“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 Bloody 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.
She said, “Well, thanks very much,” and she started to fumble in her handbag again. I let her get her money out, and then I said, “I don’t want your money, missus, thanks all the same for the thought.”
She said, “Oh, but you must let me give you something.”
I just stood there shaking my head, looking pitiful.
“What is it?” she asked, with that sorry expression on her face.
It was the crucial time. I said. “I’ve got some money, missus, but I can’t spend it.” And I held out one of the fifty-pound notes.
She looked at the money and she looked at me.
I said, “I know what you’re thinking. That’s why I can’t spend it. I want to get some decent clothes because I can’t get a job looking like this. But every time I try they look at me like I stole the money and they go to call the Law. No one trusts people like me.”
She went on looking first at me and then at the money, and said, “I don’t mean to sound suspicious, but where did you get a fifty-pound note?”
“A nice lady give it to me,” I said. “She must’ve thought it was a fiver. She was a really nice lady because no one’s ever given me a fiver before. But when I went in to buy a cup of tea and some chips, the man went to call the Law and I saw she must have made a mistake.”
“I see,” she said.
“You don’t,” I said. “Having this money is worse than not having anything.”
“I can see that,” she said. “How can I help?”
I had her. “Please, missus,” I said. “Please help me spend it. All I want’s a good coat and some shoes. There’s a charity shop just round the corner and I been hanging around for ages but I can’t bring myself to go in on my own.”
She was good as gold, my lady mark. She bought me a big wool coat for only a couple of quid and she talked to the women in the shop while I looked for jeans and jerseys.
It was all quality stuff and probably it was all donated to the charity by women like her. They don’t give any old rubbish to charity. And I’ll tell you something else-my lady mark was having the time of her life. It was like a dream come true to her. Someone really and truly wanted her help with something she approved of. She didn’t have to worry I was spending her money on drink or drugs because it wasn’t her money and I was there under her nose spending it on warm clothes.
Even the women behind the counter had a sort of glow on them when I came out from behind the racks with my arms full. She’d probably told them my story in whispers when my back was turned. And that was why I really had needed her help. Because those nice ladies behind the counter would have chased me out if I’d gone in on my own. They’d have been afraid I’d pinch their charity.