Taking the Piss

Last night I arranged to meet a beautiful young woman and we spent an hour together alone in a dingy bedsit.

Two weeks ago, I reported a crime. A broken window in an empty first floor flat, a couple of empty cans of Stella Artois in a small black plastic carrier bag, and a toilet bowlful of urine – the water tank had been drained and capped weeks ago, so there was no running water with which to flush away the evidence, or remove the stench. I know this because I work for the landlord.

Yesterday, after several answerphone messages, crossed wires and missed opportunities in the previous fortnight, Sam from forensics called me and asked me to meet her at the scene in ten minutes.

Half an hour later, in the freezing cold, she arrived, alone, in a small van and armed only with a large suitcase. I wondered about offering to carry it for her, as she was quite small, but thought better of it.

I took Sam up the flight of steps to the disused bedsit, and apologised for the diligence and speed with which our Caretaking and Repairs teams had disturbed the scene of the crime and replaced the broken window without telling me. I had deliberately not reported the broken window to avoid such a scenario.

Sam opened her case and spread out on the floor her clipboard, forms, torch, evidence bags, swabs and other items of detection. She began writing and soon filled up half a page of notes. I apologised for generating so much paperwork for her and joked that she appeared to have even more to do than me. Finally, Sam got down to the nitty gritty. She put on her gloves and took the two empty cans of Stella Artois from the small, black plastic carrier bag and placed them strategically on the floor, several inches apart. She took out a carefully wrapped cotton bud swab, squeezed out some special liquid from a small bottle on to the bud and began rubbing the bud all around the top of the can, paying special attention to the opening and inside the hole. She then placed the swab inside a fresh evidence bag, sealed and signed it. More note taking. I wanted to ask what she was doing, just to break the intense silence, but thought better of it.

Sam wrote another page of notes before examining the now repaired window. She asked me to hold the net curtains up as she couldn't reach, while she dusted the pane for prints. 'Just rub a little bit of washing up liquid on to it to get it off,' she said.

'Thanks. I think I'll leave the washing up until later, though. So what are the chances of finding whodunnit?'

'We'll probably find out who it was. But whether they'll be charged with anything is another matter. They've not done any damage. Probably just looking for somewhere to sleep.'

'Yes. I was kind of hoping you wouldn't find anyone. I feel quite sorry for them. Only two cans of Stella. Although it's premium beer. Quality over quantity, I suppose. It's a shame there are so many empty properties here.'

'Yes, that's the real crime. It makes me really angry. I just wish we had some politicians who listened and did something. But I don't have much hope that anything will ever change.'

Sam gathered up her things and put them back into her suitcase, which she'd been using as a small bench to sit on.' Right, I'm done,' she said, and switched off her torch.

In the gloom, I noticed a square of material on the dirty floor. 'Is this yours?' I turned it over. It was some kind of advertising leaflet. 'Candlelit Dinner For Two,' I heard myself say out loud.

As we left, I thought about asking Sam why she didn't take a sample of the urine, but thought better of it.