greener on the outside
Excerpt
'I’m arresting you for murder … you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Si had heard the words being read. He knew they were addressed to him. They were still making no sense. They’d spent the last hour calling him see until he’d refused to answer any more questions for registering his personal details. He tried not to think of where he was, in a police interview room just off Earl’s Court.
‘So, it’s Si as in sigh, not see?’
‘That’s right. As in sigh.’
The officer nodded. ‘Do you understand your rights, Mr Seikibo?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, the alleged victim told his friends that he’d got into a some sort of a ruckus with you down the back of some alley. It happened just after he came out of the Brandywine club in Leicester Square.’
‘Sorry, what kind of a ruckus was this?’
The detective produced another photograph, evidently a still from a CCTV camera that showed Si passing a man in the club. The other man’s face was obscured, but Si’s darker features showed up clearly.
A flash of paranoia hit him. Were they developing equipment to pick up only black people on camera? The image had caught him frowning in the direction of the victim. It looked as if he were saying something to the man. His entire stance was aggressive and threatening.
Si studied the picture of himself more closely. His right hand was fisted and slightly pulled back at waist height. It looked as if he was about to punch the guy. As far as proving intent to cause GBH went, it was a good shot.
Si looked at the detective, making sure he maintained eye contact throughout. With greater emphasis he repeated, ‘I don’t know who he is.’
The officer ignored this. ‘You look angry. Did he say something to you? Offend you in some way?’
Si heard the clear implication behind the words. Maybe he said something racist to you, and you lost it. Well, in everyday life—and if it’d been someone else instead of him—that might have been entirely feasible. London was a mad mix of tolerance and intolerance where people flipped out at the slightest imagined offence.
But it had never been his style. He liked to stay cool. He’d perfected the art of pretending not to understand anything designed to rile him, deliberately misreading the context, letting racists see that their offensive behaviour didn’t offend them. That got their goat more than anything else did.
It was also a common stereotype that all black men were aggressive and overly sensitive to conflict. But the image did look as if something was about to kick off. However, Si didn’t recall doing anything out of the ordinary other than squeezing past people to get out of the club. He reiterated. ‘No one said anything to offend me, officer. So, what have you arrested me for? Giving a passing stranger a sideways glance in the club?’
‘Of course not, Mr Seikibo. Unfortunately, the police are working on a report of a missing person, the description of which matches Mr Singleton. The last place we had a sighting of him and from the evidence gives us reason to believe there’s been foul play.’
Si couldn’t help it. The laughter spilled from him without caution. He knew it was a mistake the minute he did it. It was just that foul play seemed …such an archaic term. The policeman sounded like a character from one of those black and white British thrillers, back in the day when even the servants spoke with silver spoons in their mouths.
But he sensed immediately the impact of his actions. The officer’s entire body language changed, shifting subtly from public servant to an observer with subjective opinions. Opinions that might now override all feasible evidence. ‘You think a man’s unexplained disappearance is funny, Mr Seikibo?’
‘I would never think that.’
‘Then why did you laugh?’
‘It was just the term … foul play. It seemed a bit …’
Noting the expression on the officer’s face, Si trailed off. If he thought his explanation would help, he was wrong. Even to his ears, his attempt to justify his laughter sounded lame and facile. As the officer’s face screwed up, Si realised he wasn’t going to find any friends here.
After a tense moment of silence, the detective continued. ‘As I was saying, Mr Singleton was last seen outside the club where the two of you had your interaction. He was going down Lovington Way in Leicester Square leading to Vintners Alley. Reports have a sighting of you in the same place. Do you have anything to say about this?’
‘Not half!' That was one of Fan's favourite sayings. Si wasn't sure of the full meaning, but its emphasis was everything. 'I may have been in the area, but I don’t know who this man is. I’ve never seen or spoken to him in my life.’
The detective said nothing to this, but pulled out a plastic see through wrapper from the padded envelope. ‘Do you recognise this item?’
Si leaned in, then leaned in some more. ‘It looks like my scarf. What are those smears on it?’
The detective looked up, evidently taking his time to savour the moment. It was a wasted effort, Si thought. His interrogator’s smirk was shouting the answer all over the interview room. Marshalling his senses, he brought his brain cells into play as the officer said, ‘They’re blood. So, what are you thinking now, Mr Seikibo?’
‘I’m thinking it’s time for me to request a lawyer.’
A man wrongly convicted of murder must dream his way to freedom