“Let’s see if Mike will do us cups of tea. One moment.” She steps out, has a word. “Oh, and can you bring his business cards? In the wallet.”
Mike the custody sergeant yells at someone to put the kettle on, then brings me my entire bag of possessions so I can’t accuse him of losing anything. I pull a few business cards out, hand over one for Tanya, one for Mike, because even the filth don’t deserve to burn alive in fires. There was a huge tower block fire a few years ago now, where over seventy people died. I’m going to have to give evidence when it finally comes to court, because I rejected part of the initial plans, with some of the materials that someone else eventually signed off. Anyone creating flats, or a workplace, really needs an expert fire assessment to ensure all the modern complex materials work together.
Mike is impressed by my credentials and job title. I tell him, “Put it on your break room wall. Anyone buying a new flat, or a conversion, get in touch and ensure it’s been signed off by someone like us.” Excellent, he now thinks I’m probably OK. Probably a wee misunderstanding led to my arrest, is all. Good. He can relay that to the others. Not that that’s sufficient, of course. The man’s not stupid: he knows plenty of criminals look totally innocent but turn out to have done terrible things. But what I’m not is one of their tedious pisshead regulars.
Any more.
Tanya pushes the door to again, clearly feeling safe with both me and my plastic mug of tea. “Right. You were about to tell me what happened. You and your husband, sorry, mystery man, had just exited the building site and he’d locked up.”
“I said I didn’t want him mentioned! Could say, ‘I had the keys and looked round’. Or maybe ‘I was alone and looked through the gates’?”
“I can’t state as fact anything where you’ve told me the opposite. But I can confirm you were in the alleyway, so you had a look because your spouse is working on that project.”
“Husband.”
“I know, you said. But we don’t want to let any homophobia kick in before we have to. So you were there. It’s up to them to prove anyone was with you. I can no-comment just as well as you can.”
“Nice. Anyway. As you said, I was there, can’t really deny it. That’s where they found me.”
“Yes. I’ve got questions as to how that happened.”
“Mm. Me too. As far as I was concerned – having magically found a passer-by, perhaps – that alleyway was private. The streets were deserted. No-one goes to work round there on a Saturday night, no-one lives on that street, yet.”
“Except for the one person you happened to have picked up. I mean, they saw you with someone.”
“Mm. But I’m not stupid. I looked round to check no-one was coming along the road, and the alley’s a bit bent. It was nearly dusk, too. Figured we were in the shadows, anyone who did walk past would have to be really looking…”
“Good point. Let me get Streetview up. Pretend this is the interview. So you’d come down this street here. Were you alone?”
“No comment.”
“Did you find a man on the street?”
“No comment.”
“Had you arranged to meet a man by this building site?”
“No comment.”
“What’s the longest you’ve gone ‘no comment’ for?”
“No comment.”
She laughs. “That was a serious question! We can probably get this down to being NFA’d – no further action, not worth anyone’s time to pursue. Or at least not more than a fine, and ideally not on the SOR – the Register – but if someone wants to push this, it could take a while in interview.”
I’m fine with that. “I’ve had a fair few rounds of being held in custody for the full 48 hours before being charged. Or released. Always released, I think.”
“What was the alleged crime?” She’s curious.
I quote, “‘Being a fookin’ stoodent.’ And probably drunk-and-disorderly. I mean, that summed up most of my weekends when I was at college! When I actually got charged with something, like when they thought I’d assaulted an officer, or when I ended up in a fight and we both got done, those tended to be quicker. Interview, charge, then get told to fuck off on bail. Though that last one, the one when I wanted a cab, that went on a while. Like, hours. The original charge was GBH…” Grievous Bodily Harm, which should mean life-changing injuries. The cop barely bled from a cut when I knocked him over, but the witnesses were four other police, and let’s say I hadn’t made a good impression.
“And your brief got that down to common assault, not even aggravated? Impressive. Who did you have?”
I give the name of the barrister. “A friend suggested he’d be worth it. Kept my job, sorted my life out, so I reckon he was.”
“I’ll say! Right, sounds like you know the drill. Stay quiet or no comment, please don’t piss them off. Saturday night investigating officers are probably delighted with something a bit different to the usual, so they might put a tad more effort in, if you know what I mean. Also, I want to know what evidence they’ve got on you! You mentioned a photo, but how did that happen? Something doesn’t add up.”
She drags her hand through the scarlet hair. “OK, I need to know. Let’s say you’ve found a man, or turned up with him, and you’re outside the gate. Then what happened?” She smiles sternly, which looks even more out of place under the unprofessional hair. “I should point out that I’m quite unshockable! Certainly some gay sex won’t do it. It’ll be a relief to hear about something consensual for a change! Assuming this was?”
report “Oh god, yes! Fully consensual on both sides.” I give her a grin. “Enthusiastic consent, even.”
“Lovely! If you have to explain to the lot upstairs, could you try not to look quite so gleeful? Just quietly satisfied, perhaps?”
I adjust my face to be more serious. “He was very sweet.”
“Better. Who made the first move?”
“I think it was me. I mentioned a reward. He decided it should be for me, and knelt down.” I grimace. “He got my cock out and was sucking me off all nice – very nice, actually – when I suggested he do what he really wanted.”
“Which would have been?”
I give her my biggest gay smile. “Burying his cock deep in my sweet slutty arse!”
She chuckles again. “Lovely. Shall we rephrase? He ‘could have penetrative sex’ with you.”
“Sounds so much more boring.”
“Doesn’t it just,” she replies sarcastically. “So presumably, he obliged?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Now, this point will be crucial. Did he or you put your penis away?”
I’m really not sure. “I don’t think we did. As I said, we thought we were in a private place.”
“Mm. But it does mean you committed the factual for indecent exposure – you had your cock out in public. Which they will argue also had the mens rea – ‘intentional exposure, to alarm or cause distress’.
“To the non-existent passers-by?” I’m sarcastic.
“Except you’re claiming there was one, who may or may not have been your husband – no, don’t tell me – who agreed to fuck you, which does slightly scupper your argument that it was private. Not to mention you still showing it off when the cops caught you red… red-faced!”
I ignore that last bit, and her suppressed laughter. Instead, I suggest, “What if I’d brought a random with, or met him there, because I knew it would be discreet?”