“Well?”
“I don’t know. It just looked like the kind of place where it would be a good idea to give a false name. After all, that waiter who’s just gone out was calling himself Petra, and if it comes to that, Christine’s name wasn’t really Christine, was it?”
“That’s true, but the pair of them were known all over Soho as Petra and Christine. I’ve not heard anyone addressing you as David. Except, so we’re informed, the dead person.”
“Yes, I introduced myself as David.”
“Why should you want to do that?”
So it went on, for what seemed like hours. Some of Detective Inspector Wills’s questions were pointless, some seemingly guileless, some obviously intended to catch him out. The inspector, patiently and ploddingly, was taking him round and round in circles; but Alex could not help noticing that each otherwise repetitive circuit yielded some fresh and, for all he knew, possibly incriminating fragment of information. He had begun to feel very tired, exhausted in fact. Perhaps that was the idea.
Eventually, after he had been encouraged to drink a glass of water as if some physical ordeal were ahead of him, he and Detective Inspector Wills between them cobbled together a statement which was typed up by the constable on an old-fashioned manual portable. It was given to Alex to read through, which he did with blurred and gritty eyes.
His name was Alexander Bernard Singer of 14 Quarry Lane, South Higginshaw, West Yorkshire, LS15 2QR. He also rented a bed-sitter at 5B Station Place in central Leeds. He was a student of media studies at Leeds Metropolitan University.
He had a girl-friend, Sheilagh Lyons, known to her friends as Selby, a probationer nurse at Leeds General Infirmary. They were not engaged. Selby was a town in East Yorkshire. He did not know why she had named herself after an obscure town, and had counselled her against it. After a series of minor quarrels, Selby had decided to come down to London to think things out, as she had put it. He had reason to believe she was in Soho. After two weeks, when he had not heard from her and she was refusing to accept calls on her mobile, he had determined to track her down in London and have it out with her. By have it out he meant establish how he stood with her. He had hitched a lift to London, intending to remain only twenty-four hours, since he had university business in Leeds.
Once in Soho, he had made no serious enquiries about the possibility of Selby’s whereabouts, as there did not seem to be any point. He knew that a friend of hers would have told her of his movements, and he felt that if she wished to make herself known to him, she would do so.
He had become acquainted with several interesting people during the day, among them Mr James Flood, a newspaper reporter, who had become something of a drinking companion. Whilst in Mr Flood’s company he had thought he had spotted Selby leaving a public house and had run after her. The person had resembled her from the rear but proved not to be her. They had a brief conversation.
During the course of the day he had met Ms Jenny Wise, the actress, with whom he had had sex at her invitation, and Mr Brendan Barton, the television personality, who had given him the sum of two hundred pounds for correctional therapy. He had also met a former model known to him only as Else, who had sat for a famous artist whose name he could no longer remember, and whilst at a book-launch party he had found himself at, he had presented said Else with a volume priced at £29.95. He had no motive in making such a gesture.
Much later in the evening he had been sheltering from the rain in the doorway of what proved to be the Transylvania Club. He did not know it was a transvestite club. He had never himself worn women’s clothing, nor had any wish to. In the lobby he met the person he had previously mistaken for his friend Selby — a Ms Christine, or as it would turn out, Mr Christopher Yardley, who invited him into the club, where he was signed in under the name of D. Singleton.
He did not know why he had given a false name, except that he had thought it was the done thing to give false names in Soho drinking clubs. He had never been in Soho before.
He would admit that in an earlier, informal statement he had erroneously told Detective Inspector Wills that until encountering the body in Hog Court he had never set eyes on Christopher, a.k.a. Christine Yardley, in his life before. He had said this because he did not wish to become involved, since he needed to get back to Leeds. He now realised that withholding information in this manner was an offence.
He could not agree that the reason he had given “Christine” a false name for himself was because he was hoping to have sexual intercourse with “her”, or failing her consent, that he intended to rape her in Hog Court. It was true that he had hoped to have sexual intercourse with “Christine” but had gone off the idea when “she” turned out to be a man. He most certainly was not repelled by the discovery, but he had no idea how to go about having sexual congress with a transvestite. In fact given that he found himself in Soho, he wouldn’t have minded finding out.
It was true that what with Ms Jenny Wise and Mr Brendan Barton he had had some interesting sexual encounters during the day and had been hoping for another, but he was not a sexual predator. It was just that not having seen Selby for over two weeks he was feeling sexually frustrated. It had to be remembered that he was a normal young man.
He did not speak to anyone else at the Transylvania Club.
After leaving the Transylvania Club he had gone to meet his friend Mr James Flood at Gerry’s Club, by arrangement. He had spoken briefly to Ms Jenny Wise but she had more or less snubbed him. With Mr Flood, he had then gone on to the Blue Note Club. He had not attempted to pick anyone up at the Blue Note Club.
Whilst at the Blue Note Club he had begun to feel melancholy and thought he would attempt to make contact with Selby on his mobile. He had gone out into Greek Street for this purpose but was unable to make contact. Whilst in Greek Street he had felt the need to urinate. Not wishing to go back down into the Blue Note until his mood of depression had passed, he crossed the street to Hog Court.
Together with Ms Else, whom he gathered was in Hog Court with the same intention as himself, he had discovered the body of “Christine” Yardley.
He was sorry to have left it to Else to explain matters to the police. He supposed he had panicked. He could not think what there was to panic about.
He had never been in Hog Court before that moment. Whilst he had been in many places in Soho during the course of the day, and could not remember them all, he would certainly have remembered having been in Hog Court.
He did not know why he would remember having been in Hog Court. He just knew that he had not been there.
He had not gone back into Hog Court looking for a Swiss Army knife. He did not own a Swiss Army knife, never had done.
If Else had thought she had seen him pick up something whilst he was retching, she was mistaken. He had merely been stooping to see if there was tomato in his vomit, as indeed there was, as always, even though he had had nothing with tomato in it. You could call it research, something to tell the lads back in Leeds. By no means was he picking up a –
Swiss Army knife. Fooking Swiss Army knife! He had got it. Bloke in wunner them boozers last night, out on that pub crawl with James. Same little bloke he had seen slinking out of Hog Court while he was waiting for a pee.
“Describe him,” said Detective Inspector Wills.
Alex described him as best he could.
“And you say he was carrying a folded raincoat.”
“Yes.”
“Describe it.”
“I don’t know that I could. It was just a raincoat.”
“But you’d recognise it if you saw it again, yes?”