Towers of Silence by Cath Staincliffe Read Free Book Online

long do you keep the tapes?”
    “Four weeks and then we record over them.”
    That was that then. I exhaled.
    A loud squawk blurted from the intercom, making me jump. I caught a trace of amusement in Tony’s eyes. Someone with a faulty ticket. Wheezy looked at the screen, flicked a switch and lifted the barrier.
    “Were you here, that day?”
    Both men nodded.
    “Can you tell me the sequence of events after it had happened?”
    Tony shifted, shirty still at my implied criticism.
    Wheezy coughed. “First we knew, a police officer comes in and tells us not to let anyone else in and they want to talk to all cars leaving the place. Was him that told us, that she’d jumped, like. By then the ambulance had come and there were police all over, looking round the place. They found her shoe, that’s how they knew it was level 5, because no one had actually seen her jump.” He blew smoke into the fuggy air. I tried to breathe as shallowly as possible.
    “Place was shut for a couple of hours. They took the CCTV tape away, see if it would playback on their machines.” Tony shrugged. “That was more or less it.”
    Wheezy cleared his throat in agreement.
    End of story. Closed for two hours then business as usual.
    “Horrible way to go,” Tony shook his head.
    “Makes you wonder,” Wheezy added, “what she was thinking of. If you’re going to top yourself least you could keep it clean. For the family and that.”
    Tony pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Cue my exit.
    So, no tapes. One broken, the other taped over. The police hadn’t even bothered to watch it. Why not? I knew there was no reason for extensive enquiries but surely establishing when Miriam Johnstone arrived at the car park and determining what state she was in would have been pertinent to the inquest. Those observations could have helped the coroner rule on the cause of death and help Miriam’s family comprehend her suicide. I thought it was reasonable to expect the investigation to include attempts to find out the state of mind of the deceased especially in a suspected suicide. And now I’d seen the physical layout of the place I could see that the possibility of accidental death was a non-starter. No way could anyone slip and fall from up there. She hadn’t slipped, she’d jumped. It had been intentional.
    I understood some of Connie Johnstone’s grievances now; the police had barely done the basics. An approach to the police complaints authority might be on the cards if I found more evidence of sloppy work or corners cut. Was it just par for the course? A matter of too few resources stretched far too thinly coupled with the pressure to improve the clear-up rates for crime in general? Would any suicide get the same half-hearted attention? Or was there indeed a racial element? Had Miriam Johnstone received less than equal treatment because she was black?

Chapter Ten
    The community centre was on Moss Lane East, near the Rusholme junction and opposite Whitworth Park. It was a new-built single storey block with all the paraphernalia of inner city security; chain link fencing round the car park topped with razor wire and more wire on the roof, steel shutters available to roll over all the windows. A large sign mounted beside the door announced Whitworth Community Centre and gave a phone number. I pulled into a space in the car park and locked the car up.
    Just inside the door there was a small vestibule with notice boards cluttered with posters, messages, leaflets and adverts. Everything was there from Tai Chi classes to second-hand baby buggies. One board listed the regular groups: Craft Club, Mums and Tots, Luncheon Club, Yoga and Aerobics and the times they met. The Craft Club that Miriam attended met on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays.
    The entrance hall led into a larger hallway with several doors off. A reception booth was in the corner to my left. The place smelt of new carpets, a strong chemical tang. Around the room more posters were