These are not things I am normally interested in. I can’t use them. But this time, it seemed to me, the only way out of trouble was to give them back. The dead man in the Trenches might be dead but he was still dangerous.
His name was Philip Walker-Jones. He belonged to a diners club, a bridge club, and a chess club. He had two business cards-Data Services Ltd. and Safe Systems Plc. He was managing director twice over, which seemed quite clever because both companies had the same address in Southwark Road. Southwark Road is not far from where I found him. Maybe he walked out of his office and died on the way to the station. But that didn’t explain what he was doing in the Trenches. Nobody like him goes in the Trenches.
I thought about Philip Walker-Jones sitting in the moonlight against the broken brickwork. He had looked as if he’d just sat down for a bit of a breather. But he wasn’t resting. He was dead. There wasn’t a mark on him that I could see. It didn’t look as if anyone had bumped him-he was just sitting there in all his finery. Quite dignified, really.
Little Marvin would have been there watching like I was, and probably a few others too-waiting to see if it was safe to take a dip. We were wrong, weren’t we?
I didn’t want to go back too close to the Trenches, but if I was going to give the wallet back I had to. It was too early yet for public transport so I started walking. A good breakfast does wonders for the brain, so while I was walking I went on thinking.
I didn’t know anything about data and systems except that they sounded like something to do with computers, but I do know that dining, bridge, and chess are all things you do sitting down. Philip Walker-Jones didn’t have any cards saying he belonged to a squash club or a swimming club, and if he spent all that time sitting down, maybe he wasn’t very fit. If he wasn’t very fit, and he started to run suddenly, he could have had a heart attack.
It was a satisfying bit of thinking that took me down to the river without really noticing. Crossing over, it occurred to me that computers, bridge, and chess were things that really brainy people did, and in my experience brainy people all wear glasses and don’t run around much. A really brainy man would not go running into the Trenches after dark, unless he was being chased. A scared, unfit man running in the Trenches would have no bother getting a heart attack. Easy.
The wind off the river was sharp and cold, but it wasn’t the only thing making me shiver. Because if Philip Walker-Jones had a reason to be scared to death, so did I.
Give the rotten wallet back, I thought, and do it double quick Say, “Here’s your money, now leave me be.” And then do a runner, I’m good at that.
I stopped for a pint of milk to fuel up. And I went through my pockets to find some of the fifty-pound notes, which I stuffed back in the wallet to make it look better.
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.