Don't Get Caught

Flashback 6

Alicante, 2016

Christina is unable to stop shaking as she tells her story to the police. Her partner, Bernard, had been out on the balcony while she and her son, Malcolm, had been cooling off in the room having been out in the midday sun. Bernard had had a lot to drink over lunch and taken a can of lager from the minibar with him to the balcony.

She thought she'd heard him shouting; she assumed at someone on the street below. He would often get quite angry after a few beers. She had turned the volume on the TV up to stop Malcolm hearing. The next thing she knew there had been a blood-curdling scream. She'd run to the balcony to see her partner far below. She'd run downstairs and out the front to find him dead.

Danny feels sick as he gives a separate account. They'd all been out for lunch. That matched. But he said he hadn't heard anything coming from the adjacent balcony, despite him being out on his own in the next room. He said he'd looked across to see Bernard leaning over the edge to watch something going on below, only to lose his balance and topple over. He'd seen him fall in slow motion and hit the ground, unable to do anything to stop it. He too had rushed out of his room and out of the hotel, calling the emergency services on the way.

Malcolm, the fourteen-year-old son, has a slightly different story too. Bernard and his mum had been arguing over something; he didn't know what. Bernard had drunk a lot over lunch and had gotten really angry. Back in the room, his anger had exploded and he'd stormed out to the balcony, screaming and shouting as he went. The next thing he knew Bernard had thrown himself over the railings.

But all three stories had one clear conclusion: Bernard fell. Case closed.

London, 2017

A little old woman with white fluffy hair, tanned leathery skin, and a silver cane has become well-known at the local Brixton police station over the last twelve months. Sometimes she brings her green wheeled shopping bag full of groceries, other times a cat in a carry case, its blue eyes piercing through the grating, hissing at people who get too close.

Whenever someone agrees to indulge her, she has the same thing to say. "I'd like to report a crime, please."

Each time she leaves before she provides any details. The staff now recognise her and dismiss her on sight as a crazy old bat.

Today, the policeman who knows her rolls his eyes. He's had a bad day already and Mrs Crazy Old Bat Lady is the final straw. He unceremoniously ushers her out the door, but this time she is reluctant to leave. "I saw a murder."

Finally, the policeman has his interest piqued. A murder case is exactly what he needs to break free of the monotony of the day-to-day. Stabbings and shootings are commonplace amongst London gangs, but there were never witnesses. Ever. He gives her a questioning look as he tucks his shirt tighter into his trousers, straightening up.

The woman leans on her cane. "I said, I saw a murder."

The pair go into a small interview room to take the statement. He should bring in a colleague but he wants this one for himself.

"Could I have a cup of tea, love?" she asks as she settles herself in the chair, her cat in its case carefully placed on the table in front of her.

"I'll send someone to get you one. First, tell me what you saw." He has no patience for this woman.

"It was a year ago. I was on holiday in Spain—Alicante, and I saw a man push another man off a balcony."