I had to conduct an interview. The DVD machine had taken fourty minutes to 'initialise' whatever the hell that means and finally a beep confirmed that we're good to go.
My subject was almost 35 years old but if you were to meet him on the street (which most of the time is his home address) you would take a look at his face, haggard stance and crippling cough and estimate in his 50's. Or inhale through your nose and guess again at dead. He was accompanied by a similarly aged solicitor who was in a sharp, pin-striped blue suit with an equally sharp side parting that looked like it was finished off with a spirit level and set square. By contrast he was wearing a scent that is expensive and in any other situation might be a little overpowering; but in this situation it was clear there was only one person hogging the limelight when it came to setting the smell-ambience.
Chris then. A transient shoplifter (accused) who was struggling to stay upright on the polished surface of the chair which was offering no purchase against his trousers and their outer layer of built up dirt and grime.
'So Chris, this is the CCTV of the theft' a full colour image was paused on the screen showing a male who for the sake of 'innocent until proven guilty' I shall refer to as 'Chris'. In the image 'Chris' is a tall white male, approximately 6ft tall with a very slim build wearing dark trousers, boots and perhaps most importantly a rather distinctive (and dirty) yellow t-shirt with a large red tick swooshing across it with 'Just Do It' scrawled underneath.
'What theft?' Chris offered before sitting back, happy with this initial crossing of swords.
'This one' I said, before pressing the play on the remote 'and you're the main star' I said.
'Erh we shouldn't make presumptions at this point officer' the solicitor offered in his best authoritarian tone.
The video feed showed the male described at the meat counter. He took a few seconds to peer round the interior of the Tesco Extra store noting positions of the staff and staring straight at the CCTV cameras as he also plotted their positions. He then reached out for the £45 worth of assorted joints and cuts of meat wearing distinctive fingerless gloves and the meat was then placed in a custom made (see ripped open seam) inside pocket of a trench coat that was hanging open. The thief then left the shop making no attempt to pay.
The screen went black. I jabbed at more buttons and then leant back, wiggling a biro in-between my fingers.
'I've got a cup of tea getting cold upstairs. That footage is a week old now, but you nicked the meat Chris. We've just seen it happen so just say it and I'll get back to my drink'
'No I didn't' Chris sat back, the large red swoosh on his dirty yellow t-shirt pulled tight with the movement and with the folds of the top lifted the words 'Just Do It' became clear. He lifted a hand to his nose and sniffed, a finger jutted out of fingerless gloves,
'Is that not you? Because there are some similiarites' My sarcasm unperturbed and smacked of almost humour.
'That weren't me. It don't even look like me'
I nodded 'ok. The male in the video is wearing quite a distinctive yellow Nike t-shirt; do you have any items of clothing similar to that?' I did my best to hold eye contact with him.
'No' he replied.
'I see. And the fingerless gloves, you don't see them too often; not since the film Oliver. Do you own a pair?'
This time a shake of the head with a jutted out bottom lip accompanying the word 'no'.
'Chris' I said, my tone now a little pleading 'that's you mate. I'm sure I don't need to point out how I know that. How can you explain what I've just seen?'
It was at this point Chris leant forward. His weight shifted onto the table and supported by elbows from which stick thin arms led down to fingerless gloves.
'You want my explanation?' he said.
'Please' the biro still fidgeted in my fingers.
Chris' expression changed, became more concentrated, a slight reddening to the cheeks then his face changed again, increasing massively in its intensity. He leant further forward too, to the point where he actually lifted himself off the seat and then for a short time he held his breath. A long grunt, then a shorter one and then gently, slowly he lowered himself back down to his seat. Chris was smiling widely, happy with his explanation.
I leant back a little myself. The pen had stopped moving but it was still there in my hand. I made a note on my paper then looked up. Chris was expectant, his solicior had slid his chair away a little, he was now clasping his hands together and his head was bent towards his client.
'Chris?'
'Yeah'
'Did you just shit yourself?'
'Of course I did' he said.
Of course he did. What an idiot I felt.
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