Lady Bag (15 page)

‘I lost my scissors in the fire.’

‘Then get her another hat.’

‘I told you, I haven’t been going out lately.’

‘So start now before you lose your oomph.’

I wondered, if I paid him, whether I could persuade Pierre to be my friend too. It’d been years since I’d met anyone with even the tiniest motivational bone in his body. No wonder he could convince audiences he was Diana Ross even though he was six-foot-three with wrists like a riveter’s.

Chapter
25

The Last Straw

S
mister got up the next morning and dressed conservatively as a Catholic schoolgirl in a yellow kilt and black tights. He swathed my head in a scarf patterned with black and pink kidney shapes and I couldn’t argue him out of it. Pierre had spoken: we were going out and that was that.

I scraped together all the money I could find in the various secret places in my layers of clothing and we celebrated with breakfast at a Polish café. We had hot sweet tea and sausage sandwiches. The owner, a round woman with no eyebrows, made a big fuss over Electra.

Just for once it wasn’t raining so I couldn’t hide behind an umbrella. I felt exposed. I thought everyone must recognise us and I could almost hear the click of mobile phones automatically dialling 999.

‘No one can even see you when you’re with me,’ Smister said tossing his honey hair. Today he looked more sassy and less trashy than usual. It seemed as if Jerry-cop had taught him a very hard, unfair lesson.

He found me a trilby on a stall, and paid for it by exchanging the fatal pink Donna Karan dress. I wore the hat over the pink and black scarf which made him giggle. The stall-holder called him ‘love’ and ‘doll’ and made him feel confident enough to steal a pair of scissors from a hairdressing salon when he went in to ‘make an appointment’. He was much better at stealing than I was.

He went into an office building to ask if he could use the loo. I watched through the glass doors as he flirted the guy on the desk into submission. He was only gone ten minutes but he scored nearly seventy quid. He told me that all he’d done was to trawl one open-plan area for carelessly slung jackets and bags.

Sometimes it can take me two hours to scrounge seventy pence.

But anxiety bathed my viscera in acid, and in the end I said, ‘Smister, have you ever been to prison?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Have you?’

‘You know I have. So you’d better let me do the stealing.’ Because I could see men’s predatory eyes follow him everywhere, and in chokey there are loads of bastards as bad as Jerry-cop.

‘You?’ he said. ‘But Momster, everyone can tell you’re not a consumer or a spender. You look street. You smell street. You walk like you’re on the cadge. Even Electra looks like a beggar’s dog when she’s with you. When she’s with me she looks like a fashion accessory.’

‘And yet you thought I was rich,’ I said bitterly.

‘You had money, a Louis Vuitton bag and an iPhone. What did you think I’d think?’

‘So I was good enough for my dog when I had an iPhone?’

‘Of course,’ he said blithely. ‘If you’re not young and pretty, you’ve got to have the sexy product.’

‘You must be the shallowest person I know.’

‘Sorry if the truth hurts.’

‘The truth about chokey’s gonna hurt you too.’ I grabbed Electra’s scarf and stomped away.

‘You were more fun when you were smashed,’ he shouted after me.

‘Remember Jerry-cop and get stuffed,’ I shouted without looking back. Electra looked back. She even looked sorry.

‘You’re a sentimental fool,’ I said, and without thinking I went into a con store and bought a bottle.

I tore the cap off, stuck the neck in my mouth and took one giant swig.

Oh the
relief
. The iron claw that was clamped round my head released its grip. Sweet relaxation hit the lining of my gut and was absorbed instantly.

‘You’re disgusting,’ a lad told me. He had expensive trainers and the blackened gums of a crystal meth user. I sneered at him and walked away. I had my salvation in my own hands. It isn’t often that I know with absolute clarity that I’m doing the right thing.

What’s the point of having a friend if all he does is wind you up? A home is useless if it makes you scared of the landlord. Seventy pounds won’t help you if it can send you to prison.

Why would I want any of that if I can live free at the bottom of the heap? I ask for money, yes of course I do, but you can walk away. I’m not the taxman; no one’s forcing you to give me a handout. And you’re perfectly right—I
will
spend it on drink. Because drink is reliable: it keeps me warm, it helps me sleep, it gives me the moxy I need to get through another day without jumping off a bridge.

‘I could quite fancy a bowl of Pedigree Chum around now,’ Electra said.

‘It’s yours, my friend.’ We turned, walking companionably side by side to Cadmus Road.

I packed everything into my new backpack. Then I fed Electra and gave her clean water. I was ready to go. I took a look round the bedroom we’d shared and at the girly clutter that followed Smister everywhere. I shrugged.

‘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

‘A
ngela 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?’

‘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.