I felt quite good. I had made my plan and it was almost as if I didn’t have the wallet anymore. It was as good as gone, and by the time I reached Southwark Road I wasn’t bothering much about keeping out of sight. It was daylight now and there were other people in the streets, and cars on the roads, and as usual no one seemed to notice me.
All the same, I gave the Trenches a miss. I walked down Southwark Road bold as brass looking at numbers and signs. And when I found one that read Safe Systems Plc, I walked right up to the door.
It was a new door in an old building, and it was locked. Perhaps it was too early. Not having a watch myself, I don’t keep track of office hours. I stood there wondering if I should hike on to the station where there’s a clock and a cup of tea, and just then the door opened from the inside. It gave me such a fright I nearly legged it. But the person opening the door was a young woman, and usually women don’t give me much trouble. This one had red rims to her eyes and a really mournful expression on her face. She also had a nasty bruise on her cheekbone that made me think of Little Marvin.
She said, “Where do you think you’re going?” She wasn’t friendly but she looked as if she had other things on her mind.
“Safe Systems Plc,” I said.
“What do you want?” she said. “The office is closed. And haven’t you ever heard of a thing called soap and water?”
“I’ve got something for Safe Systems,” I said, and held out the wallet.
“Jesus Christ!” she said and burst into tears.
We stood there like that-me holding the wallet and her staring at it, crying her eyes out.
At last, she said, “I don’t want it. Take it away.” And she tried to slam the door.
But I stuck my foot in there. “What do I do with it?” I said.
“Lose it,” she said, and because I wouldn’t let her close the door, she went on, “Look, you silly little cow, don’t you come near me with that thing. Drop it in the river-you can give it to Steve for all I care. I’m finished with all that.”
She started banging the door on my foot so I hopped back. The door crashed shut and she was gone.
I was so surprised I stood there gawping at the door and I didn’t see the big feller coming up behind until he dropped a hand on my shoulder.
“You the one they call Crystal?” he said from a great height.
“Not me,” I said. “Never heard of her.” I got the wallet back under my top coat without him noticing.
“What you doing at that office then?” he said, not letting go.
“The lady sometimes gives me her spare change,” I said, and watched his feet. It’s no good watching their eyes. If you want to know what a bloke’s going to do, watch his feet. The big man’s feet were planted. I did not like him knowing my name.
“What is your name then?” he said.
I nearly said, “Dawn,” but I bit it off just in time.
“What?” he said.
“Doreen,” I said. “Who’s asking?” If he was Steve, I would give him the wallet and run.
“Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex,” he said. It was even worse than I thought. Now even the Law knew my name. It made me sweat in spite of the cold.
“I’ve got a few questions for you,” he said, and he tightened his hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t know anything,” I said. “What about?”
“About where you was last night,” he said. “And who you saw.”
“I never saw nothing,” I said, really nervous.
“Course you didn’t,” he said. “Come on. I’ll buy you breakfast and then we can talk.” And he smiled.
Never, never trust the Law when it smiles.
None of this had ever happened to me before. If you must know, I’ve hardly ever talked to a policeman in my life. I’m much too fast on my feet.
“Where do you live, Crystal?” he said, starting to walk.
“The name’s Doreen,” I said, and tried to get out from under the big hand.
“Where do you live … Doreen?” he said.
The thing you have to know about the Law is that they ask questions and you answer them. You’ve got to tell them something or they get really upset. It’s the same with social workers. If they want an answer, give them an answer, but keep the truth to yourself. I told Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex the address of a hostel in Walworth.
He was walking us in the direction of the Trenches, and I didn’t want to go there. So I said, “I’ve had my breakfast and I ought to go because I’ve got an appointment with my social worker.”
It was a mistake because then he wanted to know who my social worker was and what time I had to be there. Lies breed. It’s much better if you don’t talk to the Law because then you can keep to the truth.
After a while he said, “Aren’t you a bit young to be living on your own … Doreen?”
“I’m eighteen,” I said. I felt depressed. I hadn’t spoken one honest word to the man since he dropped his big hand on my shoulder. Well, you can’t, can you? I talked to a social worker once and she tried to put Dawn and me in care. Never again. They would have split us up and then Dawn would never have found herself a man. Say what you like about Dawn’s boyfriend, but he did set her up in business, and she does make good money. She feels real. No one can feel real in care.
We were right next to the Trenches by now. For a change it looked completely deserted-no winos, no bonfires, none of us picking through the rubbish dumped there in the night. It’s just a big demolition site, really, but since no one is in any hurry to build there, it’s become home to all sorts of people.
Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex stopped. He said, “We found a body in there last night.”
I said nothing. I couldn’t see the bit of wall the dead man had been sitting by, but I knew where it was.
“Yes,” he said, as if he was thinking about something else. “Stripped clean, he was. When it comes my turn I’d like to be somewhere no one can get their thieving hands on me.”
I was still watching his feet, and now even his boots looked as if they were thinking about something else. So I took off.
I broke clear of his hand. I dodged between two people passing by and hopped over the wire. Then I dropped down into the Trenches.
It was the last place I wanted to be, but it was the only place I could go.
I heard him come down behind me, and as I ran through the rubble I could feel his feet thudding on the ground. He was awfully fast for a big man.
“Stop!” he yelled, and I kept running. This way, that way, over the brickwork, round the rubbish tips, into cellars, up steps. And all the time I could hear his feet and his breath. I couldn’t get free of him.
I was getting tired when I saw the drain. I put on one more sprint and dived head first into it. It was the only thing I could think of to do. It was the only place he couldn’t come after me.
It was the only place I couldn’t get out of.
I know about the drain. I’ve been in there before to get out of the wind, but it doesn’t go anywhere. There is a bend about ten yards from the opening, and after that it’s very wet and all stopped up with earth.
Anyway, like it or not, I dived straight in and crawled down. There wasn’t much room even for me. I had to get all the way to the bend before I could turn round.
It was totally dark in the drain. There should have been a circle of light at the opening, but Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex had his head and shoulders wedged in it.
He said, “Don’t be a fool, Crystal. Come out of there!” His voice boomed.
“Look, I only want a chat,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
He wasn’t going to hurt me as long as I stayed in the drain and he stayed out of it.
“Come and get me,” I said. I would have felt quite cheerful if it hadn’t been so dark and wet.
“I don’t know what you think you’re up to, Crystal,” he said, “But you’re in a lot of trouble. I can help you.”
I nearly laughed. “I don’t know any Crystals,” I said. “How can you help me?”
“You’ve got enemies,” he said. “The bloke who died had the same enemies. You took something off him and now they’re looking for you. They’re rough people, Crystal, and you need my help.”
“I don’t know any dead blokes,” I said. “I didn’t take anything. What am I supposed to have nicked?”
“You’re wasting my time,” he said.
“All right,” I said. “Then I’ll go.” There wasn’t anywhere to go, but I didn’t think he’d know that.
“Wait,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere till you’ve heard what I have to say.” He fell silent. It was what I always thought. You tell them things. They’d rather eat worms before they tell you something back.
After a bit he said, “You still there?”
“I’m still here,” I said. “But not for long. I’m getting wet.”
“All right,” he said. “You won’t understand this but I’ll tell you anyway. The dead bloke was a systems analyst.”
“What’s one of them?” I asked.
“He was a computer expert.” Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex sighed. I could hear it from my end of the drain, Sound travels in a drain.
“He wrote programs for computers. He debugged programs. But most of all he wrote safe programs.” He sighed again.
“This doesn’t mean anything to you,” he said. “Why don’t you just come out of there like a good girl and give me the number.”
“What number?” I said. He was right. I didn’t understand. I was very confused. I thought I was in trouble because I’d taken the wallet. I tried to give it back but the woman wouldn’t take it. That was confusing. Whoever heard of anyone not taking money when it was offered.
“It doesn’t matter what number,” he said, sounding angry. “This bloke, this Philip Walker-Jones, he worked for some very funny types. These types don’t keep their dealings in books or ledgers anymore. Oh no. They stick them on computer tape, or discs where your average copper won’t know how to find them. It’s all bleeding high tech now.”
He sounded very fed up, and I couldn’t tell if it was because I was in a drain out of reach, or because he didn’t understand high tech any more than I did.
Just then I heard footsteps, and someone said, “What you doing down there, boss?”
“Taking a bleeding mudbath,” Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex said. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Did you lose her, then?” the other voice said.
“Course not. This is a new interview technique. Orders from on high: ‘Do it in a bleeding land-drain.’” He sounded so down I almost laughed.
“Are you still there?” he said.
“No,” I said. “Good-bye.” And I scrambled into the bend of the pipe and pulled my knees up to my chest so that I couldn’t be seen.
“Shit!” Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex said. “You’ve scared her off, you bleeding berk.”
I could hear him heaving and cursing, and then he said, “You’d better give me a pull out of here, Hibbard.”
There was some more heaving and cursing, and then I heard his voice from further off saying, “Where does this bleeding drain come out?”
“Buggered if I know, boss,” Hibbard said. “Could be the river for all I know.”
“Well, bleeding go and look,” Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex said. “And if you find her don’t lose her or I’ll have you back in uniform quicker than you can say ‘crystal balls.’”
“You sure you had the right one?” Hibbard said. He sounded reluctant to go tramping around the Trenches looking for the other end of a drain.
“You saw the description-there can’t be two like her.”
I didn’t like the way he said that, and I didn’t like the way he made fun of my name. I was freezing cold and soaked through, but I wasn’t going to come out for anyone with that sort of attitude.
So that’s where we stayed, him outside in the Trenches and me scrunched up at the end of the drain waiting for him to give up and go away. Sometimes he shone a torch in-to keep himself busy, I suppose. But I stayed stone-still and never made a sound.
Sometimes he paced up and down and muttered foul language to himself. He reminded me of our mum’s boyfriend when he thought I’d pinched something off him. We were all at it in those days. He’d pinch things out of our mum’s handbag and Dawn and me pinched things off him. We used to hide under the stairs, Dawn and me, while he raged around swearing he’d leather the lights out of us. Sometimes I’d hide from the truant officer too.
I’m used to hiding. All it takes is a bit of patience and a good breakfast in your belly. Don’t try it somewhere wet and cold, though-that calls for real talent and I wouldn’t recommend it to beginners.
At one stage Hibbard came back. He didn’t sound half so cocky now.
“She’ll be long gone,” he said. “I can’t find where this thing comes out”
“It’s got to come out somewhere,” Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex said. “Use your radio. Get more bodies. Make a bleeding effort.”
He stayed where he was, and I stayed where I was.
Another time, Hibbard said, “Why don’t we get in the Borough Engineers to dig this whole fucking site up and be done with it?”
And another time Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex said, “Comb the bleeding area. She could’ve dropped it or stashed it.” He was sounding cold and tired too.
“All this for a bleeding number,” he said. “And if we don’t get it our whole case goes down the bleeding bog. Why couldn’t the silly sod pick somewhere else to pop his clogs?”
Hibbard said, “Why are we so sure he had it on him? And why are we so sure she’s got it now?”
“We know he had it because he was bringing it to me,” Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex said. “And we know she got it because she swiped his wallet. We’ve got everything else back except that, and unless he had the number tattooed to his bleeding skull under his bleeding hair that’s where it is.”
“Couldn’t he have just had it in his head?” Hibbard said. “Remembered it.”
“Twenty-five bleeding digits? Do me a favor. He said it was written down and he said I could have it. You just want to go indoors for your dinner. Well, no one gets any dinner till I get that kid.”
So we all sat there without our dinners. Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex made everyone go hungry for nothing. Because I didn’t have any number twenty-five digits long.
But it’s no use worrying about what you don’t have, especially when what really worries you is what you might get. I was worried I might get pneumonia. If you get sick you can’t feed yourself. If you can’t feed yourself you get weak, and then either the officials grab you and put you in a hospital, or you die. I’ve seen it happen.
And I’ll tell you something else-a very funny thing happened when I got out of the drain. Well, it wasn’t a thing, and it didn’t really happen. But I thought it did, and it really frightened me.
I became an old woman.
It was when I looked round the bend and couldn’t see the circle of light at the end of the drain. I strained my ears and I couldn’t hear anything moving out there. And suddenly I thought I’d gone deaf and blind.
I tried to move, but I was so stiff with cold it took me ages to inch my way along to the opening. I didn’t care if Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex caught me. In fact I called out to him, and my voice had gone all weak and husky. I wanted him to be there, if you can believe that. I actually wanted him to help me, see, because I thought I’d gone blind, and I was scared.
But he wasn’t there, and it was dark and teeming down with rain. And I couldn’t straighten up. My back was bent, my knees were bent. There was no strength in my legs. I couldn’t have run if they’d set the dogs on me.
I was an old woman out there in the darklooking at the puddles in the mud, shuffling along, bent over. And I thought about Blood
y Mary and the way she is first thing of a morning. There are some of them even older than she is who never have to bend over to look in dustbins because that’s the shape they always are.
Of course I come to my senses soon enough. I got my circulation back and I rubbed the stiffness out of my legs. And I knew it was truly dark. I hadn’t gone blind. But I did not stop being scared.
Even standing upright I felt helpless. Even with 743 pounds, 89 pence on me. The Law was after me. The bastards who beat up Little Marvin were after me. And I had nowhere to go. I was sick and old, and I needed help. What I needed, I thought, was a mark of my own.
Once having thought that, I became a little more cheerful. Not a lot, mind, because I hadn’t had anything to eat since that curry before daybreak, and being hungry brings on the blues like nothing else can. But I pulled myself together and went looking for my mark.
I didn’t know her name, but I knew where to find her. It was up the other end of the northern line. I couldn’t have walked it that night, not for love nor money. So I caught the tube to Chalk Farm, and I hung around outside one of those bookshops.
I thought I had her once, but she tightened her grip on her shopping and hurried away. It was a mistake I put down to hunger. Usually I don’t go wrong on middle-aged women.
But I saw her at last. She was wearing a fawn-colored raincoat and a tartan scarf. She had a green umbrella and she was struggling with her Christmas shopping.
I said, “Carry your bags for you, missus?”
She hesitated. I knew her. She’s the one who has her handbag open before you even ask. She doesn’t give you any mouth about finding a job or spending money on drink. She just looks sort of sorry and she watches you when you walk away.
She hesitated, but then she gave me a bag to carry. Not the heaviest one either. She’s nice. She wants to trust me. At least she doesn’t want to distrust me. I knew her. She was my mark.
She said, “Thank you very much. The car is just round the corner.”
I followed her, and stood in the rain while she fumbled with her umbrella and car keys. I put her bag in the boot and helped her with the other one.
She looked at me and hesitated again. Not that she’d dream of going off without giving me something. This one just wants to find a polite way of doing it.
A Woman’s Eye Page 3