriage. You’ll have to ride with the driver.”
Ruth nodded, more to herself than to the man, and headed to the front of the train. The driver helped her on board.
“You look hot. ‘ere, ‘ave some water,” he said, passing her a ceramic jug.
“Thanks,” she said, and took a swig.
“What was it?” the driver asked. “An ‘unting accident? I ‘eard it was a gunshot.”
“I’m not sure,” Ruth said. “I don’t think it was an accident, though.”
“Really?” the stoker asked. “A murder, then? Go on, give us some details.”
Ruth looked again at the distant haze that marked the city. It was definitely too far to walk.
“Well,” she began, and gave a highly expedited summary. She focused more on the blood and flies than on the bullet and made no mention of the money. It seemed to keep the two men entertained, at least until the orderlies had loaded the stretcher, and it was time for the train to leave. A whoosh of steam, a shriek from the whistle, a jolt, and the train shunted backwards towards Twynham.
“Four minutes, twenty seconds,” the stoker said, his voice rising to carry over the sound of pistons and steam.
“Until what?” Ruth called back.
“Until we ‘it the three-fifteen coming the other way,” the driver yelled, as the train picked up speed, reversing along the tracks.
He didn’t seem worried, so Ruth
That left mining, farming, or factory work. They paid well, far better than policing, but it would be a job for life. She didn’t want to spend the rest of hers stuck to a workbench or coal seam. She wanted to see the world because she was sure there had to be more to it than she’d ever known. There were the Marines, of course. Thanks to widespread malnutrition, her entire generation suffered from stunted growth, so she didn’t think anyone would have questioned whether she was old enough to join the military. She herself had doubted that she’d make it through the physical training. That left the police. At first Maggie had been adamantly against it, more so than she’d been over lying about Ruth’s age. Then, a week before the deadline, she’d relented. Ruth had applied, and she’d got a place.
“And now look where I am.”
She counted out the pebbles. There were sixteen in a rough circle, with two more in the middle. “Happy birthday, Ruth, however old you are.”
There was a loud ‘caw’, as a raven landed in the field ten feet from the corpse.
“Shoo!” she shouted, picking up a pebble and throwing it at the bird. It hopped a few paces out of the way and cawed at her again. She sighed, and went to stand closer to, but upwind of, the body.
After half an hour, a second raven joined the first, and no matter what Ruth did, neither would move more than a dozen yards from the victim. When a train’s whistle pierced the early afternoon air, she couldn’t remember being more relieved.
Unlike the train that had brought them to the scene, this one came to a complete stop. It consisted of an engine, a tender, and a single carriage. A man and woman, both wearing off-white coats, jumped out. They grabbed a stretcher from the train and ran down the embankment towards her.
“The body’s over—” Ruth began.
“We can see it,” the woman snapped. Ruth stared at her for a moment, but decided that nothing she could say was worth the risk of having to walk back to the city. She grabbed the crime-kit, briefly considered leaving the sign where it was before she balanced it on top, and pulled the trolley up the embankment.
“Sorry,” a bearded man standing in the doorway to the carriage said, though from his tone he didn’t mean it. “Coroner’s only in this carriage. You’ll have to ride with the driver.”
Ruth nodded, more to herself than to the man, and headed to the front of the train. The driver helped her on board.
“You look hot. ‘ere, ‘ave some water,” he said, passing her a ceramic jug.
“Thanks,” she said, and took a swig.
“What was it?” the driver asked. “An ‘unting accident? I ‘eard it was a gunshot.”
“I’m not sure,” Ruth said. “I don’t think it was an accident, though.”
“Really?” the stoker asked. “A murder, then? Go on, give us some details.”
Ruth looked again at the distant haze that marked the city. It was definitely too far to walk.
“Well,” she began, and gave a highly expedited summary. She focused more on the blood and flies than on the bullet and made no mention of the money. It seemed to keep the two men entertained, at least until the orderlies had loaded the stretcher, and it was time for the train to leave. A whoosh of steam, a shriek from the whistle, a jolt, and the train shunted backwards towards Twynham.
“Four minutes, twenty seconds,” the stoker said, his voice rising to carry over the sound of pistons and steam.
“Until what?” Ruth called back.
“Until we ‘it the three-fifteen coming the other way,” the driver yelled, as the train picked up speed, reversing along the tracks.
He didn’t seem worried, so Ruth
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