by Liza Cody
‘I don’t care how much dye and conditioner he puts on his hair,’ I told Electra. ‘It still smells like boy’s hair to me.’
‘Me too,’ she said, ‘but it’s very sweet boy’s hair.’
‘Come on.’ I wanted to get out before she made me think twice.
We walked away.
It was oddly quiet for a dry day. Usually, when the rain lets up, people, especially the Somalis, come outside to eat, drink, smoke and chew qaat. The street becomes everyone’s front room. Today it was as if a storm was brewing and everyone had boarded up the windows. I looked up at the bruise-coloured sky. ‘Prepare for a wetting,’ I told Electra.
‘Prepare for a roasting,’ she replied, stopping dead and crowding into my legs for protection.
A car door slammed.
Chapter 26
In Which The Cops Catch Up
‘Angela Mary Sutherland?’ A man in jeans and a brown leather jacket faced me. Too close.
‘Angela Mary Sutherland?’ the cop repeated. Of course he was a cop. Who else accosts you in the middle of the street with your full name as if it were a crime? And gets it wrong.
‘Scuse me?’ I said.
‘Are you Angela Mary… ?’
‘You made a mistake.’
‘… Sutherland?’
‘Never heard of her.’ My real name is Angela May. But don’t tell anyone.
‘Oh I think you have.’ He was round-faced and comfortable looking. A little cushion of paunch curved above his belt. ‘Did you just come out of a house down there?’ He pointed.
I turned my head to look. Electra stared at his finger.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I can’t afford no houses.’
The cop was pointing straight at Smister who had just arrived at the front door of the squat.
‘Of no fixed address,’ I blathered. ‘The woman with no name from Nowhere.’
‘What?’
‘I hurt my head, see,’ I confided. ‘And now I talk to the animals.’ I knelt down and put my arm round Electra. ‘Pretend he isn’t there,’ I said, ‘and then he’ll go away.’
‘No he won’t,’ the cop said. ‘I need to ask you some questions about an incident that took place a couple of months ago.’
‘It was either yesterday or a year ago,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing in between.’
‘You might want to watch that mouth of yours,’ Electra whispered. Over her shoulder I saw an ambulance draw up outside the squat. Beautiful inspirational Pierre got out. Smister flew from the front door and flung himself into his arms.
‘Sub me to a cup of tea and I’ll tell you everything,’ I told the cop. ‘I do terrific confessions, when I’m not hungry. Buy one, get one free.’
‘I’ll take you to the station… ’
‘No you won’t. You buy me proper tea from a proper caff or I’ll confess to another animal. Who are you anyway? And get it right this time. You’ve a terrible memory for names. In fact I think you’re half man half machine and I don’t want to confess to either half.’ I got up and walked away. He had to follow me, and while he was following he had his back to Smister and Pierre. I picked up the pace.
‘Where are we going?’ Electra panted.
‘Oy!’ said the cop. ‘Slow down.’
But I swerved across the road and dived down a side-turning.
‘This man’s pestering me,’ I shouted to a couple of guys on some scaffolding.
‘Police,’ the cop called. He had his warrant card in his hand now and was waving it around for all to see. The guys on the scaffolding hooted.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Stop or I’ll arrest you.’
When we were out of sight of the squat on Cadmus Road I stopped.
‘I’m DC Anderson,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you about the death of Natalie Munrow of 15 Harrison Mews, South Kensington.’
The sound of her name and address coming out of an official mouth nearly made me faint.
‘Are you ill?’ he said.
‘I need a drink.’
‘No you don’t,’ chorused Electra and DC Anderson.
I unscrewed the bottle top and guzzled as huge a mouthful as I could before he snatched the bottle.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I’m calling for the car.’
‘You’re violating my human right to drink legally purchased wine,’ I screeched, trying to grab the bottle back.
‘You’re resisting arrest,’ Anderson said.
‘Are you arresting me? You never said.’
‘If you stop resisting I won’t arrest you.’
‘That’s not fair.’
‘Nor is beating a woman to death and fraudulently taking her identity for material gain.’
I dropped down on one knee next to Electra. ‘Our only chance is to run away. Are you ready for a sprint?’
‘Not with another cop in a car coming round the corner,’ she said. ‘I’m not a drag-racer.’
The car stopped by the kerb next to us. Anderson said, ‘Get in the car. We only want a chat at this stage.’
‘Chat away,’ I said, ‘but do it here and now. Electra gets sick in cars.’
‘Get in the effing car you silly old bat.’
‘Is he trying to be charming?’ I asked Electra.
‘Get… in… the… car, or I’ll formally arrest you and leave your dog out here in the road.’
‘Please get in,’ Electra said. ‘I’ll try not to be sick.’
So we got in the car and Anderson’s mate drove us to Earls Court Road nick. So much for Habeas Corpus and Human Rights. I was scared. I didn’t know if the cops really thought I’d killed Natalie and I hadn’t drunk enough red to deal with it.
‘Or too much,’ Electra said. ‘It only takes half a bottle before your judgement toddles off down the Swanee, babbling. This is not a babble-friendly situation.’
‘What?’ said the sergeant, ‘Speak clearly for the tape.’
‘And that’s another thing,’ Electra said. ‘You should have a lawyer.’
‘I don’t want to piss them off.’
‘Louder,’ shouted the sergeant. ‘Stop mumbling.’
‘I was talking to Electra.’
‘Why’s that?’ he asked. ‘So that you can give yourself time to think up a pack of lies to tell me, and then blame it on the bleedin’ dog?’
‘Electra doesn’t lie.’ I was offended. ‘She never lies. Have you ever known a dishonest dog?’
‘Dogs steal,’ Anderson said. ‘My brother had a lurcher once… ’
‘Oh well, lurchers,’ Electra said.
‘But the dog didn’t lie about stealing, did he?’
‘Well, no,’ Anderson conceded.
‘Shut the fuck up, both of you,’ yelled the sergeant. ‘Natalie Munrow. Remember her? She’s dead.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.
The sergeant went on, ‘You were observed lurking in the vicinity of 15 Harrison Mews close to the time of the murder.’ He waited for my comment. As instructed by Electra, I waited for his question.
‘Nothing to say?’ he asked. ‘We have your fingerprints, your DNA and your property recovered from the murder site. Would you care to explain?’
‘Not really.’ I said. ‘I don’t remember much.’
‘What do you remember?’
‘Well, crawling across a floor. Drinking wine with a gravy baster because my mouth was all smashed.’ I gave him my best smile to show off the damage.
He looked disgusted and stared at the tabletop instead. ‘Why were you there anyway?’
‘I didn’t see a dead body. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Start from the beginning,’ he said, pretending to be a patient policeman. ‘Why did you go to Natalie Munrow’s house?’
&n
bsp; ‘I followed the Devil. That’s where he said he was going.’
‘The Devil told you he was going to 15 Harrison Mews?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘He didn’t tell me; he told the cab driver.’
‘The Devil took a taxi?’
Electra closed her eyes in despair. ‘Don’t blame me,’ I said to her. ‘It’s not my fault they can’t tell what’s true even if it turns up floating on their coffee.’
‘Sit on your chair and leave the dog alone or I’ll have it forcibly removed.’
They think they can treat me like dirt because I don’t have an address and telephone number. They said they just wanted to confirm my identity. But it isn’t true. I am not Angela Mary. Angela Mary has been caught in their computer system for years and they’ll never let go of her. It’s a case of mistaken identity.
‘And stop fucking mumbling to yourself,’ the sergeant yelled.
‘Don’t you think… ?’ Anderson began, ‘that maybe the duty medic… ?’
‘Is away on an emergency. Anymore bright ideas?’
He turned to me. He smelled of stale Scotch and breath-freshener. The interview room smelled of vomit and disinfectant. It reminded me of hospital. And it reminded me of the story that Smister believed. It was worth trying on again.
I took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m sorry. I can’t remember things. I had brain damage. They cracked my skull. I had loads of stitches. My hair’s grown back a bit but you can still see them.’ I started to remove my hat and scarf but the sergeant stopped me.
‘We’ve seen the hospital report. Who cracked your skull?’
‘I don’t know. It might’ve been the Devil. I think he killed Natalie.’
The sergeant looked at me craftily. ‘Did the Devil tell you to kill Natalie Munrow?’
‘He hasn’t spoken to me for years.’ All of a sudden a wave of sorrow broke in my chest. He circled Natalie with his possessive arm outside the National Gallery but he couldn’t remember my face, my name or the sound of my voice.
Anderson handed me a box of tissues.
‘Why did you say you were Natalie?’ he asked. ‘Was it guilt? Were you “keeping her alive” by pretending to be her?’
‘I didn’t say I was anyone. They said I was Natalie.’
‘Who said?’
‘The doctors and nurses. The police lady with no arse.’
‘That’s because you stole her handbag,’ the sergeant said.
‘No I didn’t. Someone gave it to me.’
‘That would be the Devil too, I suppose?’
‘He wouldn’t give me anything.’ I grabbed another handful of tissues to hold to my streaming eyes. ‘He just took and took and took.’ I was beginning to get a headache. ‘You said I could have a cup of tea,’ I said to Anderson, ‘with lots of sugar.’
‘Shall I fetch her one, sir?’ Anderson said. ‘And doesn’t she need an Appropriate Adult?’
‘Oh why the fuck not? Get her a sticky bun and a financial advisor too if you think it’ll help. Interview suspended at 5.47.’ He strode out of the room as if he had far more important things to do.
‘I need the bog, and Electra needs to pee too. We’ve been in here for hours.’
‘Wait while I call a female officer.’ Anderson made for the door and I followed.
‘I said “wait”.’
‘But I’m bursting.’ Electra and I crowded him in the doorway and pushed out into the corridor.
At the same moment, the door to the next room opened. Two senior policemen in uniform came out. With Natalie Munrow.
Chapter 27
I See Natalie’s Ghost
I shrieked.
The undead Natalie Munrow swung quickly away.
The senior cop said, ‘That was not supposed to happen.’
Anderson said, ‘I’m sorry sir. She was bursting for a pee.’
I said to Electra, ‘We’ve seen a ghost. I think I’m going to shit myself.’
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ Electra said. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts who smell of Rive Gauche and truffle oil.’
‘Does she?’ I was shocked. ‘You’re dead!’ I shouted to Natalie Munrow. ‘Your brains are scrambled on the Persian rug. The Devil smote you dead.’
‘Shut up,’ Anderson yelled.
‘But that’s Natalie Munrow,’ I said. ‘She’s dead and encorpsed.’
‘Stop screaming,’ Anderson said.
‘Calm down, you’re getting hysterical.’ Electra looked anxious.
‘She isn’t Natalie. She’s a witness.’ Anderson was overheated and undercooked.
Suddenly I understood what was going on. ‘You’re all lying to me,’ I said. ‘Natalie Munrow has never been dead. You tricked me. It’s a conspiracy.’
‘Why would we trick you? Come to the canteen. You said you wanted a nice sweet cup of tea and a bun.’
I shouted at him, ‘I’m homeless and amnesiac but I’m not a child. This is about fraud, isn’t it? It’s a life insurance fraud and you’re all in on it.’
‘Steady on,’ Electra said. ‘Breathe. You’re changing colour.’
‘Pick another fall-gal. I’m buggered if I’ll let you do it to me again,’ I said.
‘Don’t shout,’ Anderson pleaded. ‘I’m sorry sir,’ he called to the retreating senior cop.
‘Deal with it, Anderson,’ came floating back down the corridor.
‘You can’t accuse me of murdering someone who isn’t dead. But you can find out who would benefit if she had died. I bet the brother’s in on it too. Watch the brother. He breathes anger like a dragon breathes fire. He’s a minion of the Devil.’
‘I don’t understand. You garble everything. But please believe me—you haven’t seen a corpse. Natalie is dead. The woman you saw was a friend of hers and she’s very much alive.’
‘That’s what you all want me to believe. That woman is Natalie Munrow. If you want stolen identity, it’s her. She’s taken her friend’s identity and the life insurance payout for her lover—the Devil.’
‘Why would the Devil want an insurance payout?’ Anderson asked.
‘Cos that’s how he operates. He offers love for riches. He tempts, then he withdraws love, and when you can’t stand it anymore you give in.’
‘Er, didn’t the Devil tempt Eve with an apple?’
‘You’re not very clever, are you? I’m talking about insurance fraud, not fruit. And I need a pee.’
Anderson caught a passing uniformed cop by the sleeve and said. ‘Can you stay with this lady for a sec while I find out what’s happened to the duty s-h-r-i-n-k?’
The young cop said, ‘Sorry mate, can’t,’ and Electra said, ‘I told you. You’ve got to start listening to me.’
‘You’re all talking at once,’ I said. I grabbed Electra’s scarf and dragged her at top speed down the emergency stairs. The sound of thundering cop boots chased me all the way but I started shouting, ‘I need a wee, I need a wee,’ at everyone I met and they all stepped aside as if I were a leper.
On the ground floor I changed my shout to, ‘My dog’s got diarrhoea,’ and a cop even held the door open for me.
When I got to the front desk I stuck my face right up close to the glass and said, ‘I want a bed for the night. You can’t just kick me out. My dog needs a pooh.’
‘What do you think this is—a hostel?’ The cop looked disgusted and buzzed me straight out. Electra and I were bounced out onto the pavement. We turned left immediately and scurried into the crowds on Kensington High Street.
‘They’re so predictable,’ I said to Electra. ‘If you’re running away they’ll arrest you, but if you say you want to stay they can’t get rid of you fast enough.’
Electra didn’t reply. She was having a long relieving pee outside a bookshop. When she’d finished she said, ‘All
in all you managed pretty well, but in the future I’ll thank you not to use my bodily functions as part of your strategy.’
‘What makes you Lady Muck?’ I said. ‘I didn’t notice you clamouring to go back to Battersea Dogs Home. It’s where they’ll send you if I get sectioned.’
‘Stay here and quarrel if you like,’ she said, ‘but isn’t that Natalie Munrow over there on the other side of the road?’
Natalie, in her beautifully cut linen suit, her ankle-slimming pumps, her carefully styled hair, was talking into an iPhone which would’ve made Smister drool. It was the woman Gram Lucifer Attwood touched. His lips kissed her cheek, his lovely hand held her elbow and stroked the small of her deceitful back. His perfect tailoring was her gift. I waited outside a theatre to warn her, but she sent me packing. I was already too late—I was warning a dead woman.
What did she say to the cops when she sat watching me on CCTV in the next door interview room? ‘She’s the nut job who was stalking me that night’? Because of course there was a CCTV camera. She could see me, but I couldn’t see her. They were all in league against me.
She stood at the corner of Kensington High Street and Phillimore Gardens, talking on her phone. She knew that Gram Lucifer Ashmodai was a murderer but no one was chasing her. Or him. Why not?
No one believed me. No one understood what I was saying. And I was the one who left bodily fluids at a murder scene even though I didn’t know there had been a murder.
The cops had my DNA, but how can I trust them with complicated science when they can’t get my name right?
The Devil lured me there to take the blame. Ask yourself, why did he turn up and show himself to me just before a murder? He found me and led me to the scene. There was malice in his forethought.
‘Are you going to stand here all afternoon muttering?’ Electra asked. ‘You’re barely a hundred yards from the police station, and you’re letting Natalie get away.’
‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘Well, follow her, dip wad,’ she said, giving herself a shake. ‘And while you’re at it, get as far away from the Earls Court Road as you can. I’m pretty sure you were going to be arrested and formally charged.’ She gave me a pitying look and set off east along the High Street.
