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forming around the red car. The ambulance passed them, blue lights flashing,
but the siren now off. It was not until they reached the edge of the gathering
that their worst fears were confirmed. The object jutting through the torn roof
of the cabriolet was in fact a pair of legs. They were short, brown and chubby
and one was bent impossibly at the knee. On the feet were a flashy new pair of
trainers that Doug recognised immediately.
“Oh my God, it’s Kal!” he said, staring at the trainers. Several people turned
to glare at him as if knowing the victim somehow made him responsible. The
ambulance men had opened the door and were leaning into the car, obscuring any
view of the body. Even so, there seemed surprisingly little blood around.
Perhaps he had survived, he thought to himself, but a glance up at the open
window thirteen floors above was enough to remove any such hope. Cindy buried
her head in Doug’s chest as he wrapped an arm around her. The ambulance men
stood up and walked slowly back to the van with a look of defeat on their
faces. There was no hurry. No medical attention was necessary; just a stretcher
and a black bag. Doug moved closer. Through the open door of the car, he could
now see Kal’s face, eyes open with a trickle of blood over his chin and throat.
The neck had evidently snapped on impact with the driver’s seat, forcing his
head the right way up while his chest and body remained inverted. Only a small
hole had been torn in the vinyl roof. Doug started to feel sick and just
managed to get away from the crowd before vomiting. At that moment, two police
cars arrived from which four men appeared and started clearing the area.
“Did anybody see it happen?” one of them asked. Silence.
“Does anyone know which floor he came out of?” It was the same man again. He was
in plain clothes, a huge man in both height and girth with a deep gravelly
voice. Some of the bystanders turned and pointed at Doug. “He knows him,” one
said. The big man moved towards him. He had a tangled thatch of grey hair atop
a bushy grey beard and moustache. His equally shaggy eyebrows were raised and
what little face could be seen through all the hair, seemed to repeat the
question.
“I didn’t see it happen,” said Doug, wiping his mouth nervously, “…but it’s
Kal Gupta and his room’s on the thirteenth floor.”
The big man looked up, waved an arm and the two uniforms were dispatched
inside. The fourth policeman was much younger looking, obviously more junior
and rather gangly in appearance. He too was dressed in plain clothes and was
busy scribbling something in a notebook. “And your name is?” he asked.
“Doug - Doug Richards.”
“And where were you when it happened?”
Doug looked around for Cindy, but she had disappeared. “I was in my room.”
The big hairy face was asking for more.
“Room nine, twelfth floor, William Morris - It’s the last tower on the right there,”
he added pointing back up the road.
“Thank you Mr. Richards. We’ll let you know if we have any more questions.”
He whispered something to his gangly colleague then turned to the crowd. “We’d
appreciate if you all went home now. We’ll take it from here.”
    Doug looked around for Cindy again, but she was
nowhere to be seen. He didn’t even know how to contact her. He wanted to go up
to Kal’s room. He wanted to know what had happened, but he knew they wouldn’t
let him in. There had been a suicide the previous year - some first year with a
history of depression and bad grades. Doug hadn’t known him personally, but by
all accounts he had been a seriously troubled young man. He was fairly sure
that Kal had not suffered from depression, at least not in the clinical sense,
and his grades had always been excellent. They had been friends since sharing a
flat in the first year and had sat together at most lectures. In fact Kal had
been one of the most cheerful students he knew - always optimistic and game for
a laugh. Doug