Another Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

going to catch him.
    But no one could catch him. The green netting parted soundlessly behind him. Guy Wildman was still smiling as he plunged backwards, head first, and tumbled to his death.

FOUR
    Gwen pushed her way through the police cordon. Her words were ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’ as she moved the police constables aside, but her tone was ‘get out of my way’. She knew that coppers responded to the sound of authority, were less likely to question her seniority because they were accustomed to simply obeying orders that were spoken clearly and unambiguously. It was a technique she’d seen the other Torchwood members use, even the more reserved Toshiko. Gwen was still trying to be polite about it. Unlike Owen, who was more likely to wave his ID, shout ‘Coming through!’ and then barge his way past. Sounding more assertive meant that Gwen got things done faster, got to her destination sooner. Not that Wildman was likely to be going anywhere in a hurry, mind. His last journey had come to an abrupt end after only a few seconds.
    ‘Sorry… Excuse me… Thanks… Keep those pedestrians back there, please…’
    The only time it was awkward was when she came across her former colleagues. Like now. The blue flashing light of the nearby police car strobed over the chubby features of Andy Davidson. Once upon a time, he’d been showing her the ropes. Today, she was asking him to stay behind them.
    ‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ Andy said to her. But she noticed that he still held the yellow-and-black cordon tape up for her. ‘People will start to talk.’
    ‘Thanks,’ she said, stooping under the tape. ‘I imagine people are talking anyway, aren’t they Andy?’
    ‘Special Ops?’ he said. ‘Bound to have tongues wagging, isn’t it?’
    Gwen chose not to answer his next, unspoken, question: What is your job now, Gwen? She let Andy guide her down the road, and along the length of a bendy bus that seemed to have stalled in the middle of the carriageway.
    ‘Can this be moved?’ she asked him.
    ‘Wait and see,’ he replied.
    They rounded the front end of the bus. The windscreen was a crazed spider’s web of splintered glass, with a long smear of blood down its full height. The diesel engine was still chattering away. And the crumpled remains of Guy Wildman lay sprawled under the front wheels.
    ‘He was determined, this bloke.’ Andy pushed his cap further back on his head, so that he could stare up at the building site and point. ‘Eight floors down. Smacks into the top of the bus. Slides down the front. Bus doesn’t stop in time. Finishes the job.’
    A dark pool was spreading beneath the bumper, like a target that had Wildman’s head in its dead centre under the front of the bus.
    ‘Scraped him along the tarmac for several metres.’ Andy sucked air through his teeth, like a plumber appraising a quotation. ‘I suppose we’ll be left to shovel up the bits, as usual.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, high-rise suicide isn’t very Special Ops, is it? I’d have thought you’d be more involved investigating all these vagrant murders. Serial killer, is it?’ He obviously wasn’t deterred by her silence. ‘Can’t you tell us anything, Gwen? Or aren’t we a part of the team any more?’
    ‘I would tell every one of you,’ she said gently. ‘Except then I’d have to become a serial killer myself.’
    Andy studied her thoughtfully. ‘I’m starting to believe that you’re not joking when you say things like that.’ He concealed his disappointment badly. ‘Ah well, I’ll get the forensics team out here.’
    ‘Not this time, Andy.’ Gwen felt that keen awkwardness again, the sense that she was clumsily rejecting her friends on the force, and couldn’t yet find a graceful way to do it.
    As if to underline this, Owen brusquely charged up to them. ‘Are you coming, Gwen?’ He had stopped right in front of Andy, like he didn’t exist. ‘Tosh is snapping on her rubber gloves, and