A Woman’s Eye

LUCKY DIP by Liza Cody

LIZA CODY is the winner of a Creasey Award for her very popular Anna Lee series of mysteries and has also been nominated for the Edgar. Her rich novels featuring private eye Anna include Under Contract Sad Company, Dupe, Head Case, and Stalker, while Rift is a stunning novel of suspense set in East Africa, She makes her home in England.

He was sitting against a bit of broken wall, looking almost normal. I could see him because of the full moon. It was a lovely moon with wispy clouds like old lady’s hair across its face.

I watched the man for a couple of minutes, but he didn’t move. Well, he wouldn’t, would he? I could see he didn’t belong-he was far too well dressed-and I wondered how he got there. This is not a part of the city men dressed like him go.

He had not been dead long. You could tell that at a glance because he still had his shoes on. If you die here you won’t keep your shoes for ten minutes. You won’t keep your wallet for ten seconds, dead or alive.

With this in mind I had a quick look, right and left, for anyone lurking in the shadows. If I’d seen anyone bigger than me, I’d have stayed where I was. Moon shadows are blacker than hearses, and I knew I wasn’t the only one out that night. But in the Trenches only the big are bold, and someone big would have been rummaging in the remains already. So I hopped out from behind my pile of rubble and made a run for it.

I reached him in no time at all and grabbed his left lapel. Seven out of ten men are right-handed, and the chances are seven to three anything valuable will be in a left-hand inside pocket. I took a swift dip and came up with the winnings.

By now I could hear stirrings-a snap of rotten wood, a slide of brick dust. I flicked his watch off his wrist and almost in the same motion made a dive into his jacket pocket. Then I got on my toes and legged it.

I legged it out of the Trenches completely, because, although there are plenty of places to hide, the people I wanted to hide from know them as well as I do. The Trenches are useful as long as it’s only the law you want to avoid. Robbing a corpse isn’t nice, and I didn’t want to take all that trouble only to be robbed myself.

It was just a quick jog to the High Street. On the way I stopped under a street lamp to look at what I had in my hand. The wallet was fat snakeskin, the watch was heavy gold, and the loose change was all pound coins and fifty-pence pieces. For once in my short life I’d struck oil.

All the same you don’t break old habits for the sake of one lucky dip, and when I saw all those plump taxpayers doing their late Christmas shopping on the High Street, I stuck out my hand as usual.

“Got any spare change, please?” I said, as always. “For a cup of tea. For a bed for the night. For a hot meal.”

And as always they coughed up like princes or told me to get myself a job. It was nice that night. I perform best when there’s no pressure, and by the time I’d worked my way down to the station, I’d made a nice little pile. But it doesn’t do to loll around and count your takings in public, so I jumped a tube to Paddington.

My sister has this room in Paddington. She lives in Camberwell with her boyfriend, so this room’s just for business. I don’t trust my sister’s boyfriend, but I do trust my sister, up to a point, which was why I went to her business address. You may meet all sorts of funny blokes there, but you won’t meet her boyfriend, and that suits me. It suits him, too, if you want to know the truth: he doesn’t like me any more than I like him.

When we first came down to the city, Dawn and me, we relied on each other; we didn’t have anyone else to turn to. But after she took up with him and he set her up in business, she didn’t need me like she used to, and we drifted apart.

The trouble with Dawn is she always needs a man. She says she doesn’t feel real without one. Feeling real is important to Dawn so I suppose I shouldn’t criticize. But her men have been nothing but a disappointment. You could say I’m lucky to have an older sister like Dawn: she’s an example to me. I’d rather die than turn out like her.

Still, she is my sister, and we’ve been through a lot together. Especially in this last year when we came down to the city together. And before that, when our mum kicked us out, or rather, kicked Dawn out because of the baby. And after that when Dawn’s boyfriend kicked Dawn out because of the baby.

I have never been hungrier than I was last year trying to look after Dawn. She lost the baby in the end, which was a bit of a relief to me. I don’t know how we would have managed if she’d had it. I don’t think she would have coped very well either. It’s much harder to get a man when you’ve got a little baby to look after.

Anyway, that’s all in the past, and now Dawn has business premises in Paddington.

I waited outside until I was sure she was alone, and then I went up and knocked on the door.

“Crystal!” she said when she opened the door. “What you doing here? You got to be more careful-I might’ve had company.”

“Well, you haven’t,” I said. And she let me in, wrinkling her nose and pulling her kimono tight. I don’t like that kimono-it’s all hot and slippery. Since she got her hair streaked, Dawn has taken to wearing colors that would look all right on a tree in autumn but turn her hard and brassy.

“Gawd,” she said, “you don’t half look clatty. Can’t you get your hair cut? That coat looks like it’s got rats living in it.”

I took the coat off, but she didn’t like the one underneath either.

“What a pong,” she said.

“I had a wash last week,” I told her. “But I would like to use your bathroom.” I wanted somewhere private to look at what I’d got off the dead man.

“You can’t stop around here,” she said, worried. “I got someone coming in half an hour.” She looked at her watch.

I sat in her bathroom and looked at the dead man’s watch. It had Cartier written on the face, and it really was proper gold. Quality, I thought, and felt a bit sad. By rights a man with a watch like that shouldn’t end up in the Trenches without a stitch on. Because that’s how he’d be by now, pale and naked in the moonlight. Nobody would recognize him without his coat and suit and shoes. He’d just look like anyone. We’re into recycling in the Trenches.

To cheer myself up I looked at his wallet, and when I counted up I found I had 743 pounds and 89 pence. And I couldn’t use half of it.

Imagine me trying to change a fifty-pound note! There’s a chance in a million a cat with cream on his whiskers milked a cow, but that’s good odds compared to the chance I’d come by a fifty-quid note honestly. I couldn’t even pop the watch. One look at a watch like that and any honest pawnbroker would turn me in. A dishonest one would rip me off quick as a wink. Either way the watch was no good for me.

I borrowed my sister’s toothbrush and had a fast swipe with her deodorant before I joined her again. You never know when you’re going to find clean water next so it pays to make use of what there is.

“Do me a favor, Crystal,” she said, when she saw me. “Bugger off before you frighten the horses.”

“Brought you a Christmas present,” I said and handed her the watch.

“You’re barmy, Crystal.” She stared at the watch like it was a spider in her bed. “Who’d you nick this off?”

“I never,” I told her. “I found it.” And it was true because the feller was dead. It wasn’t as if it was his property because there wasn’t a him anymore for it to belong to. When you’re dead you’re gone. And that’s final. Dead men don’t own watches.

Even with a Christmas present, Dawn wouldn’t let me stop for the night. It’s a funny thing, if I hadn’t had 743 pounds, 89 pence in my pocket, I wouldn’t have wanted to. If it had just been the 89 pence, I’d’ve been quite happy sleeping out.

But having things is dangerous. Having things makes you a mark. It’s like being pretty. If you don’t believe me, look at Dawn. She’s pretty and she’s been a mark from the time she was eleven. Being pretty brought her nothing but trouble. She’s always had to have someone to protect her. I’m glad I’m not pretty.

There’s a hospital down the Harrow Road so I went there. I couldn’t decide what to do, so I sat in Casualty till they chucked me out. It’s a pity there aren’t more places you can go and sit in at night to have a quiet think. It’s hard to think on the hoof, and if you are cold or hungry, thinking is not on your mind at all.

It seemed to me, after a while, that the best place to go was where I slept last night. Some might say it was a daft idea to go back to a place that was rousted, but I thought if the police had been there last night, it would be deserted tonight.

Twenty-seven Alma-Tadema Road is a condemned house. They say it’s unsafe. There are holes in the roof and holes in the floors, but it is perfectly safe if you are sober, tread carefully, and don’t light fires. That was what went wrong last night: we had a couple of winos in, and one of them got cold just before daybreak.

When I got there, I saw that they had nailed more boards across the front door and downstairs windows. I could get in, but it would take time. There were still people up and about so, to be on the safe side, I would have to come back later if I wanted more than a few minutes’ kip.

I walked on past and went down to the Embankment. It is quite a long walk, and by the time I got there I was hungry. Actually, I’m hungry all the time. Dawn says she thinks I must have worms and I probably do, but mostly I think it’s just my age. Someone like Bloody Mary does almost as much walking as I do, but she doesn’t seem to need half the fuel. She stopped growing years ago.

There are a lot of women like Bloody Mary, but I mention her because she was the one I picked up on the Embankment that night, huffing and puffing along with her basket on wheels.

“Oh, me poor veins,” she said, and we walked on together. I slowed down a bit so she could keep up.

“There’s a stall open by the Arches,” she said. “Couldn’t half murder a cuppa.”

She used to sing in the streets-walk up and down Oxford Street bellowing “Paper Moon” with her hand held out-but after a bad dose of bronchitis last year her voice went.

At the Arches I got us both a cup of tea and a sausage sandwich.

“Come into money, Crys?” Johnny Pavlova asked. It is his stall and he has a right to ask, because now and then when there’s no one around to see, he gives me a cup free. As he always says, he’s not a charitable institution, but catch him in the right mood and he’ll slip you one like the best of them.

All the same it reminded me to be careful.

“Christmas,” I said. “They were feeling generous down the High Street.”

“Down the High Street?” he said. “You ain’t been on that demolition site, have you? I heard they found this stiff bollock-naked there this evening.”

“Did they?” I said as if I couldn’t care less. “I didn’t hear nothing. I was just working the High Street.”

I went over and sat with Bloody Mary under the Arches. Johnny Pavlova doesn’t like us hanging too close round his stall. He says we put the respectable people off their hot dogs.

“Will you look at that moon,” Bloody Mary said, and she pulled her coats tight.

It was higher in the sky now and smaller, but there was still a good light to see by.

“Where you kipping tonight, Crystal?” she asked. I knew what she meant. A moon like that is a freezing moon this time of year.

Just then, Brainy Brian came slithering in beside us so I didn’t have to answer. He was coughing his lungs out as usual, and he didn’t say anything for a while. I think he’s dying. You can’t cough like that and live long. He used to go to college in Edinburgh, but then he started taking drugs and he failed all his exams. He did all right down here in the city because to begin with he was very pretty. But druggies don’t keep their looks any longer than they keep their promises. Now he’s got a face like a violin and ulcers all over his arms and legs.

When he recovered his breath he said, “Share your tea, Crystal?”

We’d already finished ours so we didn’t say anything for a while. But Brian was so sorry-looking, in the end I went to get another two, one for him and one for Bloody Mary. While they were sucking it up I slipped away.

“Watch yourself, Crys,” Johnny Pavlova said as I went by. He gave me a funny look.

The first thing you do when you break into a house is find another way out. A good house has to have more than one way out because you don’t want to go running like the clappers to get out the same door the Law is coming in.

The house on Alma-Tadema Road has a kitchen door through to the garden. I loosened the boards on that before lying down to sleep. I also made sure I had the snakeskin wallet safe.

I had made the right decision: there was no one but me there. A heap of damp ashes marked the spot where the winos had lit their fire, and they blew in little eddies from the draught. Otherwise nothing stirred.

I went over the house collecting all the paper and rags I could find to build myself a nest, then I curled up in it and shut my eyes.

Nighttime is not the best time for me. It’s when I can’t keep busy and in control of my thoughts that bad memories and dreams burst out of my brain. It’s hard to keep cheerful alone in the dark, so I need to be very, very tired before I’ll lie down and close my eyes. Sometimes I say things over and over in my head until I get to sleep-things like the words of a song or a poem I learned at school-over and over so there’s no spare room in my brain for the bad stuff.

That night I must have been very tired because I only got part of the way through “What’s Love Got to Do with It,” when I dropped off. Dawn used to play that song all the time when we were still living at home. She played it so often it used to drive me up the wall. But it is songs like that, songs I didn’t even know I’d learned the words to, that help me through the night nowadays.

The next thing I knew someone was coughing. I opened my eyes but it was still dark, and there was this cough, cough, cough coming my way. Brainy Brian, I thought, and relaxed a bit. It’s something you have to watch out for-people coming up on you when you’re alone in the dark.

“It’s cold,” he said when he found me. “It’s hard, hard cold out there.” He crawled into my nest. I was quite warm and I didn’t want to leave but I knew his coughing would keep me awake,

“Give us a cuddle, Crystal,” he said. “I got to get warm.”

“Shove off,” I said. His hands remind me of a fork. Some people do it to keep warm. Not me. I’ve seen too much and I want to die innocent.

He started coughing again. Then he said, “You got any dosh, Crystal?”

“Enough for a tea in the morning,” I said. I really did not want to go. It was one of my better nests and it didn’t seem fair to give it up to Brian.

“They’re looking for you,” he said. “Someone saw you in the Trenches.”

“Not me,” I said. “Who saw me?”

“You know that little kid?” he said. “Marvin, I think he’s called. Well, they hurt him bad. He said he saw you.”

“Who wants to know?” I sat up.

“Lay down,” he said, “I got to get warm.” He grabbed me and pulled me down, but he didn’t start anything so I kept still.

After a while he said, “Johnny Pavlova says you got dosh. They asked him too.”

I waited till he finished coughing. Then I said, “Who’s asking? The Law?”

“Not them,” he said. He knew something, I thought. And then I thought, he talked to Johnny Pavlova, he’s talked to Marvin, and Marvin saw me in the Trenches. Maybe Brian talked to whoever is looking for me.

I said, “Did they send you, Brian? Did they send you to find me?”

He doubled over, coughing. Later he said, “You don’t understand, Crystal. I got to get some money. I lost my fixings, and I haven’t scored for days.”

So that was that. I left him and went out the kitchen way. Brian was right-it was hard cold outside. And I was right, too-having things makes you a mark. I dumped the snake-skin wallet in the garden before I climbed over the fence. And then I climbed right back and picked it up again. Dumping the wallet wouldn’t stop anyone looking for me. Not having it would be no protection. Marvin didn’t have it and he got hurt. I wondered why they picked on Marvin to clobber. Perhaps he got the dead man’s shoes, or his coat. Perhaps they saw a little kid in a big thick coat and they recognized the coat.

No one ever looked for me before. There was no one interested. I thought maybe I should run away-somewhere up north, or maybe to the West Country. But when I ran away the first time, it was me and Dawn together. And it was difficult because we didn’t know the city. It took us ages to get sorted.

I thought about it walking down the road. The moon had gone and the sky had that dirty look it gets just before day. My nose was runny from the cold and I was hungry, so I went to the Kashmir takeaway. The Kashmir is a good one because it has a bin not twenty paces away. What happens is that when the pubs close a lot of folks want an Indian takeaway, but because they’ve been drinking they order too much and chuck what’s left over in this bin. I’ve had breakfast there many times. The great thing about a Kashmir breakfast is that although the food is cold by the time you get it, the spices are still hot, and it warms you up no end. From this point of view Indian food is the best in the city.

I felt much more cheerful after breakfast, and I found a lighted shopwindow with a doorway to sit in. It was there I had a proper look at the wallet. Before, at Dawn’s business premises, I only counted the money and redistributed it in the pockets of my coats. Now I studied the credit cards, library cards, and business stuff.

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.

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 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.

It was still coming down in buckets when we left the shop. This time it was me carrying all the bags.

I was about to go when she said, “Look, don’t be insulted, but what you need is a hot bath and somewhere to change.” She said it in a rush as if she really was afraid of hurting my feelings.

“I live up the hill,” she said. “It won’t take any time at all.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’ll get your car seats all dirty.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Please.”

And I thought, why not? She deserved the satisfaction.

She ran me a hot bath and squirted loads of scented oil in. She gave me her shampoo and a whole heap of clean towels. And then my lovely lady mark left me alone in her bathroom.

I swear she had tears in her eyes when I came out in my new clothes.

“Crystal,” she said, “you look like a new person.” This was just what I wanted to hear.

“You look quite like my own daughter when she was younger,” she said. Which was a good thing because the Law and the bastards who beat Marvin up weren’t looking for someone who looked like my lady mark’s daughter. And no one would bat an eyelash if she had a fifty-pound note. My lady mark’s daughter would not turn into an old woman who had to bend over to root around in dustbins.

And nor, I thought, would I, if I could help it.

She cooked me eggs and potatoes for my tea, and when I left she gave me a fiver and her green umbrella.

It was a shame really to have pinched her soap. But you can’t break old habits all at once.

She even wanted to give me another ride in her car. But I wouldn’t let her. She was a lovely lady, but I didn’t think she’d understand about Dawn. Lovely ladies don’t.

I could give lessons about what to do when you find your mark, and the last one would be-don’t push your luck. Because if you push your luck and let them take over, they start giving you what they think you need instead of what you want. If my lady mark knew too much about Dawn and what was really going on, she’d have got in touch with the Social Services all over again. And far from being a lovely lady she’d have turned into an interfering old cow.

I was doing her a favor, really. I’m sure she’d rather be a lovely lady than an interfering old cow.

No one who saw me knocking at Dawn’s door in Padding-ton would have known I’d spent all day down a drain. Dawn didn’t.

“’Struth, Crystal,” she said when she opened up. “You look like one of those girls from that snob school up the hill from ours.”

I knew what she meant and I didn’t like it much. But I was lucky really. I’d caught her at a slack time when she was just lying around reading her comic and playing records. And now I was all clean and respectable, she didn’t mind if I sat on her bed.

“You still need your hair cut,” Dawn said.

She got out her scissors and manicure set, and we sat on her bed while she cut my hair and did my nails. Dawn could be a beautician if she wanted. The trouble is she’d never stand for the training and the money wouldn’t be enough. She’s used to her creature comforts now, is Dawn.

It was a bit like the old days-Dawn and me together listening to records, and her fiddling with my hair. I didn’t want to spoil it but I had to ask about the watch.

Because when I was in the lovely lady’s bathroom I’d had another search through Philip Walker-Jones’s wallet.

Dawn said, “What about the watch?” And she rubbed round my thumb with her little nail file.

“It was real gold,” I said, to remind her. “Your Christmas present.”

“I can’t wear a man’s watch,” she said. Dawn likes to be very dainty sometimes.

“Where is it?” I said.

“You want it back?” she asked. “Fine Christmas present if you want it back.”

I looked at her and she looked at me. Then she said, “Well, Crystal, if you must know, I was going to give it to my boyfriend for Christmas.”

“It wasn’t for him,” I said. “It was for you.”

“A man’s watch?” she said, and laughed. “I was going to get his name engraved on the back. ‘Eternal love, from Dawn.’ But there wasn’t room. There were all these numbers on the back, and the man at the jewelers said I’d lose too much gold having them rubbed down.”

“Hah!” I said. I felt clever. Because all it takes is some good hot food to help you think. And it had come to me in a flash just after I’d put down my last mouthful of egg and potato.

I said, “Bet there were twenty-five of them.”

“Loads of numbers,” she said. She put the nail file back in her manicure set.

“If you must know, Crystal,” she said, “I popped it. And I bought him a real gold cigarette lighter instead.”

And she gave me the pawn ticket.

She hadn’t got much for a solid gold watch. Dawn isn’t practical like I am, so the pawnbroker cheated her. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t her watch in the first place, and besides, it would cost me less to get back. If I wanted it back.

Poor Dawn. She needs me to take care of her. She doesn’t think she does because she thinks her boyfriend’s doing it. She’s not like me. She doesn’t want to look after herself. That’s not her job. And if I told her what I’d been through today to solve my own problems she’d say I was a fool.

But look at it this way-I’d given Detective Sergeant Michael Sussex the slip. I’d dressed up so he wouldn’t know me again if I ran slap-bang into him. Nor would Brainy Brian. So he couldn’t finger me to the bastards who beat up little Marvin. I’d had a bath and I’d had eggs and potatoes for my tea. I had enough money to sleep in a bed for as many nights as I wanted. And now I had the watch.

Or I could have it any time I wanted. But it was safer where it was. I still didn’t know why the number was so important but I was sure it would be worth something to me sooner or later.

I saw Dawn looking at me.

“Don’t get too cocky, Crystal,” she said. “You might look like a girl from the snob school, but you’re still just like me.”

That’s how much she knew.