THE RECEPTION AREA of Lewisham police station was lined with wooden benches that had been polished to a high sheen over three decades by the arses of the guilty and the innocent alike.
WPC Emily Aguda liked to guess which was which, as they came through the glass front door on a conveyor belt of crime and punishment.
It was her privilege and her burden to man the front desk on an almost permanent basis. At a time when the Metropolitan police was making efforts to counter claims of racism and sexism, Emily Aguda ticked two boxes for the price of one and so was thrust under the noses of the local populace whenever possible, as a shining example of a black woman police officer. Look! The Met crowed over her like a toddler with a frog. Look what we caught!
And then they kept it in a box until it died.
She had been on the front desk for nearly two years now and it was really pissing her off. She had graduated from Reading with a first in law. She could have done anything! At twenty-six she could have been a detective sergeant by now. But instead she’d been put behind a glass window like a ticket seller or a zoo exhibit, and the loudly unspoken understanding was that her job was to be nice to people and smile – what with her being black and a woman and a symbol and all.
Despite that, Emily took her job seriously. She was firm with drunks, cynical with liars, helpful to the vulnerable, efficient with casualties, accommodating to lawyers and sympathetic to victims.
But she wasn’t sure how to categorize the young woman who had just walked through the door.
White, skinny, drowning in a huge blue anorak that hid her face and reached almost to her knees, and pushing a baby in a cheap buggy.
The only description that came easily to Emily’s mind was crazy.
Even when she reached the window, the skinny woman didn’t meet her eyes: she looked beyond Emily to the rest of the small front office, where officers wandered about holding papers or paper cups.
Looking for someone else.
Someone better.
Although Emily was used to it, it never failed to sting. But she smiled because she was a symbol and being a symbol was her job. For now, at least.
‘How can I help, ma’am?’
The woman focused on her for the first time and said, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ said Emily, thawing a little at the greeting; the woman didn’t seem impolite, only distracted.
‘I’m looking for a Detective Marvel.’
‘Sure,’ said Emily. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No. I just need to see him.’
‘OK,’ said Emily. She had worked out that saying words like sure and OK reassured people that you were on their side, even if you were actually nowhere near their side. ‘Can I take your name, please?’
The woman hesitated and Emily thought for the first time that she might be trouble. She didn’t look like a trouble-maker, but Emily couldn’t help her instincts; they were generally great.
‘Why do you need my name?’
‘So I can let DCI Marvel know who wants to see him.’
The woman chewed on her lip.
Emily gave the woman time. She was good at switching off and thinking about other things. Like now, she thought about what she’d do after work. She’d go to the pool and do fifty laps. Then she’d stop for a pizza at the place on the high street. Goats’ cheese and jalapeno peppers. Then she’d go home to her flat and feed Piggy, her cat, and wait for Marion to come home from her job in the city. Maybe finish the bottle of red they’d opened on Saturday night. Cuddle up on the sofa and watch The Big Bang Theory.
‘Anna Buck,’ said Anna Buck.
There you go. Emily wrote her name down in the log. ‘And what’s it about, Mrs Buck?’
‘A dog.’
‘DCI Marvel’s a homicide detective, ma’am. He doesn’t deal with dogs.’
‘He’s dealing with this one.’
‘O-kay,’ said Emily slowly. ‘I’ll see if he’s available. Would you like to take a seat?’
The woman glanced over her shoulder at the benches that lined the foyer. There was a motley population already there. By Emily’s taxonomy, four victims, three liars, and a casualty holding a blood-spotted tissue to the side of his head. The casualty was also one of the liars, which made a total of seven people. Her system was a little confusing, but Emily understood it. Anna Buck would be the only crazy on the benches so far today.
‘OK,’ Anna said doubtfully.
Now that the woman had become compliant, Emily softened and leaned forward to peer down at the baby. She didn’t necessarily want one of her own, but she liked babies and this one was very sweet, with long pale-gold eyelashes and a tiny little bubble on his rosebud lips.
‘Gorgeous,’ said Emily.
The woman nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said, but she seemed too distracted to be flattered. She pushed the buggy to the far end of one of the benches and sat down.
Emily called G Team. DS Brady picked up, and flirted with her briefly. Emily flirted back. She kept her girlfriend a closely guarded secret at work. Not because she was ashamed, but because if the powers that be found out she was a lesbian as well as a black woman, she’d be the Holy Grail of Equal Opportunities and she’d never get off the bloody reception desk. So if flirting with Colin Brady helped her cause, she was happy to do it.
He put her through to DCI Marvel.
Not Emily’s favourite person. She’d never actually heard him say anything racist or sexist, but he always looked as if he might be about to. She told him that there was an Anna Buck in reception for him, and he told her he’d said all he needed to on the case in question.
‘So what would you like me to tell her, sir?’
‘Tell her that,’ said Marvel, and hung up.
Rude git.
Emily tapped on the glass to get the skinny woman’s attention. She came over to the window. ‘DCI Marvel is busy on a case at the moment, Mrs Buck.’
The woman stared at Emily for a moment with a frown splitting her brow. ‘So is he coming down?’
‘No.’