Towers of Silence

Chapter Eight

On October 6th at five o’ clock at the start of the rush hour Miriam Johnstone had flung herself from the top level of the Arndale Centre car park and fallen to her death.

I peered down, looking at the traffic on Cannon Street and the pedestrians dotted along the pavements. She had landed on the road side. It had been busy but she had not hit anyone or anything – only the ground. Connie had to identify her mother. She had to do it by looking at her hands.

I swallowed. Tried to imagine the strength of purpose or the level of desolation that drove her to come here, to pull herself up the concrete wall, to climb over the railings, lean forward, release her grip. Did she look down that moment before she plummeted? Or up to the skies? Did she think of her children? Of her God? Did she cry out or was she mute? I shuddered, felt dizzy, a swirl of unease circled in my stomach. She had to do it by looking at her hands. Things were that bad.

I took a step back, tightened my scarf against the wind, there was a churlish sky threatening more bad weather. I looked carefully at the structure. There wasn’t that much space between the top of the railings and the low concrete ceiling. Enough for the average person to climb through but it would have been an awkward manoeuvre.

Why here? Did this place have some significance for Miriam? It was near the bus station so perhaps that’s how she had travelled to town. Had they found a bus ticket in her coat or handbag?

I turned and surveyed the car park. It was full of vehicles but there was a feeling of desertion here. The low concrete roof, the smell of oil, the dim light, the ranks of cars, silent, waiting. Not a place to linger. In one corner I spotted the CCTV camera. Had that been checked? Surely the police would have looked at it. I couldn’t recall any reference to it in the papers I’d had from Connie. Wasn’t it likely that at that time of day the place would be busier, people returning to their cars after work? But no one had seen her jump. Had she been controlled enough to wait until the coast was clear? Determined that no one should try and stop her?

I moved close to the parapet again. Leant on the railings and looked down, watched the people sliding past each other without contact. Strangers in the city. My mouth was dry. I stared at the ground, five storeys below, my head swam. When Miriam had let go, on the cusp of her descent, had she felt a flicker of relief? Felt peace approaching or terror thrilling in her veins? Or nothing? Save the wind on her face and the pulse in her ears?

A shout and a whoop of laughter made my nerves start and my heart leap. Down on Cannon Street two young women clutched each other giggling helplessly. All the world to live for. I turned away.