Lady Bag (21 page)

Chapter
37

Back With The Man In The Machine

‘A
ngela Mary Sutherland?’ The custody sergeant stared at me over his half-glasses and wrinkled his nose. I smelled strongly of puke.

‘That’s not my name.’

‘What? Speak up.’ He consulted his list again. ‘What is your name then?’

‘Mad Old Bat With Dog,’ I said. But Electra wasn’t there anymore. She ran away.

‘There’s nothing to cry about,’ he said crossly. ‘Just tell us your name, okay?’

‘I hurt my head. I can’t remember.’ Everything ached, especially my head. I couldn’t put any weight on the foot Bradley smashed with the car door. I was hollow inside; emptied out, except for jagged, writhing worms of hurt.

‘Well, Angela Mary Sutherland, I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay with us for a while.’ The custody sergeant picked up a phone and barked, ‘Get the quack down here, ASAP.’ He read out a list of charges which included assaulting a police officer and absconding from police custody.

I lay on a plastic mattress and realised that there would be no absconding on one foot. Electra was gone: there was no friend to guide me, scold me, hold me. An empty place opened like a chasm where my hand should rest. She should be curled up sleeping behind my knees. Where was she? Was she curled up behind Smister’s knees, sleeping warm in the ambo? Was Smister even in the ambo? Maybe he’d moved in with his friend Abbie to a cosy bedroom with a cupboard for his frocks and a dressing table with a mirror for his make-up. She’d take him to her doctor so that he could renew his prescriptions for hormones and sleepers. She’d understand completely why he was the sort of woman he needed to be; because she was the same sort.

I was holding him back. If he’d ratted me out to Hard Face Bradley I’d understand, really I would.

They took me to the medical room to see the doctor. He was part of the machine, the grinding cogs and pistons of police procedure. He was imposed upon me like everything else. But he bound my foot and told me to keep it elevated. He told the custody sergeant that it should be X-rayed as there might be a couple of bones broken. He wanted to take a blood sample because he thought I could have a chest infection as well as severe alcohol withdrawal symptoms.

I wouldn’t let him take any blood. Once they’ve got your blood they never let go of it, so next time they needed a rough sleeper to accuse of murder they’d have a huge ‘clue’ to plant at the scene of crime, all ready in a glass bottle. With my wrong name on it.

‘Okay, then?’ the custody sergeant asked.

‘I’m not happy about it.’ The doctor was a good six inches shorter and looked like the brainy kid who got swatted in the playground.

‘It’s just a super-size hangover.’

‘Her foot?’

‘She isn’t going anywhere on it. Just give us some aspirin.’

‘I might have to do a bit better than that.’

Fairy tales do come true. He made the sergeant fetch some water and then he gave me two white bombers that looked mighty like max-strength co-codamol. ‘Keep drinking lots of water,’ he said. ‘I’ve instructed them to give you two more tablets in four hours. Have you had any breakfast?’

I didn’t feel like breakfast, but he insisted I ate some toast and drank more sweet tea. Nice doctor. I never saw him again because after that my old friend DC Anderson came to fetch me.

Anderson didn’t look very pleased to see me. He said, ‘You nearly got me busted back to Uniform. If you try to abscond again I’ll personally chop your other foot off.’

He made me wait in a grubby white interview room. I laid my head on the table, facing away from their spy-camera, and went to sleep.

‘Conducting the interview is DI Sprague with DC Anderson in attendance. Also present, Ms Kaylee Yost, duty solicitor, representing the prisoner.’

Kaylee Yost looked about twelve years old. She was stooped and skinny, self-conscious of her acne, and unsure of herself. She reminded me of Too-Tall. I’d be absolutely okay with a firecracker like that on my side.

‘Angela Mary Sutherland… ’

‘That’s not me.’ I was going to have to stick up for myself. I’d had a short kip and a white bomber. I wasn’t feeling too bad.

‘No?’ said Dl Sprague. ‘Then enlighten us.’

‘T-tell them your name,’ Kaylee muttered turning rose red. She was embarrassed that I’d made her open her mouth. This was going to be fun.

‘Just Bag Lady. I hurt my head. Do you want to count my stitches?’

‘Don’t play games with me,’ Sprague said. ‘You’re Angela Mary Sutherland, and we have your fingerprints and DNA to prove it.’

‘Never heard of her.’

Blah, blah, blah; I tell them something important to me and they take no notice—not the basis for a relationship of mutual trust and respect.

Drone, drone, drone, like an annoying fly—‘… your denial notwithstanding… later you rely on in court may be used in evidence against you.’

‘Do you understand?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Do you?’

‘You’ve just been c-cautioned,’ Kaylee informed me blushing hectically. ‘Wake up. Pay attention.’

‘Where’s Electra?’

‘Who’s Electra?’

‘Her dog,’ Anderson said, sounding softer. ‘A greyhound. Maybe she’s still at Acton nick.’

‘She ran away.’

‘I wonder why,’ Sprague said. ‘What were you doing in Acton, anyway?’

‘I couldn’t remember how to turn right. So either I had to go straight or keep turning left. Acton’s where I ended up.’

‘That’s interesting,’ Sprague said, ‘because Acton’s where you started out. Isn’t it, Angela Mary Sutherland?’

‘I can’t remember.’ I let my head fall onto the table and pretended to pass out. The worst had happened—the police computer had put the bits together. Bag lady, public nuisance, drunk and disorderly, barmy as a fruit bun, was actually a thundering great thief and a fraudster. She was worthy of their notice. She was wanted for murder.

Smister told Natalie’s brother, Edward, about the Lord of Lust and Wrath, Edward told the cops, the cops went to 17 Milton Way and His Satanic Maggoty did the rest. All the carrion feeders were coming home to roost—black flapping birds, white crawling grubs—settling for an endless night of fun and frolic in the hollow centre of my being. If they hadn’t stolen my shoelaces I could’ve hung myself from the doorknob right then and there.

Someone shook my elbow.

‘Ow-ow,’ I said. ‘
Assault
. They aren’t allowed to touch me. You’re my witness.’

‘It was me who touched you,’ Kaylee said. ‘S-sorry. They need you to answer some questions.’

Sprague said, ‘I’ll cut to the chase, shall I? Samples of your DNA were recovered from 14 Harrison Mews, scene of the murder of Natalie Munrow. Later, you went to 17 Milton Way where a woman called Chantelle Cain was assaulted two nights ago. On both occasions someone of your general description was witnessed at the scene, at or around the appropriate time frame. Care to comment, Ms Sutherland?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t know any of the names you just said.’

‘Yes you do,’ Sprague said calmly. ‘Last time you were here you were questioned with regard to Natalie Munrow’s murder and afterwards you saw Chantelle Cain in the corridor where you claimed she was Natalie Munrow’s ghost.’

‘No I didn’t. That must’ve been someone else.’

‘It was you,’ DC Anderson said. ‘I was there. I wrote it all down in my notebook.’

‘You’re making it up.’

‘D’you want to see my notebook? I’m a working copper not a novelist.’

‘You can’t tell me coppers don’t make stuff up.’

‘Sh-shut up,’ Kaylee hissed.

Sprague said, ‘It’s all there, dated and in sequence. Give it up, Bag Lady… ’

‘Lady Bag to you.’

‘… and let’s have a proper interview for a change—one where you don’t pretend to be demented. Now… ’ Sprague consulted my case file, my story as told by the Fraud Squad and the Serious Crimes Unit, the story I told after the Devil wept salt tears from his dead eyes. It represented the pit I dug for myself after he handed me the cold steel shovel. I wasn’t innocent by any means, but I wasn’t wholly and solely guilty either.

‘I’m never going to condemn myself to please Lord Ashmodai ever again.’ I said. ‘I haven’t killed anyone or assaulted anyone. I always seem to go where Satan calls me—I can’t help that—he has manipulative charisma. But his mouth is full of scorpions and venom. There’s a crack in my head… ’ I fingered the longest scar, ‘… that’s where the horror seeps in and the names drop out. I meet many people in my walk of life—walking
is
my walk of life in case you don’t know. I may have met all the people you say. But I get very fuzzy without a drink.’

‘And even fuzzier with one.’ DC Anderson sounded bitter.

‘What is the name of the man you call the Devil?’ Sprague asked.

‘Ashmodai, Lord of Lust and Wrath.’

‘I told you,’ Anderson muttered. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

‘The name in his passport,’ Sprague said.

‘Must never be mentioned in the presence of the Law; that is
His
law. Break it and he will cut your heart into a thousand slices and drag them out from under your toenails with his sharp silver claws.’

‘Isn’t it Graham Attwood, currently residing at 17 Milton Way? The same address where you used to live with your mother?’

‘My foot’s broken,’ I told him. ‘The doctor said I should have more pills for the pain.’

‘When I say so. Now, what is the current relationship between you and Graham S Attwood?’

‘None,’ I said. ‘But I’m a good dog—I come when I’m called.’

‘Don’t cry,’ Kaylee said. ‘Here.’ She rummaged in a briefcase and handed me a wodge of tissues.

‘He used to be your toy boy, didn’t he?’ DI Sprague was unmoved. ‘In fact you were obsessed with him, weren’t you? You threw away your previously unblemished career in order to finance the kind of lifestyle you thought would attract a young man, many years your junior.’

I couldn’t answer. His words were tearing holes in my skin.

‘In fact,’ he went on, ‘isn’t it true that you are still dangerously obsessed and that your obsession and jealousy are responsible for the death of one woman and Grievous Bodily Harm to another? To say nothing of burglary, identity theft and fraud—but we’ll deal with the details later.’

‘I-I-I must insist,’ Kaylee said, ‘that we take a break so that I can seek medical attention for my client. She’s in no fit state… ’

‘In a minute,’ Dl Sprague said. ‘I don’t know why she won’t give us a decent account of herself if she has nothing to hide. This… ’ he smacked my case file with his hand, ‘… says it all. She’s homeless and he’s living in her house. That could be motive for murder. Attwood is the connection between three women, Angela Mary Sutherland, Natalie Munrow and Chantelle Cain. Natalie is dead and the others won’t say a word against him, even though this one here thinks he’s the Devil incarnate. Angela, do you
want
to be charged with murder and locked up for life?’

Maybe I do. There’s always a roof over your head in prison, and a bed, and three square a day. There’s medication—you aren’t on the treadmill of finding money to score wine, drinking wine, finding more money. If you keep your head down no one bothers you much. No one breaks your heart or betrays you. You don’t have to find a place to sleep at night. You’re safe.

‘That wasn’t supposed to be a hard question,’ Anderson said. ‘Listen, you may not give a shit what happens to you, but what about Electra? At best she gets homed with someone else. At worst she roams the street till she’s knocked over, injured and destroyed.’

‘You’re a clever one.’ I said. ‘What are you? Satan’s mouthpiece?’

‘Why would Satan want me to encourage you to tell the truth? Isn’t he the Lord of Lies?’

‘You’re playing games with me.’

‘How does it feel?’ Sprague sneered. ‘Let’s stop wasting time. We have witnesses, physical evidence, motive, history of mental instability—I don’t know why we’re bothering to get a statement… ’

‘You don’t want a statement,’ I said. ‘You want a confession. You want me to do your job for you. Well I won’t. I didn’t kill anyone. And I bet you’ve come up with something that makes you doubt it yourself. Haven’t you?’

Anderson just stared at me but Sprague said, ‘Interview suspended at 11.13.’ He stacked his papers and marched out of the room followed by a hangdog Anderson.

Kaylee said, ‘W-why are you so antagonistic? Don’t they hate you enough already?’

‘They hate me whatever I say. Why don’t you go and talk to them? Ask them what they found in the Devil’s lair. You know there must be something or they would’ve charged me already.’

‘Why do you talk so barmy? You’ve not stupid.’

‘Go and talk to Old Filthy. Or are you scared of them?’ She did look scared. But she wasn’t stupid either in spite of being prejudiced. Why don’t people accept that you can be barmy and intelligent at the same time? Being barmy doesn’t make you stupid unless you were stupid in the first place.

When she’d gone they sent a constable in to sit with me but I laid my head down and tried to sleep again. My heart was racing from the peril I was in and my foot was throbbing in sync with it. I didn’t think anyone could hear it but me. Electra would know, but she was living with Smister and Abbie in a
ménage à trois
. There’s no room for a fourth in one of those.