Nirvana Bites

by Debi Alper

  Frank wasn’t prepared to relinquish the stage yet. He plucked at my sleeve to get my attention.

  ‘And then,’ he said, ‘and then, once we’d hauled him back inside, we go haring off down all these fucking staircases and corridors and next thing I know we’re out on the street. It only turns out he used to work there as a porter years ago. He knows the place like his own fucking armpit.’

  Ignoring Frank’s manic laughter, I turned back to Ali, who was picking at blades of grass. He raised his eyes and held my gaze. His face was expressionless.

  ‘So why didn’t you tell us that when we were wandering round lost before?’ I breathed.

  He shrugged again and twitched the corners of his mouth downwards. ‘You never asked,’ he said.

  I plopped down on the grass next to him and asked Frank if he’d mind getting us a takeaway coffee. He hesitated, torn between his twin needs for activity and an audience, before loping off. I hoped he’d buy decaff for himself. The last thing he needed was a caffeine fix.

  I took Ali’s makings and rolled a fag. For a while, we smoked in silence. Then Ali shifted, picked a little piece of baccy off his lower lip and looked at me with his eyebrows raised. I told him what I’d been doing while he’d been busy dangling from a window five storeys above the ground held only by an ex-junkie given to depression and panic attacks. When I said Della’s only concern was that she would be scarred, he frowned.

  ‘Are you sure that’s what she said?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I can’t think what else it could have been. It doesn’t seem to make sense. Like so much else in this whole fucking business. I’ve got to say it, Ali: I feel like we’re flapping round in the dark here. I’m worried that we’re out of our depth. But I don’t know what to do about it.’

  Ali’s frown deepened, but he said nothing. In fact he said nothing else while we drank our coffee, walked to the bus stop, sat upstairs on the 171 and walked down Kirkwood Road. Frank, of course, more than made up for his silence, using up his own word ration, Ali’s, mine and then some. It was with relief that I closed my own front door and trudged upstairs.

  20

  THERE WAS ANOTHER neat little stack of notes on the TV with a shocking-pink Post-it on top. Stan had gone to Gaia’s and would probably spend the night there. She was going to attempt to cleanse his aura and change his karma using a technique she’d picked up in an evening class in Clapham.

  I kicked off my trainers, flopped on my cushions and stared into the middle distance. I was prepared to stay like that for as long as it took to at least work out my next step. When the phone rang, I leapt a mile in the air. I picked it up automatically and then cursed myself for not letting the answer-machine cut in. That’s what answer-machines are for. So you can screen your calls. So you don’t have to speak to people selling double glazing. Or people you owe money to. Or sisters-in-law.

  ‘Jennifer? It’s Kate.’

  And there was I thinking things couldn’t get any worse. Silly me. You’d think I’d have known better by now.

  ‘Oh, hi, Kate. Sorry – I’m just on my way out…’

  ‘Oh no you don’t, Jenny. Whatever it is, it will have to wait, I’m afraid. This is urgent. And serious. As you would already know, if you’d bothered to return my previous call. You really have gone too far this time.’

  Yeah, and don’t you just love it, you self-righteous, uptight, anally retentive bitch?

  ‘What’s this about, Kate?’ I sighed.

  ‘Oh. So you don’t know. You can’t guess. Well, all I can say is that speaks volumes. What other things have you done that might result in this conversation? Hmmm? Apart, that is, from giving this address and telling the police you live here?’

  ‘Oh, that. To be honest, I’d forgotten about that.’

  I swear I don’t try to wind her up. It’s effortless. I only have to be myself. Apoplectic blusters and wheezes down the phone told me I’d possibly had my greatest success to date. I thought I’d better help her out.

  ‘So what happened? Did the cops phone? Or did they come round?’

  I heard Kate take a few ragged breaths before she spoke again in clipped tones. She sounded like she had something large and uncomfortable stuck up her arse. Maybe it was Dennis.

  ‘They came round, Jenny. Two very pleasant police officers from the Serious Crimes Squad came round. To our home. To see you. As though we didn’t have enough to deal with right now, with your father’s inquest coming up.’

  ‘Yeah. Well. I’m sorry about that, Kate. So what did you tell them?’

  ‘What did I tell them?’ Kate’s voice came out in a strangled shriek. ‘What do you think I told them? I told them you didn’t live here. That you never had lived here. And that, as far as I was concerned, you never would live here. Not unless I moved out first.’

  ‘Look, Kate, there’s no need to be nasty.’

  ‘No need?’ she screeched. ‘No need? Oh, but I think there is every need. It’s about time someone told you…’

  I heard my brother’s voice in the background, reeling in his wife. There was a bit more conversation, muffled through Kate’s hand. Then all I got was ‘Greensleeves’ as played by a six-year-old on one of those little Yamaha organs. I would have hung up, except I needed to know if there was anything else I should be aware of about the cops’ visit. I ground my teeth and counted the carriages on the train clattering past my window.

  I was on my second train when ‘Greensleeves’ was replaced by Dennis’s big grown-up I’m-the-eldest-so-I-know-best voice.

  ‘Jen? Listen. We’re trying to be reasonable about this. But I do think you owe us an explanation. Why did you give our address to the police? And what, precisely, is this all about?

  ‘Didn’t they say?’

  ‘Well, I wasn’t here when they called round. But no, apparently they didn’t. Though I understand they were from the Serious Crimes Squad, so I’m presuming it wasn’t just shoplifting this time.’

  ‘Cruel, Den. And unnecessary. That was a long time ago.’

  ‘Yes. Whatever. I’ve no idea what you get up to these days. Anyway, don’t try to change the subject.’

  I eyed the pile of notes on my telly. ‘Well, for your information, I don’t do shoplifting any more. I’ve got a very well-paid job.’

  ‘Is it legal?’

  ‘You’re so cynical.’

  ‘No, I’m not, Jen. I just know you.’

  ‘Hmm. So did Kate give my real address?’

  ‘Of course she did. And I understand they asked a lot of questions about you.’

  ‘What kind of questions?’

  ‘Oh, about your character. Your lifestyle. That sort of thing. Kate answered to the best of her ability.’

  I just bet she did. Which is precisely why I allow Den and Kate to know almost nothing about me.

  ‘When was this, Den?’

  ‘Yesterday afternoon sometime.’

  Shit! That meant I could expect a knock on the door any time.

  ‘Right. Thanks, Den. Nice talking to you.’

  I hung up. I could hear his yells of protestation all the way to the click. I raced round the flat, emptying ashtrays and opening windows. I was about to ring the other houses when the paranoia beast reared its ugly head. What if the phones were tapped? I raced down the stairs to deliver the dreaded message in person. The cops. The cops were coming to Nirvana.

  Although there was no reason for the other co-op members to be implicated, the paranoia beast is a powerful adversary. I watched it sink its claws into each of my friends, who then tore off to perform the same cleansing ritual I had just engaged in. Then I ran home to try to think of a plausible reason why I would have lied about my address.

  21

  I SPENT THE rest of the evening gagging for a spliff, starving for food and desperate for a bath. And not daring to start on any of those activities for fear of interruption. By the time I went to bed, it was gone midnight and they still hadn’t arrived. They didn’t come the next day
either. Nor did anyone else. No one – least of all Stan (every cloud…) – wanted to be mixing it with the Bill right now. I spent the day reading, thinking and ignoring messages from my snarling sister-in-law on the answer-machine.

  It was the following morning, at that time when the light is hovering between old night and new day, that heavy thuds penetrated my deep dawn sleep. I was taking advantage of Stan’s continued absence to sleep in my own bed. It took a few moments to separate the shreds of my dream from the nightmare of my reality. My body went into spasms of panic, wrapping me ever tighter in my sleeping bag. I tore myself free and blundered round in the dark, stubbing my toe on the door while wriggling into a huge T-shirt. I turned on the light and was about to run down the stairs when I looked at my front. ‘I’d put on a T-shirt with STOP POLICE VIOLENCE emblazoned across the chest.

  I tore the T-shirt off, cursing, and searched the room for an alternative. Shit, Jen. Get a grip. Now is not the time for a sartorial crisis.

  ‘All right. I’m coming,’ I yelled.

  The pounding on the door didn’t let up. Bastards. I grabbed the original T-shirt, turned it inside-out and pulled it on again. I was still pulling on my jeans as I ran down the stairs and nearly tripped as I stepped into the second leg.

  At the bottom of the stairs I took a moment to draw breath.

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked. I couldn’t resist.

  ‘It’s the police. Open up.’

  ‘Can I see some ID, please?’ I asked in what I hoped were reasonable, innocent and utterly respectable I’ve-got-nothing-to-hide-just-being-a-cautious-citizen tones.

  The pounding stopped, but I swear I could hear growling from the other side of the door. And it wasn’t a dog.

  The letterbox flipped open and a laminated card was thrust through. A solid, craggy face gazed up at me from the photo, identified as Detective Sergeant John Mackay of the Serious Crimes Squad. I pushed the card back through the letterbox.

  ‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

  ‘Jennifer Stern?’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘We have some questions we’d like to ask you relating to an inquiry we’re conducting. Now, we can continue this through the door, or you can be sensible and open up and let us in.’

  ‘Do you have a warrant?’

  There was a heavy sigh from the other side of the door. ‘No, Miss Stern. We do not have a warrant. But we can get one if necessary. Similarly, Miss Stern, we do not have a warrant for your arrest at this time. But that too can change.’

  I thought about that for a moment before swinging the door open. I led the two plain-clothes cops up the stairs and switched on the light in my front room. Mackay walked in. His sidekick hesitated in the hall, fingering some of the red splashes on my Murder in a Battery Farm interior decor.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It’s paint, not fresh blood.’

  The cop threw me a dirty look and pushed past into the front room.

  Mackay settled himself on my only armchair while I sat cross-legged on the cushions. The other cop stood leaning with his arms crossed against my ancient chest of drawers. I wasn’t too confident it could stand his weight, but I didn’t mention it. Mackay did the introductions. The other guy was Detective Constable Bartlett. He was thin and wiry, with receding blond hair, bad skin and a perpetual sneer. Mackay’s eyes flickered round the room, missing nothing, before fixing me with an appraising gaze.

  I decided to cut through some of the crap.

  ‘I presume this is about Della, right?’

  Some cops don’t like it when you try to wrestle back a bit of control. Mackay was one of those cops.

  ‘Why, Miss Stern? Do you have anything else you would like to share with us?’

  I simpered to indicate the utter impossibility that I might have anything to hide from the forces of law and order. I doubt if he was fooled.

  ‘Miss Stern,’ Mackay continued, ‘may I ask why you gave a false address to the police officer on duty at the hospital?’

  ‘Oh. Um, yeah. Sorry about that,’ I stumbled. ‘I’d just had an argument with my sister-in-law and – well, to be honest, I just wanted to wind her up. I mean, you’ve met her. You must have seen what she’s like…’

  Mackay looked at me. Or through me. Either way, I was starting to squirm. It occurred to me that someone like Mackay would probably consider Kate to be a strong candidate for the Salt of the Earth Award.

  ‘Look,’ I wheedled, ‘I know it was childish. But I don’t really think it was too serious. It’s not like I didn’t know you could trace me from there…’

  ‘Do you realise, Miss Stern, that you could be charged for wasting police time?’

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. We both knew the cops were more than capable of wasting their own time without any help from me.

  ‘Um, yes. I realise it was foolish. I really am sorry.’

  This shit was going to take ten years off my life.

  ‘OK, Miss Stern. We’ll move on from there – for the moment. I’d like you to tell me, if you will, the exact nature of your relationship with Della Courtney. How and when you met, where you saw each other, how frequently etc.’

  Needless to say, I’d prepared for this. I had to come up with a plausible answer that had no connection to the Scene or to any of Della’s other friends or acquaintances. I looked him straight in the eyes and span my tale.

  ‘We met about a year ago. At Peckham Library, not long after it opened. We were both using the computers there and she realised I was floundering and helped me out. We just sort of gelled, if you know what I mean.’

  Mackay raised an eyebrow. I ignored it and ploughed on.

  ‘After that, we met a couple of times a week. We both had time on our hands and it was somewhere to go. Sometimes we’d pop across the Square for coffee at the Pulse.’ I shrugged to emphasise the banality of the connection.

  Had it come out too pat? I held my breath, while attempting to appear to be breathing normally. A clever trick, if you can manage it. Two pairs of cop eyes drilled into me. I stifled a nervous fart.

  ‘You never met anywhere else?’ Mackay enquired.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Did you know Ms Courtney was found near there? In the car park of the old leisure centre…’

  The thought of Della being dumped there, among the burnt-out car wrecks and smashed glass, was hard to bear.

  ‘No,’ I murmured. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘She ever mention other friends? Any disagreements possibly? How she spent her time?’

  ‘No. Not really. I got the feeling she was quite lonely.’

  ‘And she never mentioned anything to you that would suggest she was worried about anything?’

  ‘Nothing I can think of. Obviously I’ve been racking my brains since I saw her in that terrible state. But I just can’t think of anything…’

  Mackay jotted something down in his notebook, then looked back up at me. Bartlett shifted position and the chest of drawers let out a protesting creak. I glanced up at him. He rewarded me with a wolfish leer. With teeth as yellow as his, he really should keep his mouth shut.

  ‘Could you please tell me the kind of things you would talk about?’ Mackay continued.

  ‘Oh, small talk mostly, I suppose. Books, movies, the weather. The state of the world. That sort of thing.’

  Mackay allowed another long pause. I kept my hands clasped loosely in my lap. No white knuckles to give away my tension.

  ‘So how come you knew Ms Courtney was in hospital?’ Mackay asked.

  I was ready for that one and launched in with gusto. This was the one part of my story that would check out. I was bargaining on them not asking at the library. ‘I know her address. I’d seen it on some letters she typed. When she didn’t turn up for a couple of weeks, I thought I’d pop round to see if she was OK. The man in the flat opposite told me she was in hospital.’

  Another millennium-length pause. I gritted my teeth to stop myself filling the silence by emb
roidering further. The golden rule: say as little as you can get away with.

  ‘One more question, Miss Stern. Did you know about Ms Courtney’s – er – confusion – er – her…’

  I watched him flounder. It was the only bit I had got any pleasure from so far. The cop at the hospital must have reported that I knew about Della’s sexuality but Mackay was still trying to catch me out. I didn’t think he had any concrete suspicions about me, he just couldn’t help himself. I watched him redden and I gave a beatific smile. Bartlett snarled.

  ‘…sexual gender-based identity issues,’ Mackay finished in a rush, having remembered the Equal Opportunities seminar he’d been forced to sit through once.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ I replied. ‘She was totally open about it.’ I leaned forward. ‘Though I’d have known anyway,’ I said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It’s the hands. You can always tell.’

  Bartlett looked sick. Mackay frowned. I could see him trying to work out whether I was taking the piss or not.

  I think in the end he decided I was just an irritating pain in the arse. Yes! Mission accomplished. Mackay shut the notebook with a snap.

  ‘Well, I think that’s all for now, Miss Stern. We’ll be in touch again if we need to pursue this line any further. In the mean time, perhaps you would be good enough to contact me if you think of any details you may have missed. Anything at all. No matter how trivial it may seem to you.’

  Yeah, yeah. I know. I too have seen Crimewatch.

  He handed me a card. I laid it on the table next to the phone. I doubted if I would ever use it to contact him. But it would make good roach fodder: just the right thickness.

  Mackay heaved himself out of the armchair with a grunt and they turned to go. I couldn’t resist pushing my luck just a smidgen.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, officer, but was it really necessary to conduct this interview at five-thirty in the morning?’

  Mackay curled a lip at me. ‘We’re busy people, Miss Stern. We have to fit things in as and when we can. Officers work on a case like this twenty-four hours a day.’