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Back I Know What I Saw Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for I Know What I Saw
  3. By the Same Author
  4. Dedication Page
  5. 1
  6. 2
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  54. Now read on for a preview
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  59. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

‘No. I don’t know. When I left she looked dead, but she could be alive. You have to send an ambulance. Do something.’

‘She looked dead?’ he says.

I glare at him.

‘The address you gave, Farm Street? In Mayfair?’ Blake asks, cutting in.

‘Yes,’ I say, ‘42B. Black door.’

It’s only when they have stopped the tape that I realise I am crying. The tears have been silently streaming down my face and ponding on the table, drop by drop – cohesion and adhesion. Suddenly the exhaustion overtakes me and I collapse into the grief. Blake and Conway say nothing for a beat and then finally I hear the scrape of a chair as Conway gets up.

‘Okay, Mr Shute, we are going to continue our investigations into this assault. We’ll be following up some of what you have told us about your whereabouts at the time of Mr Squire’s stabbing and I’m authorising the sending of your items for forensic testing. Till then you’ll be released on police bail. We need a bail address.’

I look at Conway. ‘Bail address?’

‘We could always hold you here in police custody if you’d prefer, sir.’ The eyes have lost whatever kindness I thought I had detected in him.

Blake gives him a look and then softens her eyes for me.

‘Is there anyone at all you could stay with? Temporarily?’ she asks.

I think for a moment, but there’s no one.

‘No,’ I say. I am led quietly back to my cell. As the door shuts I call out to Blake, ‘How long are you going to keep me here?’

The hatch opens with a clunk. ‘Mr Shute. We need an address. If you can’t give us one, we have no way of making sure you’ll turn up when we need you to come in again.’

My heart begins to race. ‘You can’t keep me here,’ I say.

‘No. Not indefinitely. But without an address we might have to hold you and let the magistrates decide bail. And to be honest, Mr Shute, without an address I don’t fancy your chances.’

‘Wait,’ I say, desperate now. ‘If I just don’t have an address, I don’t know what you expect me to do.’

‘Without an address I don’t know what you expect me to do,’ she says, and closes the hatch.

10

Thursday

When I shut my eyes, these walls move silently towards me, to compress me. And then as I flick open my eyes, they move soundlessly back. They won’t be caught out. They are relentless.

This time when I open my eyes, I shall keep them open. The air in here is stale and smells of disinfectant. My stomach turns a little when I absorb this. I have to get out of here. There is air outside, just feet away, clear and crisp and wet and fragrant. Cold February air.