Something In The Air

Chapter 8 - Question Time

Woodford tube station was small, clean and simple, with just two platforms and a ticket office that was never open when you needed it to be - the kind of station that only exists for the convenience of the small number of workers that use it to commute to and from the city centre each day. Otherwise, there could be no other reason why you would ever need to get off or on there. It lay in fare zone four, where the dense urban labyrinth of the city centre starts to dissipate into smaller and slightly less grubby suburbs. If the train announcer didn't automatically mention its name when the tube pulled into the station, you could quite easily blink and miss it altogether. If you did, it wouldn't be a significant loss.

Maddox stepped out onto the platform at five minutes to nine and looked along the line of carriages to find that he was the only one to have left the train. Beyond the edge of the platform, looking south, he could see the bridge that crossed the rail tracks – all dark stone and concrete with wild ivy snaking uninhibited up the sides - and below that, about two hundred metres away from where he stood, the point where Professor Fry's body must have landed. There was no evidence of the tragedy that had so recently occurred there – the police cordon and forensic tent had long since been removed and any remnants of the body cleared up and dispatched to the morgue. Any damage to the track had been fixed and life and business was proceeding ahead as normal.

It always surprised Maddox how quickly a community can move on from a disaster – once the physical evidence has been removed and all that people are left with are their regrets and memories, most will choose to suppress them, ignore them and move on. There is no benefit in lingering on what has already happened and what you can't change, so the only real option is to detach yourself from it and carry on moving forward. He looked round at the other civilians; some talking, some laughing, some hurriedly downing pastries or cups of hot coffee – he could guarantee that within a few weeks, none of them would remember the man that had died here so gruesomely.

Leon was already waiting for him inside the station building, dressed in police uniform and flicking through today's copy of the Metro in a way that suggested he wasn't really reading anything. He looked up as Maddox approached and discarded the newspaper to one side, literally tossing it onto the nearest bench.

"Well, you're certainly looking a lot better than when I last saw you," Leon noted, flashing one of his trademark grins. "Professor Fry's decimated body looked more alive than you when I bundled you into the back of that taxi."

"I'd agree with you, if only I had some recollection of what you're talking about," Maddox replied. "Thank you for getting me into that state by the way."

"I can only take half the credit, you were a pretty willing victim. I can guarantee that most of those shots were self-inflicted."

"Shots?"

"Oh yeah, we got through about a dozen between us by the end."

"A dozen? Bloody hell..."

Leon laughed as Maddox stared in disgust down at the floor. "Yeah, it was impressive to say the least. But enough reminiscing, you ready to go? Sure you don't need to grab a coffee or something?"

"I'm good."

"Then let's do this."

They left the station via the main entrance then walked up the road towards the bridge, weaving in and out of the pedestrians moving in the opposite direction on their way to work. They crossed to about halfway before Leon held up a hand signalling them to stop.

"This is where he fell," he said and leaned carefully over the railing. "If you look closely, you can see some of the damage caused to the sleepers directly below."