Chapter 20 Invasion of Alcatraz
Christopher was surprised to see Chief Inspector Smith walking up the road with the homeless man and the dog. Amaryllis had told him about giving away her big parka - he chose to interpret this gesture as a sign that she was becoming more human, something she hotly denied - so he wasn’t too taken aback by seeing the man wearing it. He found the scene outside the pet shop rather puzzling, however. Surely the Christmas spirit hadn’t entered into Charlie Smith too?
Because he had nothing much to do with the Cultural Centre closed for the holidays, he followed Mr Smith and the homeless man up to the police station and observed that they all went in together, including the dog. He knew this was the kind of thing Amaryllis would have done, which made him worry they were spending too much time together because of the wintry weather. Oh, well, when the thaw came they could get out from under each other’s feet.
He imagined she would have followed up by mounting an attack on the police station to break the man out, since she was so friendly with him, but Christopher couldn’t bring himself even to attempt this.
He told himself not to tell her about this latest development, but as usual this resolve didn’t last long. They met Jemima and Dave in the Golden Peach for dinner that evening, and because nothing much seemed to have happened, what with Christmas and the snow, which they were fed up talking about, the topic of homelessness came up. Amaryllis confessed to having given the man her parka, and was duly scoffed at by Dave, although everyone present knew he was such a big softie that if he had encountered the man he would have incurred Jemima’s wrath by inviting him home for tea.
‘It’s the animals I feel sorry for,’ said Jemima cryptically.
‘The animals?’ said Amaryllis.
‘He’s got a dog, hasn’t he? I saw them snuggled up together in the doorway of the wool shop - the day before the snow came.’
All life in Pitkirtly, Christopher reflected, was now divided into the era before the snow and the time of the snow: he supposed this must be what it would be like if there were a major catastrophe that affected everyone on earth. An Ice Age - not that this was in the same category, of course. It just felt like it some nights, when you couldn’t get warm in bed or when the lights went out.
‘Why do you feel sorry for them?’ said Amaryllis. ‘Dogs were made to follow people around doing what they do. The homeless man’s dog is just doing the same.’
‘But what if something happens to the man?’ said Jemima. ‘Aren’t homeless people more likely to die than normal people are?’
‘‘Everybody’s likely to die,’ said Dave blithely, crunching prawn crackers.
‘You know what I mean,’ said Jemima. ‘He could even die of hypothermia - here in our town. Under our noses. And we haven’t done anything to stop that happening.’
‘Charlie Smith has,’ said Christopher without thinking.
They all stared at him.
‘What’s Charlie done?’ said Amaryllis. ‘He hasn’t deported him to Rosyth, has he?’
Christopher laughed. ‘He’s taken them to the police station. The man and the dog.’
Amaryllis frowned. ‘He’s arrested them?’
‘Not that I know of,’ said Christopher. ‘But I saw them all going in there together earlier - about lunch-time.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ said Amaryllis. ‘We’d better find out what’s going on.’
‘When you say we’d better find out, do you mean -?’ asked Christopher, hoping she didn’t.
‘We can pop round to the police station when we’ve finished in here,’ said Amaryllis.
Christopher immediately made up his mind to order dessert followed by coffee followed by liqueurs. The fact that he had once tried a Golden Peach dessert and felt as if he had eaten a foam-filled pillow was neither here nor there. He just wanted to put off the moment when Amaryllis made an idiot of both of them at the police station, not for the first time either.
‘Are you sure you should interfere, dear?’ said Jemima.
‘I don’t want them harassing him,’ said Amaryllis.
‘Have you ever known Charlie Smith harass anybody?’ said Christopher. He knew anything he said was only going to be a token protest. He knew, and he knew Amaryllis knew, that he would feel bound to accompany her and share in the embarrassment.
‘There’s always a first time,’ said Amaryllis darkly.
‘You’re right there,’ said Dave, digging into the egg fried rice again. ‘My motto is, never entirely trust the police.’
Jemima glared at him. ‘You might have told me that before we got married! I’ve always tried to live within the law.’
‘Ah, but the police and the law aren’t always on the same side,’ said Dave. ‘Does anybody want more Singapore noodles?’
Christopher dragged the meal out for as long as he could, which was until Dave said with a chortle, ‘Trying to put off your trip to the police station, then?’ and he realised he had made it much too obvious.
‘You didn’t really want that extra cup of coffee, did you?’ said Amaryllis to him as they left the restaurant.
‘Yes,’ he said stubbornly. ‘In this weather you need more hot drinks than usual - it’s a scientific fact.’
Jemima and Dave headed off home, while Amaryllis turned her steps in the direction of the police station, and Christopher followed her. Being there with her was preferable to the alternative, which was having to go round there later to bail her out after she had been arrested for causing a disturbance or worse.
The front door was closed, of course, but Amaryllis ignored the fact that it was well past the time when the police station could reasonably be expected to be open for customers, and leaned on the bell. After a while someone spoke on the intercom.
‘It’s Amaryllis Peebles,’ she announced. ‘I have to see my client.’
‘He’s not your client,’ murmured Christopher.
‘How do you know?’ she said, and added, into the intercom, ‘Chief Inspector Smith knows about it.’
One more strangled phrase came out of the speaker, and after a few minutes’ pause the door swung open. Sergeant McDonald appeared, a chunk of bread in one hand and a glass of what might have been Ribena but which looked suspiciously like red wine in the other.
‘We’re closed,’ he said. ‘We’ve been on shift continuously for four days, and we can’t be catering to people who choose to make demands in the middle of the night.’
Before Amaryllis could enter into a debate with him on the subject, he was pushed aside unceremoniously by Charlie Smith, who had a tomato ketchup bottle in one hand.
‘We’re just about to have our meal,’ he said. ‘But you can come in for five minutes. Five,’ he repeated, holding up his free hand with all the fingers spread out, just to make sure they understood.
Christopher suspected he had only decided to let them in because his fish supper was getting cold and he knew how long Amaryllis could spin out an argument.
Mr Smith ushered them into what must be the staff kitchen. There were fish suppers all round, and a bottle of red wine in the middle.
‘We’ve been stuck in here for days,’ said Sergeant McDonald defensively, seeing where Christopher’s gaze lingered. ‘We’ve had to eat frozen sprouts. And microwaved Christmas pudding.’
‘Not in the same dish, I hope,’ said Amaryllis. ‘Can I see my client now?’
Mr Smith gave her a look. He and Sergeant McDonald sat down at the table with Karen Whitefield and a uniformed constable.
‘I seriously doubt that he’s your client,’ he observed, scooping fish and a share of the chips on to his plate and deluging the whole lot with tomato ketchup. ‘Unless it’s the dog that’s the client, and the man is just a kind of optional extra.’
‘Have you arrested him?’ said Amaryllis.
Chief Inspector Smith gave a hollow laugh. ‘Can you just imagine the fuss if I arrested a dog over Christmas? Quickest way to start a Twitter campaig
n, or what?’
‘Not the dog, the man,’ said Amaryllis.
‘OK, tell you what,’ said Mr Smith, in the interval between shoveling chips into his mouth and taking a large swig of red wine. ‘If you can tell me his name, I’ll accept he’s your client. Otherwise I’m going to have to send you on your way.’
‘Tell you his name? What is this, an audition for Rumpelstiltskin?’ said Amaryllis.
The police officers all laughed. Christopher wished he could teleport out of here. Surely something would happen that would stop this charade.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a blood-curdling sound. It was a kind of howling sound, and it came from further down the corridor, beyond the kitchen. As it rose and fell, he saw that the officers at the table had apparently gone into suspended animation: Mr Smith with his mouth open ready to receive a forkful of chips, Karen Whitefield with a glass halfway to her mouth, Sergeant McDonald in the middle of munching a large piece of bread and the young constable in the act of retrieving a bit more fish from the parcel in the middle of the table.
As often happened, Amaryllis was first off the mark, wrenching open the kitchen door and haring off down the corridor before any of the others had moved. Christopher followed at a pace he considered sensible. He felt only a small pang of guilt at letting her confront the situation first. He knew that she was the one best qualified to cope with anything from slipped stitches to mass murder.