* * *
The interview room was as hot as the corridor, with the same brown metal and plastic chairs. The solicitor looked too young to know what he was doing, and her first thought was that he would be no use to her. But she felt calmer as he gripped her hand, looked firmly into her eyes and said, ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you out of here.’
His own eyes were a startling blue and he had the childish good looks of a singer in a boy band. They had five minutes together before the start of the interview. She told him what she planned to say. She was very clear. He nodded and said, ‘Right then, over to you.’
A man and a woman in plain clothes arrived. The man turned on a tape and gave his name and rank and that of his colleague, explaining that Natasha Baker had been arrested at 5:30 p.m. that day and that they were asking her questions about an allegation of shoplifting. What time had Natasha entered Morley’s department store?
‘About five p.m.’
‘Why did you go there?’
‘To buy stuff of course. Why else would I go to Morley’s?’
‘To steal?’
‘No way.’
‘What was in your mind as you entered the store?’
‘I needed a treat. Luke and I spent the most of the day hanging around South London Criminal Court waiting to give evidence. I was beaten up six months ago and the case was listed for today, only some other stuff overran and we got on late. We were on our way home when I decided to pop into Morley’s, buy something nice to cheer myself up. I couldn’t talk to Luke anyway ’cos I was in the middle of giving evidence. He went home to start the supper.’
‘Go on.’
‘I should have gone straight home. When I got into the store I started to feel woozy. I told you, I’m type 1 diabetic. I need to eat regularly. Pregnancy only makes it worse. I picked up the perfume, meaning to pay, only I stopped to have a cereal bar. I carry them round with me. Next thing there’s some emergency, one of the customers collapsed and everyone starts rushing about. My memory’s a bit vague after that. On my way out, this Indian woman stopped me and made me turn out my bag.’
‘The store detective gives a slightly different version. She says you waited to see if anyone was looking and slipped the perfume into your bag. You didn’t eat a cereal bar. You went straight to the exit. You had left the store and were about to cross the road when she stopped you.’
‘That could be partly true. Like I said, I was woozy. My memories are not that clear. What I can say is I had no intention of going off without paying for something. That would be crazy. I’m a barrister, for Christ’s sake. You think I’d risk my career for a bottle of perfume?’
‘It certainly seems surprising.’
‘I wanted to go back and pay for the stuff, only the stupid woman wouldn’t let me. So now I’m here wasting everyone’s time.’
The male officer announced the time and said he was turning off the tape.
‘Wait here with your solicitor, Mrs Baker. We need to check a couple of things.’
He and his sidekick left the room.
‘What d’you reckon?’ Natasha asked the baby solicitor.
‘I reckon they’ll shelve it. They can’t afford the personnel. I’m surprised they even brought you in. They’re not bothering with shoplifters these days. Shootings, terrorism, hate crime, cyber-crime, they’ve got enough to deal with. There’s been another knifing on Moorlands today.’
Something quivered inside her. It was a huge estate. There was often trouble there. The chance of Luke getting caught up were minimal. The shooting pains came back, and she needed to stand and walk about.
‘We live on Moorlands,’ she said, pacing the tiny room, thinking ahead. When all this was over, when she started the CPS job, they would move. She wasn’t bringing up her child on a south London council estate.
‘I wouldn’t worry. These things blow up and die down. Drug gangs. You must be used to it.’
‘I’ll never get used to it,’ she said. She could hear the officers approaching. She stood straight and tall to give herself strength. The door opened, and the two officers walked slowly back in, looking grave.
‘Please sit down, Mrs Baker.’
Her heart lurched. What now? Had something happened to Luke?
‘We’ve just received a report regarding your prints. It seems there’s a match.’
A chill ran through her and she reached for the edge of the chair. Her solicitor held it steady as she sat down. Then he sat down himself. Once again, she was glad of his presence.
‘But that’s absurd.’
‘Leicester. 2013. Name of Lola Tondowski.’ The officer smiled as if he were delighted to have found something concrete at last.
The police in Leicester had given her a caution. When she joined Lincoln’s Inn, just before being called to Bar, she had signed a declaration to say that she had no criminal record. It was true. A caution was not a record. And she was Natasha now. Lola was someone else. She turned to the solicitor, not because he could do anything to help but because there was no one else to turn to. He addressed the officers.
‘May I speak to my client?’
‘Couple of minutes. We’ll wait outside.’ The officers stood up and left the room.
‘I can deal with this,’ said Natasha.
‘Give a no comment interview. We can discuss tactics later.’
‘No. I’ll tell them the truth.’
‘Which is?’
‘It’ll be fine. You’ll see.’
He raised his eyebrows but did not contradict her, only reached for the door handle, opened the door and invited the police officers back in. They set up the tape with the new timing and she launched into her story before they had a chance to question her. Better to set the mood, give her version of events before they could twist things.
‘I was just starting my law course. My father – my adoptive father, that is – was very ill. To be honest, I was a bit of a mess. The course was tough. I was working all hours to support myself, so I never got to know the other students. Taking the dress was a spur of the moment thing. I had so little money. I was depressed, worried about the course, worried about Dad. I was living in student accommodation. I was lonely. That’s no excuse. I know. I knew it then. But I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t know why.’
She could talk herself out of this. She made her voice shake, not too much, but enough to convince them she was genuine, which, in a way, she was.
‘It was wrong. I absolutely know that. Only I so wanted to go the Bar. When I got picked up I was terrified. I knew if I got in trouble that would blow everything. So, I gave another name. Lola’s my birth name.’
‘So. Who is Natasha Baker?’
‘That was the name I was given when I was adopted.’
‘How did you persuade the Leicester police that you were Lola?’
‘I had an International Student Card. A fake. I had it made when I was seventeen to help get into clubs.’
‘You were twenty-three when you were arrested. You didn’t need a fake ID.’
‘I kept it. Like a sort of memento of who I used to be. You think that’s pathetic?’ There was no obvious reaction. She carried on, ‘Tondowski’s a Polish name. I like it. I was never a real Baker.’