I Know What I Saw

‘Interview? I’m not ready for an interview. What new evidence? What are they going to ask me?’ I say, the panic climbing.

‘Stop,’ she says. ‘We’ve already been through this. It’s “no comment”. I don’t know what the new evidence is, something from the search, but it doesn’t matter. You’re way too hazy about the details to give them answers.’

‘I’m not hazy,’ I say, following her into the reception area. ‘You have to understand that I remember what I remember really clearly. I just – I just can’t be sure I’m remembering what I saw or if I’m remembering what I think I saw.’

‘Or when you’re remembering it from.’

‘But I think I saw her being killed. Surely that’s something I should be saying? If I say nothing, you yourself said it would look terrible.’ I track her to the pavement and stand there as she hails a passing cab.

‘Paddington Green Police Station,’ she says, getting in. The driver tuts at the pointless fare and then scowls when he sees me getting in too.

‘Look, Xander. You can’t say on tape, I’m not sure if it might have been me. You can’t even really say it to me. I’m borderline being professionally embarrassed here. If you say that in the interview, you may as well not even have a trial.’

The taxi lurches off.

‘But I changed my mind about that. I told you. I’m certain it wasn’t me. I couldn’t have done it.’

She turns her face and forces her eyes into mine.

‘When a murder suspect is asked whether he murdered a person, an innocent one says, “No, I didn’t”, not “No, I couldn’t.” Do you see what I’m saying?’

I know she’s right, but there is life between the blacks and whites in my non-lawyer’s world. There’s a part of me that feels with conviction that if I explained it properly, with context, I could make them see what I mean. I have at least this in my arsenal. I have the ability to speak logically and clearly and sincerely.

‘No comment then,’ I say.

The taxi screeches to a halt and we scramble out. Jan hands over what seems like too much money for such a short journey and then slams the door shut. She carries on speaking to me as we walk.

‘Xander, trust me. Whatever is going on in that head, you need to focus. You bring every bit of attention you can. You’re going to need it.’

I nod as we walk through the doors and watch with admiration as Jan negotiates our way in with calm assurance. We are shown politely to a room and as we wait Jan rehearses with me the two words I need to say.

‘Look, they’re bastards, these guys. They’ll pretend to be all pally but they are not your friends. They are there to nail you. They will keep telling you it’s your choice to follow my advice or not. That you’re the one who’s going to be on trial. And Don’t you want to get on tape your version of events? They’ll try all that. And what they’re doing is making you feel stupid for saying “no comment”. But – and listen to me carefully – if you want any hope of seeing life outside four walls this side of the next twenty or thirty years, you’ll do as I say. No. Fucking. Comment. Got it?’

I nod.

‘I need to hear the words, Xander.’

‘No fucking comment,’ I say. She reacts. Just enough of a movement of the mouth to be recognised as a smile.

When he comes to collect us, Conway is skittish. Something about having Jan here has put him on edge.

‘Come on through, Xander,’ he says. Pally. Jan looks at me as if to say ‘I told you.’

We follow him to an interview suite and Blake is already there. She stands and shakes our hands.

‘Can I get you some water?’ she asks.

We shake our heads and the tape starts as soon as we sit. Blake does the introductions and then repeats the caution. This time the words clang in my ears. You don’t have to say anything but if you fail to mention when questioned … harm your defence …

‘My client will be exercising his right to silence throughout this interview,’ Jan says in a way that makes her sound bored, but really is signalling confidence.

‘Obviously that is your right,’ says Conway. ‘You can follow your solicitor’s advice but at the end of the day it is just advice. She isn’t the one who’s going to be going to trial—’

Jan sees something and quickly leans forward in her seat.

‘To trial, Officer? Are you charging Mr Shute?’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet, do we? Depends on what happens in this interview.’

‘Does it?’ she says. ‘You know that if you have enough evidence to charge my client, then this interview shouldn’t be happening at all.’

Conway shifts about, loosens his collar. This dance isn’t one he is good at.

‘I’m well aware of that, Ms Cullen. Now, as we were saying, there are a few questions we would like your comments on.’

I wait as Blake looks down at a file of papers. She seems less than pleased but I can’t precisely describe how she seems. Embarrassed? Irritated?