Phoenix and the Bag Man

Chapter 4: Complications

Mum needed to do some shopping and wanted to take Katyia with her. Her mood, her 'black dog', hadn't returned and she and Mum were getting on like a house on fire. Always made me smile, that expression. Winston Churchill's 'black dog' came up in a History class once. It's what he called his depression. At the end of the lesson the teacher asked for any questions. One kid asked what the dog's name was. In all seriousness.

Anyway it was agreed to combine shopping with police interrogation, er, interview. Dad said O.K. he'd take me to the police station while they shopped. Mum said no we would all go shopping, all go to the police station. So, of course, that's what we did.

I hate shopping but as I was a little short of brownie points I went along with everything. It was weird, sitting in the Mall drinking coffee, Mum and Katyia chatting and Dad reading a paper. In my mind I cruised through all the interview rooms from scenes in TV crime series I could remember. What was it really like in a police station? I did feel nervous, but excited too. Bit like the broken lamp incident, I felt I knew just how bad it might get, and that wasn't very. It's uncertainty that's scary, not knowing. But I thought I knew and I was excited at the prospect, curious. The time came and off we all trooped, out the Mall and up towards the square where the Police Station was. It looked like a second- rate office block.

As I said, I'm a bad liar, and it all started to go wrong quite quickly. They took me to a room where they took my fingerprints and they took a swab from inside my mouth for DNA. They explained to me and Dad it was so they could eliminate me from the crime scene. Mum elected to stay outside with Katyia and Dad came into the interview room with me. They explained to him that he was the Appropriate Adult, how he was there to look out for my interests, how he could intervene at any time or ask for a solicitor to be present. Dad said Oh I don't think there will be any need for a solicitor.

It was just like on TV. A table in a little room with chairs either side, a tape device at one end and a microphone. There wasn't a two-way mirror as far as I could see but there was a CCTV camera. Maybe the mirrors were 'old hat', as my Dad would have said. Red was there and that WPC White again. I told my story again but quite early on I hit a problem.

"You say that you had never seen the deceased before, but yesterday, when I spoke to you, you said you had seen him once before?' Oh crap. Did I say that? I didn't remember - or him taking notes either.

"Well, er I'd seen a tramp there, outside the house that is, but I don't know if it was him or not."

"And when was this?"

Oh boy, what to say, be careful Mic. Dad jumped in.

"Just tell the truth Michael, there's nothing to worry about, not like you've done anything wrong."

"Except a spot of trespassing," said Red. "As far as we know." Dad looked crestfallen. Maybe he thought I was starting to turn into a project. A PC came in to the room and handed Red a note. Just like on the TV. Red looked up at me sharply and said:

"Well, what's the answer to the question?"

In a flash of inspiration I knew it had to be long enough ago not to put me at the house at the same time as the old guy's death.

"A couple of weeks ago I suppose." I thought; if I say it is the old man I saw then they wouldn't even look for anyone else. I'd be off the hook. "It could well have been the old man." I said. I was sorry I said it straightaway. I saw Phoenix's crumpled face in my mind's eye and somehow I knew, without doubt, I was helping a murderer walk free. But now I'd said it I couldn't take it back, could I? They'd know I was a liar and everything would start to unravel. I had to keep my Mum and Dad safe, I told myself, and that was the most important thing. And, OK, to keep myself from getting hurt.