by Ros Carne
A man and a woman in plain clothes arrived. The man turned on a tape and gave his name and rank and that of his colleague, explaining that Natasha Baker had been arrested at 5:30 p.m. that day and that they were asking her questions about an allegation of shoplifting. What time had Natasha entered Morley’s department store?
‘About five p.m.’
‘Why did you go there?’
‘To buy stuff of course. Why else would I go to Morley’s?’
‘To steal?’
‘No way.’
‘What was in your mind as you entered the store?’
‘I needed a treat. Luke and I spent the most of the day hanging around South London Criminal Court waiting to give evidence. I was beaten up six months ago and the case was listed for today, only some other stuff overran and we got on late. We were on our way home when I decided to pop into Morley’s, buy something nice to cheer myself up. I couldn’t talk to Luke anyway ’cos I was in the middle of giving evidence. He went home to start the supper.’
‘Go on.’
‘I should have gone straight home. When I got into the store I started to feel woozy. I told you, I’m type 1 diabetic. I need to eat regularly. Pregnancy only makes it worse. I picked up the perfume, meaning to pay, only I stopped to have a cereal bar. I carry them round with me. Next thing there’s some emergency, one of the customers collapsed and everyone starts rushing about. My memory’s a bit vague after that. On my way out, this Indian woman stopped me and made me turn out my bag.’
‘The store detective gives a slightly different version. She says you waited to see if anyone was looking and slipped the perfume into your bag. You didn’t eat a cereal bar. You went straight to the exit. You had left the store and were about to cross the road when she stopped you.’
‘That could be partly true. Like I said, I was woozy. My memories are not that clear. What I can say is I had no intention of going off without paying for something. That would be crazy. I’m a barrister, for Christ’s sake. You think I’d risk my career for a bottle of perfume?’
‘It certainly seems surprising.’
‘I wanted to go back and pay for the stuff, only the stupid woman wouldn’t let me. So now I’m here wasting everyone’s time.’
The male officer announced the time and said he was turning off the tape.
‘Wait here with your solicitor, Mrs Baker. We need to check a couple of things.’
He and his sidekick left the room.
‘What d’you reckon?’ Natasha asked the baby solicitor.
‘I reckon they’ll shelve it. They can’t afford the personnel. I’m surprised they even brought you in. They’re not bothering with shoplifters these days. Shootings, terrorism, hate crime, cyber-crime, they’ve got enough to deal with. There’s been another knifing on Moorlands today.’
Something quivered inside her. It was a huge estate. There was often trouble there. The chance of Luke getting caught up were minimal. The shooting pains came back, and she needed to stand and walk about.
‘We live on Moorlands,’ she said, pacing the tiny room, thinking ahead. When all this was over, when she started the CPS job, they would move. She wasn’t bringing up her child on a south London council estate.
‘I wouldn’t worry. These things blow up and die down. Drug gangs. You must be used to it.’
‘I’ll never get used to it,’ she said. She could hear the officers approaching. She stood straight and tall to give herself strength. The door opened, and the two officers walked slowly back in, looking grave.
‘Please sit down, Mrs Baker.’
Her heart lurched. What now? Had something happened to Luke?
‘We’ve just received a report regarding your prints. It seems there’s a match.’
A chill ran through her and she reached for the edge of the chair. Her solicitor held it steady as she sat down. Then he sat down himself. Once again, she was glad of his presence.
‘But that’s absurd.’
‘Leicester. 2013. Name of Lola Tondowski.’ The officer smiled as if he were delighted to have found something concrete at last.
The police in Leicester had given her a caution. When she joined Lincoln’s Inn, just before being called to Bar, she had signed a declaration to say that she had no criminal record. It was true. A caution was not a record. And she was Natasha now. Lola was someone else. She turned to the solicitor, not because he could do anything to help but because there was no one else to turn to. He addressed the officers.
‘May I speak to my client?’
‘Couple of minutes. We’ll wait outside.’ The officers stood up and left the room.
‘I can deal with this,’ said Natasha.
‘Give a no comment interview. We can discuss tactics later.’
‘No. I’ll tell them the truth.’
‘Which is?’
‘It’ll be fine. You’ll see.’
He raised his eyebrows but did not contradict her, only reached for the door handle, opened the door and invited the police officers back in. They set up the tape with the new timing and she launched into her story before they had a chance to question her. Better to set the mood, give her version of events before they could twist things.
‘I was just starting my law course. My father – my adoptive father, that is – was very ill. To be honest, I was a bit of a mess. The course was tough. I was working all hours to support myself, so I never got to know the other students. Taking the dress was a spur of the moment thing. I had so little money. I was depressed, worried about the course, worried about Dad. I was living in student accommodation. I was lonely. That’s no excuse. I know. I knew it then. But I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t know why.’
She could talk herself out of this. She made her voice shake, not too much, but enough to convince them she was genuine, which, in a way, she was.
‘It was wrong. I absolutely know that. Only I so wanted to go the Bar. When I got picked up I was terrified. I knew if I got in trouble that would blow everything. So, I gave another name. Lola’s my birth name.’
‘So. Who is Natasha Baker?’
‘That was the name I was given when I was adopted.’
‘How did you persuade the Leicester police that you were Lola?’
‘I had an International Student Card. A fake. I had it made when I was seventeen to help get into clubs.’
‘You were twenty-three when you were arrested. You didn’t need a fake ID.’
‘I kept it. Like a sort of memento of who I used to be. You think that’s pathetic?’ There was no obvious reaction. She carried on, ‘Tondowski’s a Polish name. I like it. I was never a real Baker.’
Enough. Better not overdo the unhappy childhood.
She’d been in Leicester for the weekend. A business conference, only it wasn’t her business. Her business was pleasuring the wealthy Bulgarian who attended. She had been set up by the escort firm. It was well paid. Lenko was at a meeting and she’d been dropped off at a department store. She had found an amazing, figure-hugging crimson dress which had lost its security device and taken it to the fitting room. The woman at the gate hadn’t bothered to count the items. Or so it seemed. Natasha had come out with the scarlet dress under her own and stepped quickly to the exit. But the woman had called security and she was stopped at the main door, taken back in and searched.
‘I don’t know why I did it. I’ve not done it since. Getting that caution scared the hell out of me. It was the only time. I swear.’
The two officers were looking at her intently and she suspected they didn’t believe her. If they decided to charge her for today’s incident, she would have to give up the all hope of the CPS.
‘It was five years ago. I’m a different person now. Please let me go. I’m worried about Luke.’
‘He’s waiting in reception.’
Something loosened inside her. Her headache had gone. She had told the truth, almost the truth and she had landed. The floor was solid. He was there. She felt her bump and thoug
ht she detected a slight shift inside.
The solicitor spoke. ‘You can see my client is distressed. She’s eight months pregnant, not to mention the diabetes. You know the case law on diabetes and automatism.’ Natasha doubted whether they did. It was contradictory and illogical, but she knew enough to know she could use it to her advantage if things got that far. The solicitor continued. ‘Even if the caution goes before the court, there won’t be enough evidence to convict. Haven’t you got better things to do?’
‘Wait here a minute, please.’
The officers left again.
‘Thanks,’ said Natasha.
‘No problem. They’re going through the motions. You’ll be out of her in five minutes.’
He really was rather cute. She noticed a wedding ring. Suddenly she felt naked without one and wished Luke had given her an engagement ring. Then she recalled her reaction when he had first mentioned marriage. She had been horrified, frightened. But that was how she had felt then. Life with Luke was different now. It would have to be different. A ring would be the symbol of that difference.
The woman came back alone. ‘You’re in luck.’ She handed Natasha a leaflet and a typed letter. ‘Give them this letter and this reference and you could jump the waiting list.’
Natasha scanned the leaflet. Seven smiling faces – young, old, male, female, black, brown and white – all testified to the success of their treatment at Action on Addiction. The list of problems tackled included drugs, alcohol, gambling and shoplifting. She read through the quotes. The participants sounded like happy tourists on a package tour.
‘Thank you. This looks really interesting.’
‘The initial consultation is free. They’ve had some great results. They really helped me,’ said the woman, her face softening.
‘Come on,’ said the solicitor, ‘Let’s get you signed out.’ By now Natasha was so exhausted she could barely walk. He held her arm as they went to the reception desk where she signed a receipt and was given her bag. The peppermints had gone.
‘Natasha. Lola. Whoever you are,’ said the woman. ‘Don’t let us see you again.’
The solicitor stood so close Natasha could smell him, the familiar smell of fresh male sweat. She had already forgotten his name. He hadn’t said much but what he had said was good. His presence had helped her. Without thinking she threw her arms around his neck. He stood unmoving, accepting though not responding to her burst of affection.
‘Thanks. You were great.’
‘Good luck, Natasha.’
She spotted Luke on the other side of the glass wall in the waiting area. He would believe or wish to believe her tale of forgetfulness. There was no need to mention the caution. Just the sight of him felt like fresh air through an open window. The news of the stabbing had unsettled her. There was always a fear of losing the person you loved.
He had never asked her whether she loved him. She had always behaved as the recipient of his love and she wondered whether he preferred it that way. He knew she needed him and perhaps need was easier for him to bear than love. But now as he stood there beaming on the other side of the reception desk, she realised that if anyone tried to hurt him she would want to kill them.
‘Who’s the kid?’
‘My solicitor.’
‘A bit friendly.’
‘He was good. I was scared you were dead.’
‘Oh that. Yeah there’s been trouble on the estate. Some nutcase.’ He paused and looked hard at her with his dark eyes. ‘What’ve you been doing, Tash?’
‘I was stupid. I didn’t mean to take anything. It was a dumb mistake. I just wasn’t thinking.’
‘Let’s get home. I brought the car. You look shattered.’
‘I’m feeling pretty weird.’
‘In what way weird?’ He sounded anxious.
‘Just tired. Hungry.’
She needed food and sleep. And love and shelter and warmth. Tomorrow she would need all her strength. Alisha would be cross-examining, doing everything she could to try to blacken Natasha’s character. But Natasha knew about cross-examination. It could destroy a case or strengthen it. And there was no doubt in her mind about what would happen in hers. By tomorrow evening the jury would be 100 per cent sure which of them was the villain, which the victim.
She sank with relief into the passenger seat. It was almost midnight, but the city was still heavy with traffic as Luke negotiated the short drive home. Sirens pierced the air. Horns blared. Mad cyclists without lights swerved in front of them. She looked at Luke’s hands on the wheel – large, strong hands which brought on a twitch of desire.
When they reached Moorlands, the police were still milling about behind strips of tape. But the nightmare of her arrest had disappeared, and they were going back to their tiny flat which, for the moment, was home. She laid her hands across her bump. The baby would be fine. The shooting pains were nothing but a reminder that someone was there, waiting to come out. She glanced down at the leaflet from the clinic.
‘What’s that?’ said Luke.
‘Some therapy bumf.’
She thought he would say ‘you should go’, but he didn’t. His hand slid up the steering wheel, as he steered the car to the left and backed into parking place.
Chapter Forty-three
Mel
‘All parties in the case of Goddard to Court Four.’
Mel’s heart lurched. She and Georgie were sitting in the crowded coffee bar in the reception area. His proximity warmed her, and she dreaded exchanging that warmth for the stifling atmosphere of the court room. He would be her only support today. Alisha was running the case without a solicitor. Jacob was in college. She hadn’t known who else to ask. The disembodied voice resumed.
‘All parties in the case of Goddard to Court Four.’
Georgie stood and stretched out an arm towards her. She reached for him. A memory surfaced, a tiny, terrified child, clutching her mother’s firm hand on her first day at nursery school. And now, forty years on, just as then, her throat was dry, her stuttered words hoarse and painful.
‘I’m worried about my mother. How will she cope? She’s too old for this.’
‘She’s certainly made an effort.’
It was true. Isabel looked splendid in a scarlet silk dress and jacket. Her hair was swept up and she was wearing a platinum and ruby brooch. She appeared to sense their scrutiny for she looked up, smiled and then turned back to her companion, a woman from the Witness Service who had brought her a cup of tea.
‘She’s enjoying the drama,’ said Georgie.
‘If only I knew what she was going to say.’
‘She’s not going to rat on her daughter.’
‘Digger’s clever. He can’t lead of course, but he can lure. I’ve seen him before with a reluctant witness.’
‘Don’t go that way, Mel. You can’t control him. You can’t control her. You’re not running this show. The only thing you’re running is your own story.’
She studied his face. What did he mean, ‘story’? Had he seen through her? Something inside her wobbled and she asked, ‘Will I have to give evidence today?’
‘Why are you asking me? You know how it works.’
‘I won’t be able to speak. I can hardly walk.’
‘You’ll be fine. No one could ever believe you were capable of violence. No one. You’ll be great.’
They walked into Court Four, Georgie turning into the public seating area, Mel acknowledging the usher and making her way to the glass-panelled dock at the back of the court. The panels were spaced inches apart so a defendant would be able to hear the proceedings. Yesterday had been tough, but she’d felt curiously detached. The first day of a trial was often like this, even her own trial. A novelty, a spectacle, not yet real. By day two the jury would have settled in, allegiances would be formed, sympathies established. Like a cinema audience they would move from critical detachment to total immersion. And sympathies could switch in a flicker. The usher closed the heavy door. There w
as no handle on the inside. The door on the other side of the dock led to the cells.
Beyond the low hum of the air conditioning, Mel could hear the occasional cough and shuffle of feet as the prosecution team settled themselves. Still no sign of Alisha.
She took her seat, staring ahead of her to the coat of arms above the Bench, remembering the advice she gave her own criminal clients. Sit up straight. Don’t smile or laugh. Try not to weep. Follow the evidence. Watch the witnesses carefully. Take notes if you like, but not too many. When giving evidence, be as nice to everyone as you can. Answer the questions put. Don’t try too hard to control your face but remember, every reaction you give will be noted by the jury. Tell the truth but don’t say more than necessary. Could she really have given such advice? How could any sane person follow it?
Alisha had given her no advice, only an attempt at reassurance. ‘You’ll be fine, don’t worry.’ It was unsatisfactory. She would have expected more from her representative. She would also have expected her to be in court in good time, to have another chat with her before Natasha’s cross-examination.
‘Court rise.’
Judge McDermid took his seat. He was considered both fair and robust, his interventions sparse and measured. It was impossible to read much in his ragged Scottish countenance.
Seconds later, Alisha raced in, uncharacteristically frazzled, a few strands of long black hair escaping from the wig which sat slightly askew on her forehead. McDermid said nothing. His facial expression was enough.
‘Your Honour, I apologise for my late arrival,’ spluttered Alisha. ‘Shortly before we were called into court, a police officer acquaintance spoke to me. He passed on some information which will be relevant to today’s proceedings.’
McDermid remained impassive. ‘Do you wish to address me on that information?’
‘If I may take instructions?’
‘Very well, Miss Mehta, you may speak to the defendant. Usher, please inform the jury there will be a further slight delay.’
Alisha stepped into the dock and spoke quietly to Mel. ‘Natasha was arrested last night. For shoplifting. She gave fingerprints and they traced them to someone called Lola Tondowski. I’m going to ask about Lola.’