Friday 24 September 2010
‘You are under arrest . . .’
Oh God, no, this can’t be happening.
‘. . . and charged with the attempted murder . . .’
Murder! What the hell are they talking about?
‘. . . of Patricia Elizabeth Davison . . .’
Patricia Davison – that’s Mum. I didn’t murder Mum!
‘You have the right to remain silent.’
For Christ’s sake! This is a dream. Wake up!
‘Anything you say can and will be used in evidence against you.’
Raine and the kids. What will they do? I’m stuck here.
‘If you wish to consult a lawyer . . .’
They can’t cope without me. Oh Christ! I must phone Roger, he’ll tell me what to do. Oh hell, I have a memory stick in my pocket with copies of the manuscript on it. It’ll be a disaster if the police get hold of that. Damn it, arrested with the evidence smoking in my pocket!
We sat in silence for some minutes while arrangements were being made. I was in shock, my mind was everywhere. I knew I should bite my tongue, but I piped up anyway.
‘One day you’ll be waiting for your death. I hope it’s an easy and dignified one, but perhaps it won’t be. When that time comes, I want you to think of this moment.’ They looked uncomfortable.
Eventually the detectives left the room while I spoke on the phone to my lawyer.
‘I need my powder dry,’ Roger said again. ‘Don’t say a word. Every word you say will weaken my hand.’
‘Can I speak to you now, or are they listening somewhere?’ I asked.
‘They could be listening, but they can’t use it as evidence: this is referred to as lawyer-client confidentiality. We’ll talk later.’
While speaking to Roger I discreetly slipped the memory stick into my shoe, disguising the act by scratching my ankle in case they were watching through one-way glass. I had to get it out of my pocket in case I was searched. Detective Verry returned and led me to the holding cells. I felt he was a good man, but I knew I mustn’t let my guard down – that they’d want to lull me into a false sense of security so I’d say things I shouldn’t.
‘You are going to a bail hearing once you’ve been processed.’
Processed? Bail hearing? What’s happening?
‘You will be searched and have to hand over your shoes.’
My shoes! The memory stick! Damn. He must have seen me. If they find it in my shoe, it’s obvious I’ve got something to hide. Curse that manuscript! And now I have it in my damn shoe.
My mind was all over the place. It must have been one-way glass. But that means my feeling about Detective Verry was correct: he is a good man and he’s
giving me a chance to avoid embarrassment when I take off my shoes. Where can I put it? Can I drop it somewhere around the station as we walk, in a pot plant, behind a fire extinguisher? Shall I ask to go to the toilet and flush it? Hide it in the tiny pocket at the top of my jeans? Swallow it? Good God! As we waited in the passage for the door to the security cells to be unlocked, I tried wiggling the memory stick to the outside rim of my shoe so I could grab it in one swoop without fiddling with my shoe.
I wasn’t discreet enough, because Detective Verry looked at me, and I believe he knew. Then, luckily, he looked away, which gave me a chance. Maybe he felt I had enough problems. In the processing room I had to empty my pockets into a plastic bag, and no one noticed, while they were focusing on my jacket, that when I reached down to pull my shoe off, the memory stick popped into my hand, then magically appeared from my jacket pocket and went straight into their plastic bag. Phew, that was lucky. They’ve got the evidence now, but better this way than them catching me hiding it. To think I was prepared to swallow it!
I asked Detective Verry if I could send some text messages. He gave an uncertain nod, as if to give the impression of agreeing reluctantly as a token favour, but I seized the opportunity to delete all messages from my phone, and also deleted the lists of phone numbers dialled and received. As I did this it rang, so I quickly answered before Detective Verry could intervene.
‘I’ve got a ten bucks on the Warriors!’ came Ian’s voice.
‘I’m in jail, Ian, I’ve been arrested.’
‘Good one. I’m not falling for that. I’m no longer an “Ernie”.’
I quickly cut the call and gave the phone to the disapproving detective, expressing my gratitude and telling him I had sent a message to my partner in South Africa. Detective Verry put the cell phone and memory stick in a separate plastic bag, saying, ‘I’ll take care of these and get them back to you quickly.’ That was a relief.
