A Question of Identity (4 page)

Two doors. It reminded her of a corridor at school with classrooms on either side. Both were locked. She stopped to get her breath. From a window high up in the wall, she could hear a muffled sound, like the sea murmuring. A siren, then another came wailing towards the building.

The corridor smelled of chemical cleaner, making her sneeze, and the sneeze seemed to crash around the walls and down the corridor, echoing and re-echoing. She froze, pressing herself against the wall. Nobody came. It was quiet again.

Then, a corner and another door and when she pushed against it, it swung open. She almost fell inside with relief and leaned on the other side, catching her breath in gulps, shaking. And all she could think of was his face when the words were said.

Not guilty.

And again.

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

As they were spoken, and a second before the whole courtroom exploded, he had half turned his head and looked straight at her and the expression on his face, in his eyes, had frozen her to ice.

Now, the ice was thawing and melting, water ran through her body, and she felt herself sliding slowly down until she was a pool on the floor.

You feel as if the top of your head will blow off. Two minutes after you’ve done it you can do anything. You’re, like, the most powerful person in the universe. You’re God.

‘
YOU CAN’T KEEP
me here. I’m a free man, you heard, “not guilty”. So I should be walking out there not in here with you. And I want my brief.’

‘Listen –’

‘No, you listen, dickhead –’

‘You can have what you want, Keyes – tea, coffee, something to eat – you can’t have your brief because he’s gone home, and you don’t need your brief because you’re not charged with anything.’

‘You cuffed me, you dragged me down here, I’m not guilty, you heard.’

‘Yes,’ the DI said, ‘I heard.’ He didn’t keep the contempt out of his voice. ‘You attacked a police officer –’

‘I missed. Didn’t get near him. You saw.’

‘Right.’

They were in a small holding room in the basement of the court building. It had a metal table and two chairs. Alan Keyes sat in one, the DI in the other. A uniformed constable stood outside the door.

Alan Keyes stood up and pushed the chair over as the door opened and two more men came in.

‘DCS Granger. Sit down, Keyes –’

‘Mr Keyes to you.’

‘Sit down,’ the Superintendent said, not looking at Keyes.

The other man, who was tall and upright and had a thin
moustache, stood beside him. Said nothing. Did not give his name.

‘Now listen –’

‘I want to walk out of this fucking building, I have every right to walk out of –’

‘I said listen. There is no way I can let you walk out. No way. Why do you think you were cuffed and brought down here?’

‘I didn’t bloody touch him, I missed, I only swung at him, it wasn’t –’

‘It had nothing to do with you taking a swing at a police officer – we cuffed you and brought you down here and are keeping you in custody
for your own safety
.’

‘Piss off.’

‘Because if we’d let you strut out of that court you probably wouldn’t have made it a dozen yards down the corridor, you would have been set upon, battered to death – my guess is you would have lasted three minutes. You’ve got no idea, have you? There’s several hundred angry people out there, and there’d be more arriving if we hadn’t closed the road. You know why,
Mr
Keyes? That’s right, you can look terrified.’

Keyes twisted his expression back into defiance.

‘I’d be terrified if I was in your shoes. You still want to walk out there? You’re not under arrest, as you say, and I’ve no power to stop you, but it’s my duty to advise you that you should remain under police protection.’

‘You’ll get rid of them, won’t you? Clear the street. Tear gas, water cannon, they’ll bugger off.’ Keyes smiled. ‘I’m an innocent man.’

‘Yes, Mr Keyes. Which won’t prevent the public forming its own judgement and acting accordingly. So I’m advising you to accept police protection . . .’

‘What’s that mean? You put me up in a nice hotel?’

‘We do not.’

‘I’m not going back inside that fu–’

‘Nor in prison custody. You’ll be taken to a place of safety and then we’ll discuss the choices you might have.’

‘What choices? I’m going back home, aren’t I? You can’t stop me, a man’s home is his castle, a man’s –’

‘Shut up, Keyes.’

‘What is this place of safety then? How long do I have to stay?’

‘As I said, you’re not under arrest. We are giving you advice for your own protection. You’re free to take it. Or not. I can’t tell you where you’d go but you would stay until such time as we decide you would be safe to leave. Or make other arrangements.’

‘What other arrangements?’

‘You’ll be given various options within the next few weeks.’

‘Weeks? I’m not staying away from my own home for weeks. You tell the wife where I’ll be, do you?’

‘No.’

‘She’ll wonder then. She’ll report me missing.’

‘We’ll deal with that. Right.’ The Super stood. ‘You’ll be collected in an hour or so.’

‘Now look –’

‘Don’t start again.’ the Super said. ‘I’m beginning to lose patience.’

It was cold. Her leg was numb and her arm painful where it was bent back against the wall. But she knew where she was. After a moment she began to straighten her body cautiously, to sit up, stand.

She never wore a watch. How long had she been – what? Unconscious? Asleep? Why would she be unconscious if she hadn’t hit her head? Or been hit?

She hadn’t. No one had been in here, no one knew where she was. He didn’t. Couldn’t. The toilets were somewhere in the bowels of the building – she had glimpsed them as she ran down endless corridors, through sets of doors, to get away. Get away.

She found the toilet, pulled the door to but didn’t lock it, then went to the basins and splashed her face with a handful of cold water. Pulled her hair out of its band and retied it.

And then there was a clatter outside in the corridor, something metal, and the door opened.

‘It’s all right, I’m going, I’m going . . .’

The cleaner put down his bucket and mop and stood barring the door.

‘You hold on – who are you? You shouldn’t be here. This building’s closed. You on the run?’

‘No. Not like you think.’

‘Like what then?’

Lynne Keyes told him. He was a huge man with a big belly under his overall, a thick neck, big feet, big hands. But he stood still and listened to every word and she felt safe with him. He could have reached out and strangled her without any trouble but she had no fear that he would. They were different sort of men, the stranglers.

‘I hear you. Only you can’t stop here. We go in an hour, place is locked and that’s it.’

‘I can’t go home.’

‘Tell you what, him getting off – it’s shocked everyone rigid.’

She said nothing.

‘So . . .’ He pushed the mop down into the bucket and twisted it this way and that. The smell of pine disinfectant came off it. ‘You must have family. You go to them. Family’s better than friends, times like yours. Come with me, I’ll slip you out the side door, no one’ll be around, and I never saw you, all right?’

She followed him because there was nothing else she could do and because he was kind and she trusted him. The side door had an iron bar that he lifted up and a chain and padlock that he opened. She could see a passageway. Concrete steps.

The door banged and the iron bar came across it on the other side.

Just clocked what it is. They’re afraid. They’re terrified, of me. Everybody is. When I get to walk down that street, they’ll shake with fear. But they’ve got no reason. Well, have they? ‘Not guilty’ he said, didn’t he? ‘Not guilty. Not guilty. Not guilty.’

So what have they got to be afraid of?

‘
I . . . I NEED
to speak to someone. I need someone to help me.’

‘What department do you want?’

‘I don’t know. Police. Just the police . . . I need help, I’m . . . I’m scared out of my skull, I daren’t go home . . .’

‘Domestic violence? Hold on.’

He had never let her have a mobile and she thought she hadn’t really minded. Now she did. Now, after she’d walked for ages to find a phone box that worked, she was put on hold. She waited, but she wasn’t put through to anyone else and the woman didn’t come back.

The town was very quiet. A pub on the corner was emptying out, cabs drawing away from the rank. She slipped round the backstreets, across the bus station, in and out of the mesh of streets near the railway line. She felt better because the flat was right on the other side of town. She knew what he’d be doing – she had a sudden flash of him, sitting in the brown leather chair with a can, watching the news. Watching himself on it, smirking, raising his can to the screen.

Lynne Keyes shivered.

The only person left was Hilary. It was a long walk – she had no money for a bus fare, but the last one would have gone anyway. Her sandal strap had broken completely so she had to pinch her toes together to keep it on and there was already one blister on the side of her foot. Walk to Hilary’s? She sat down on the low wall in front of a house. Drawn curtains. Glow from
a lamp. Flicker from a TV. She wanted to knock and ask them to let her in.

It took almost an hour to get to Hilary’s because she had to keep stopping to fiddle with her sandal and try and move it away from the blister.

Cumberland Avenue. Nice houses. Not large but modern with decent gardens. She’d wanted to move out this way but he wouldn’t. She’d never properly understood why, until all this had come out. He wouldn’t have been able to get up in the night and slip out, do what he did, slip back, no need for the van.

She dragged herself the last hundred yards to Hilary’s, all the energy gone out of her, but at least the lights were still on. Hilary was seven years younger than her, same dad, different mother. They hadn’t spent a lot of time together when they were younger but they’d picked up later, got on well. She felt such relief walking up the front path it was like heat running through her.

She rang. The sound on the television went off. She waited. No one came to the door. She rang again. After a moment or two, footsteps.

‘Who is it?’

‘Lynne.’

Nothing. Then the door opened a few inches on the chain. She could see her sister’s hand, the side of her head, her shoulder.

‘Hil? It’s me.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Can I come in?’

‘What for?’

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing but then she realised. ‘It’s OK. I’m on my own.’

‘It’s late and Mike’s on a night shift. He’s not here.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything? Let me in, Hil. I’m cold, my foot’s hurt, and I’ve walked miles.’

‘What for? What are you doing here?’

‘I daren’t go home.’

‘For Christ’s sake, are you daft or something? I don’t care if you are my sister, you know what happened today, and it’s all over the news. He murdered three women, Lynne, and how they managed to find him not guilty God only knows. So now he’s
a free man and you’re wetting yourself and in your shoes so would I be. I’m sorry for you. Only you’re not coming in and staying here, I’m on my own with the kids and –’

‘He wouldn’t come here.’

‘Of course he’d come here. Where else could you be? He’ll know and he’d come and I’m not having it. Go and check into a B & B.’

‘I haven’t got any money, Hil . . .’

Hilary swore and pushed the door closed again, muttering to her to wait.

‘Here, but that’s it, don’t come back here, Lynne. I’m sorry but I’m not taking the risk. Go on, you’ll get somewhere if you hurry up.’ Her hand, with a twenty-pound note in it, came through the opening.

She stood after the door had closed and the chain and bolts been drawn, the money clenched in her hand. The lights went out downstairs. A low one went on in the bedroom. She looked up, wondering if Hil would change her mind. But she wouldn’t and who could blame her? She was right. It was one place he’d come looking, and Mike was on nights so she was on her own with two kids.

She turned away and began to walk slowly back down the road. Twenty quid wasn’t enough for a night’s B & B, even if she could find one to take her in at this time and without even a toothbrush. Come on.

The main road was deserted. She took off both her shoes now, it was easier than having the strap rub on the raw blister. She walked without thinking, back towards the town, not wanting to put the thought of going home into her mind. Where else? She stumbled, pain shooting up through the sole of her bare foot where she had trodden on a stone.

There was a bus stop, with a half-shelter and an iron seat, and when she sat down in the dark and put her hand on her foot to soothe it, the hand came away wet with blood. Only now did she cry.

The lights of a car washed over her. The car pulled in a few yards ahead. She didn’t need that, some guy on the prowl
thinking she was a tart. She got up, about to run, in spite of her foot.

Now it was a torch in her face. ‘Hold on a minute.’

The last puff of energy drained away and she sat down heavily on the bench.

The copper was joined by his mate. ‘Are you all right, love?’

‘No,’ Lynne said. ‘Since you ask.’

They could have done anything, quizzed her for soliciting, checked her for drugs, asked to see ID, anything at all. What they actually did was put her in the back of the patrol car and take her to the Crofton A & E. It was empty apart from a mother and child who went into a cubicle as Lynne arrived.

No one seemed to have recognised her, not the policemen, nor the nurse who cleaned up her foot or the doctor who stitched it. One of the coppers got her a cup of tea from the machine.

The radio in the car was yattering to itself but apparently no one wanted these two.

‘Right, we’ll take you home and see you in. Got any painkillers? Used to give you those at the hospital. Not any more.’

She told them the address because she’d given up now, too weary to think of anywhere else. In any case, where was there?