Ludens
11-21-2004, 17:17
This is something I wrote a few evenings ago to see if I could still write. Please give me your thoughts. And thanks to The Shadow One for giving me the idea!
Interrogation
9 October 2003
“This tape is recorded at five thirty in the afternoon, October the ninth, 2003. This is detective-inspector John Henderson. Also present are sergeant Harry Miller and Samuel Ford. Mr. Ford, you do understand that you are entitled to have a solicitor present?”
There was the sound of a chair moving. The voice spoke again, “Please state it so it will be recorded on tape.”
A bored voice replied, “I understand that I am entitled to have a solicitor present.”
“Thank you.” There was the sound of footsteps and then somebody moved a chair. “Mr. Ford, I –” the first voice began in a mild tone, but stopped.
The bored voice asked, “Before I answer any questions, I would like to know why I am here.”
“You are here in connection with the robbery that took place last Tuesday at the city museum.”
“Somebody stole a picture?”
There was silence. The second voice, suddenly without the bored tone, exclaimed, “Oh, get a life! There’s cameras all over the place. You can’t lift a painting off the wall and walk out with nobody noticing!”
Again, no one spoke for a few moments. Then a third, noticeably coarser voice spoke, “Mr. Ford, where were you on October the seventh between two thirty and three o’clock in the afternoon?”
A chair creaked. “I don’t think that is any of your business.”
A moment of pause followed before the coarse voice replied, “I think it is.”
The first voice, still in its mild tone, said, “We only need to know where you were so we can eliminate you from our enquiries.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
The mild voice spoke again, “Mr. Ford refuses to tell us where he was at the time of the robbery.”
A silence followed. Then the third voice asked, “Where you at the museum?”
Again a pause. Suddenly the second voice exclaimed, “O stop this charade! You know, don’t you?”
There was a snort before the coarse voice answered, “Yes, since, as you so accurately pointed out, there are cameras all over the place, we know you were in the museum. So why don’t you tell us what you were doing there?”
A sigh sounded. “All right,” the second voice answered softly, “I was there. With a girl.”
“Why?” the mild voice inquired.
“What do you mean, ‘Why?’ ” the second voice asked, annoyed.
“Well, a museum is hardly a place to have a date,” the first voice answered with a touch of amusement.
Again a sigh and then the chair creaked again. “Okay. You know there was this exhibition by that French artists, Jacq Poisson or something.”
“Jacques Brochet,” the third voice corrected.
“That’s right. And you know what kind of paintings he makes, don’t you?”
“Yes. Naked women,” the third voice answered derisively. “And they call it art!”
The first voice cut in. “You are saying that you took a young woman to the museum to see an exposition of erotic paintings?” it inquired in a tone of amazement.
“No, no, no, you don’t take her too it. You walk in on it accidentally,” the second voice replied with a chuckle.
“And here’s your ticket,” the cashier said. “Enjoy yourselves. Next! Good afternoon, lady. How many tickets?”
The young man pocketed the ticket and turned to his companion, “So, we’re in the museum. What now?”
“Go and see works of art, I think,” the young woman answered. “That’s what a museum is for.” She set off through the hallway towards the western wing of the museum.
The young man followed her. “But why?
“One can never occupy too much time with cultural pursuits,” she answered, adding, “Especially you, Samuel.”
He snorted, “I venture to say that my cultural knowledge, small though it may be, exceeds yours, Esther.”
“Really? What is the name of the latest album of Madonna?”
“I don’t know. Do I need to?”
“Off course,” she replied and turned a corner.
The young man paced to keep up. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said calmly.
The woman stopped and turned to face him. “There is an exhibition in the West Wing,” she answered with a mischievous grin.
“Really? What kind of exhibition?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention again?” she smirked.
“Attention to what?”
“To the posters hanging all around the place, perhaps?”
“They’re always advertising for something or other. What’s it this time?”
“They’ve got a number of pictures from Jacques Brochet. As you probably won’t know, he’s an internationally famous Anglo-French painter.”
“Bet his real name was Jimmy Pike and he never left Liverpool.”
She laughed, “Anyway, they are showing some of his finer works to the public and I thought you might like to see them.” The mischievous grin returned.
“How nice. What kind of paintings did he make?”
“You’ll just have to find out.”
The coarse voice inquired, “So you took this girl to the exhi–”
“Accidentally walked into it,” the second voice corrected, amused.
“You accidentally walked into it with your girl,” the third voice repeated annoyed. “Was she shocked?”
The second voice chuckled again. “Well, at first, she was rather embarrassed.”
“This is boring,” the young woman complained in an audible voice.
“The human body is seldom interesting,” the young man commented in a reflective tone.
“What kind of a man are you?”
“The usual one, I hope,” he answered. When she didn’t respond he added, “Any normal girl would have been happy that I am not interested in these ugly pictures.”
“But you can’t get a normal girl. That’s why you have me.”
“What happened then?” the mild voice interjected.
“Well, after seeing the pictures she wasn’t interested in art anymore and the fun for me was over, so we left the museum.”
“What time was this?” the coarse voice inquired.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” the third voice asked, aggressively.
A chair creaked while the second voice answered, “No, I don’t know. For some inexplicable reason I do not memorize the exact time when I leave a building in order to help the police. I am so sorry for this, but it just how I am.”
The mild voice cut in, “We just need to have a general idea of when you left the museum premises. It does not need to be exact.”
“I am sorry, I don’t know. Can’t you just check it on the security tapes?” the second voice replied while the chair creaked again.
“What did you do next?” the coarse voice asked.
“Err– We went to have a drink.”
“At the ice-cream stall near the museum?”
“You mean that ice-cream shaped monstrosity in the middle of the city square? No. We went to one of the bars in the alleys near the museum.”
“Which one?” the coarse voice snapped.
“I don’t recall.”
“And you didn’t go back to the museum?”
“No! Why should I? And what’s this leading up to anyway?”
“There was a robbery at the museum at the same time you and your girl were present. We know this because both you and she appear on the tapes taken by the cameras at the entrance and the exit of the museum.”
“Yes! And if you look at the other videotapes you will notice that it wasn’t me that nabbed the painting or sculpture or whatever it was that was stolen! So what’s the point?!”
This time, it was the mild voice that replied to the question, “Because it wasn’t something of the museum that was taken. It was something of a visitor. A bracelet.”
“Samuel, do you see that man over there?” she whispered.
“You mean the one in the expensive coat?”
“Yes, that one. Did you see the way he looked at us? As if he thought we shouldn’t be here.”
The young man laughed, “He must think that only people as rich as him are good enough to look at cheap pictures.”
She smiled, “And what would he think of them when they weren’t made by Jacques Brochet but by John Smith living next door?”
“It would have been pornography, dangerous for the morals of the youth and should be banned at once. Except that today’s youth hasn’t got any morals at all.”
“What a hypocrite.”
“Yes,” he replied, “they all are.”
“There was this proud-looking woman just now. She almost knocked me over when I didn’t step out of her way immediately. She looked at me as if I shouldn’t even be allowed in the city. The bitch.”
“Poor you,” he replied and looked around dispirited. “When seeing all the people here, I suddenly don’t want to be a normal person any more.”
“Neither do I.”
“You see, we are alike in that way.”
“But only in that way.”
“Somehow, I knew you were going to say that.”
“You did? Why?”
“Male intuition?” he suggested.
“That’s a contradiction in terms,” she answered brightly.
“You’re intolerable.”
“And you love it!”
“Yes. It’s also the reason why you don’t have any friends.”
“More than you. You never get an e-mail; I receive at least two a day.”
“I know. One is from me; the other is the update of your virus scan.”
“A bracelet?! There’s pickpockets all over the city and the police are bothering with a bracelet?!”
The mild voice resumed, “It is not just a bracelet. It is an antique wristlet of great value.”
Then coarse voice took over, “At the same time you and your girl visited the museum, Mrs. Augusta Williams was in there too. Mrs. Augusta Williams,” the voice repeated, “the mayor’s wife–”
The second voice laughed. “She wanted to see the dirty pictures too?”
“The mayor’s wife,” the coarse voice resumed, “had seen the exhibition as well, and was on her way to leave the museum when someone attacked her from behind. The man pushed her to the floor and removed Mrs. Williams’ bracelet. Then he–”
“Hold a sec,” the second voice interrupted. “How do you know it wasn’t a she?”
The mild voice replied, “When she was attacked, Mrs. Williams managed to turn around and hit her assailant's face with her elbow. She was positive it was a man.”
The second voice waited a moment before replying, “If she’s seen him, why don’t you do a line-up?”
“The assailant pushed Mrs. Williams away so she lost her balance and fell. The fall must have stunned her, for she has no memory of the following moments. When Mrs. Williams regained consciousness, she heard someone running away but she wasn’t able to get a good look of her attacker.”
A chair creaked. “Well, I guess that limits your options then.”
The first voice resumed, “The bracelet is a rare antiquity. It was a gift from the mayor to his wife and she was very fond of it. So the mayor insisted that we try to find it and give it back to its rightful owner.”
The second voice supplied, “And if you look at the security tape, you will notice that is wasn’t me that mugged her. So can I go now?”
A snort sounded and the coarse voice said, “The problem is that there is no video tape of the robbery. There are no cameras in the corridor leading to the museum exit. But there is one in the central hall. And it shows you running towards the exit just after Mrs. Williams left.”
“This painting,” the young man announced, “must be the most hideous erotic picture I have ever seen. Not only is the woman singularly ugly, she is completely naked as well.” He waited a moment before turning around and saying, “Aren’t you going to comment on– Esther?” He looked around the hall. “Where are you?”
He cast another glance around, then shrugged and started walking towards the main hall.
“Well?” the third voice asked, triumph in his voice.
There was a long pause before the second voice answered, “I needed to go to the bathroom.”
“Really?” the coarse voice sneered. “And it took you twenty seconds to recall that?”
“Another weird thing about me is that I don’t memorize at what time I relieve myself. I just don’t consider it important,” the second voice answered calmly. “Do you?”
“In this particular case, I do.”
A silence fell. The coarse voice broke it, “So you went to the bathroom in the corridor leading to the museum exit –”
“Is there a bathroom there, then?” the second voice interjected. “I couldn’t find it. I had to wait until we reached the bar.”
Another pause. Then the mild voice said, “Mr. Ford. If you... needed to answer a call of nature so urgently that you ran towards the bathroom only to discover that there isn’t any bathroom in the museum, why don’t the video tapes at the exit show you running towards this bar you and your girlfriend went to?”
“You know how it is. If you find you can keep it up for a minute, you probably can keep it up another hour.”
The young man entered the main hall and looked around once more. “Esther?” His gaze swept through the hall, but stopped dead at the corridor to the exit. “Esther!”
He set off in a run.
“I take it you didn’t see the robbery happen, did you?” the coarse voice interjected.
“When I ran into the corridor there was a throng of people standing at the end of it. But I didn’t really pay attention.”
“A throng of people?”
“Yes. They were standing around someone talking in an aggressively self-pitying voice. But, like I said, I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Why not?” the third voice asked insistently.
“They’re all like that,” the second voice answered dismissively. In an amused tone it added, “Anyway, I had to go.”
The mild voice interjected, puzzled, “What do you mean with, ‘They are all like that?’ ”
“The people,” the second voice answered, “in the museum.”
“Esther! Are you all right?” the young man asked, as he hoisted his companion against the wall. Her eyes were closed and there was a bruise right above her left eye. “Esther?”
He stroked the hair out of her face, “ Speak to me. Please...” She groaned and slowly opened her eyes.
“Esther? What happened?”
She groaned again and raised her hand to the bruise. “I fell,” she answered in a feeble voice. “Someone came running behind me and pushed me forward. I must have hit my head.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m dizzy. And my head hurts.”
“You’ve got a big bruise on your forehead. That’s what you must be feeling. Do you think you can stand?”
She tried to raise herself, but almost lost her balance. The young man gripped her shoulder and pulled her up. “Come on,” he said impatiently. Then, his hand still holding her shoulder, he started to walk towards the exit. When she opened her mouth he raised an admonitory finger. “And no arguing. We’ll finish our fight tomorrow. Today, let’s be nice.”
She stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled weakly and put her arm around his shoulder.
“What happened then?” the coarse voice asked.
“Well, the girl and I decided to leave the museum and find a bar to have a drink and, ah, so that I could obey the call of nature.”
“And you went?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Stop the tape,” Henderson said.
“Right, Mr. Ford– CLICK.”
Sergeant Miller turned away from the recording machine.
“What do you think, sir?” he asked. Both men turned to the one-way window looking into the interrogation room where the young man was being kept.
“He’s lying. But we can’t prove it.” Henderson answered.
“Yeah, and that doesn’t mean he actually did it. Perhaps he just saw the robbery, but doesn’t want us to know. Has his house been searched?”
“His room, yes, but they found nothing. And we can’t spare the men to take this investigation further. We have no choice but to let him go.”
The sergeant snorted, “We shouldn’t be doing smaller cases like this anyway. There’s not enough coppers to do a full investigation every time someone gets mugged.”
“The mayor promised us a greater budget if we could recover his wife’s bracelet,” Henderson said mournfully.
“Yeah, but what Williams gives with his left hand he takes back with his right one,” the sergeant replied dismissively.
“You may well be right, sergeant. Well, let’s get this over with,” sighed Henderson. He threw a glance into the interrogation room where the young man was still studying the ceiling intently, and opened the door.
“Mr. Ford, you are free to go,” he said to the young man.
“About time. Are there going to be charges brought against me?”
“We have no reason to do so.”
“How generous of you.” The young man rose from his chair, which creaked, and pulled on his coat while walking towards the door. He stopped in front of Henderson and spoke, “Next time you suspect me of something, do make a call and we can make an appointment. Then I don’t need to spend eight hours in a cold cell because there is no officer available to interrogate me.”
With that, he pulled his coat straight and walked out. Sergeant Miller escorted him out of the cellblock and to the exit of the police station. There, he was left on his own. He looked around with hauteur, buttoned his coat up and walked away.
A figure detached itself from a nearby alley.
“How did it go?” the young woman asked.
He turned to look at her and sagged a little. “Good. They are not going to press charges against me.”
“Great.” She put her arms over his shoulders. He was staring at the fading bruise on her forehead, but turned his eyes towards her when she stepped close. The looked each other for a moment, and then kissed each other on the lips. When they broke their kiss, her impish grin returned and his lips curled into a faint smile.
She took his right hand in her left. “Come on, let’s have a drink to celebrate.” She started walking along the street and he followed her.
“How was it? Being interrogated, I mean,” she asked.
“Not as bad as I expected. Perhaps there is something in the saying that the innocent have nothing to fear. Nothing apart from being dragged of their beds and being locked up in a cell for half a day.”
“Perhaps I should start fearing then,” she said archly.
He laughed in reply and they both walked on in silence, until the young man felt something swinging against his right wrist. He looked down.
“How did you get by that bracelet?”
==================================================
.
Interrogation
9 October 2003
“This tape is recorded at five thirty in the afternoon, October the ninth, 2003. This is detective-inspector John Henderson. Also present are sergeant Harry Miller and Samuel Ford. Mr. Ford, you do understand that you are entitled to have a solicitor present?”
There was the sound of a chair moving. The voice spoke again, “Please state it so it will be recorded on tape.”
A bored voice replied, “I understand that I am entitled to have a solicitor present.”
“Thank you.” There was the sound of footsteps and then somebody moved a chair. “Mr. Ford, I –” the first voice began in a mild tone, but stopped.
The bored voice asked, “Before I answer any questions, I would like to know why I am here.”
“You are here in connection with the robbery that took place last Tuesday at the city museum.”
“Somebody stole a picture?”
There was silence. The second voice, suddenly without the bored tone, exclaimed, “Oh, get a life! There’s cameras all over the place. You can’t lift a painting off the wall and walk out with nobody noticing!”
Again, no one spoke for a few moments. Then a third, noticeably coarser voice spoke, “Mr. Ford, where were you on October the seventh between two thirty and three o’clock in the afternoon?”
A chair creaked. “I don’t think that is any of your business.”
A moment of pause followed before the coarse voice replied, “I think it is.”
The first voice, still in its mild tone, said, “We only need to know where you were so we can eliminate you from our enquiries.”
“I sincerely doubt it.”
The mild voice spoke again, “Mr. Ford refuses to tell us where he was at the time of the robbery.”
A silence followed. Then the third voice asked, “Where you at the museum?”
Again a pause. Suddenly the second voice exclaimed, “O stop this charade! You know, don’t you?”
There was a snort before the coarse voice answered, “Yes, since, as you so accurately pointed out, there are cameras all over the place, we know you were in the museum. So why don’t you tell us what you were doing there?”
A sigh sounded. “All right,” the second voice answered softly, “I was there. With a girl.”
“Why?” the mild voice inquired.
“What do you mean, ‘Why?’ ” the second voice asked, annoyed.
“Well, a museum is hardly a place to have a date,” the first voice answered with a touch of amusement.
Again a sigh and then the chair creaked again. “Okay. You know there was this exhibition by that French artists, Jacq Poisson or something.”
“Jacques Brochet,” the third voice corrected.
“That’s right. And you know what kind of paintings he makes, don’t you?”
“Yes. Naked women,” the third voice answered derisively. “And they call it art!”
The first voice cut in. “You are saying that you took a young woman to the museum to see an exposition of erotic paintings?” it inquired in a tone of amazement.
“No, no, no, you don’t take her too it. You walk in on it accidentally,” the second voice replied with a chuckle.
“And here’s your ticket,” the cashier said. “Enjoy yourselves. Next! Good afternoon, lady. How many tickets?”
The young man pocketed the ticket and turned to his companion, “So, we’re in the museum. What now?”
“Go and see works of art, I think,” the young woman answered. “That’s what a museum is for.” She set off through the hallway towards the western wing of the museum.
The young man followed her. “But why?
“One can never occupy too much time with cultural pursuits,” she answered, adding, “Especially you, Samuel.”
He snorted, “I venture to say that my cultural knowledge, small though it may be, exceeds yours, Esther.”
“Really? What is the name of the latest album of Madonna?”
“I don’t know. Do I need to?”
“Off course,” she replied and turned a corner.
The young man paced to keep up. “You still haven’t answered my question,” he said calmly.
The woman stopped and turned to face him. “There is an exhibition in the West Wing,” she answered with a mischievous grin.
“Really? What kind of exhibition?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention again?” she smirked.
“Attention to what?”
“To the posters hanging all around the place, perhaps?”
“They’re always advertising for something or other. What’s it this time?”
“They’ve got a number of pictures from Jacques Brochet. As you probably won’t know, he’s an internationally famous Anglo-French painter.”
“Bet his real name was Jimmy Pike and he never left Liverpool.”
She laughed, “Anyway, they are showing some of his finer works to the public and I thought you might like to see them.” The mischievous grin returned.
“How nice. What kind of paintings did he make?”
“You’ll just have to find out.”
The coarse voice inquired, “So you took this girl to the exhi–”
“Accidentally walked into it,” the second voice corrected, amused.
“You accidentally walked into it with your girl,” the third voice repeated annoyed. “Was she shocked?”
The second voice chuckled again. “Well, at first, she was rather embarrassed.”
“This is boring,” the young woman complained in an audible voice.
“The human body is seldom interesting,” the young man commented in a reflective tone.
“What kind of a man are you?”
“The usual one, I hope,” he answered. When she didn’t respond he added, “Any normal girl would have been happy that I am not interested in these ugly pictures.”
“But you can’t get a normal girl. That’s why you have me.”
“What happened then?” the mild voice interjected.
“Well, after seeing the pictures she wasn’t interested in art anymore and the fun for me was over, so we left the museum.”
“What time was this?” the coarse voice inquired.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” the third voice asked, aggressively.
A chair creaked while the second voice answered, “No, I don’t know. For some inexplicable reason I do not memorize the exact time when I leave a building in order to help the police. I am so sorry for this, but it just how I am.”
The mild voice cut in, “We just need to have a general idea of when you left the museum premises. It does not need to be exact.”
“I am sorry, I don’t know. Can’t you just check it on the security tapes?” the second voice replied while the chair creaked again.
“What did you do next?” the coarse voice asked.
“Err– We went to have a drink.”
“At the ice-cream stall near the museum?”
“You mean that ice-cream shaped monstrosity in the middle of the city square? No. We went to one of the bars in the alleys near the museum.”
“Which one?” the coarse voice snapped.
“I don’t recall.”
“And you didn’t go back to the museum?”
“No! Why should I? And what’s this leading up to anyway?”
“There was a robbery at the museum at the same time you and your girl were present. We know this because both you and she appear on the tapes taken by the cameras at the entrance and the exit of the museum.”
“Yes! And if you look at the other videotapes you will notice that it wasn’t me that nabbed the painting or sculpture or whatever it was that was stolen! So what’s the point?!”
This time, it was the mild voice that replied to the question, “Because it wasn’t something of the museum that was taken. It was something of a visitor. A bracelet.”
“Samuel, do you see that man over there?” she whispered.
“You mean the one in the expensive coat?”
“Yes, that one. Did you see the way he looked at us? As if he thought we shouldn’t be here.”
The young man laughed, “He must think that only people as rich as him are good enough to look at cheap pictures.”
She smiled, “And what would he think of them when they weren’t made by Jacques Brochet but by John Smith living next door?”
“It would have been pornography, dangerous for the morals of the youth and should be banned at once. Except that today’s youth hasn’t got any morals at all.”
“What a hypocrite.”
“Yes,” he replied, “they all are.”
“There was this proud-looking woman just now. She almost knocked me over when I didn’t step out of her way immediately. She looked at me as if I shouldn’t even be allowed in the city. The bitch.”
“Poor you,” he replied and looked around dispirited. “When seeing all the people here, I suddenly don’t want to be a normal person any more.”
“Neither do I.”
“You see, we are alike in that way.”
“But only in that way.”
“Somehow, I knew you were going to say that.”
“You did? Why?”
“Male intuition?” he suggested.
“That’s a contradiction in terms,” she answered brightly.
“You’re intolerable.”
“And you love it!”
“Yes. It’s also the reason why you don’t have any friends.”
“More than you. You never get an e-mail; I receive at least two a day.”
“I know. One is from me; the other is the update of your virus scan.”
“A bracelet?! There’s pickpockets all over the city and the police are bothering with a bracelet?!”
The mild voice resumed, “It is not just a bracelet. It is an antique wristlet of great value.”
Then coarse voice took over, “At the same time you and your girl visited the museum, Mrs. Augusta Williams was in there too. Mrs. Augusta Williams,” the voice repeated, “the mayor’s wife–”
The second voice laughed. “She wanted to see the dirty pictures too?”
“The mayor’s wife,” the coarse voice resumed, “had seen the exhibition as well, and was on her way to leave the museum when someone attacked her from behind. The man pushed her to the floor and removed Mrs. Williams’ bracelet. Then he–”
“Hold a sec,” the second voice interrupted. “How do you know it wasn’t a she?”
The mild voice replied, “When she was attacked, Mrs. Williams managed to turn around and hit her assailant's face with her elbow. She was positive it was a man.”
The second voice waited a moment before replying, “If she’s seen him, why don’t you do a line-up?”
“The assailant pushed Mrs. Williams away so she lost her balance and fell. The fall must have stunned her, for she has no memory of the following moments. When Mrs. Williams regained consciousness, she heard someone running away but she wasn’t able to get a good look of her attacker.”
A chair creaked. “Well, I guess that limits your options then.”
The first voice resumed, “The bracelet is a rare antiquity. It was a gift from the mayor to his wife and she was very fond of it. So the mayor insisted that we try to find it and give it back to its rightful owner.”
The second voice supplied, “And if you look at the security tape, you will notice that is wasn’t me that mugged her. So can I go now?”
A snort sounded and the coarse voice said, “The problem is that there is no video tape of the robbery. There are no cameras in the corridor leading to the museum exit. But there is one in the central hall. And it shows you running towards the exit just after Mrs. Williams left.”
“This painting,” the young man announced, “must be the most hideous erotic picture I have ever seen. Not only is the woman singularly ugly, she is completely naked as well.” He waited a moment before turning around and saying, “Aren’t you going to comment on– Esther?” He looked around the hall. “Where are you?”
He cast another glance around, then shrugged and started walking towards the main hall.
“Well?” the third voice asked, triumph in his voice.
There was a long pause before the second voice answered, “I needed to go to the bathroom.”
“Really?” the coarse voice sneered. “And it took you twenty seconds to recall that?”
“Another weird thing about me is that I don’t memorize at what time I relieve myself. I just don’t consider it important,” the second voice answered calmly. “Do you?”
“In this particular case, I do.”
A silence fell. The coarse voice broke it, “So you went to the bathroom in the corridor leading to the museum exit –”
“Is there a bathroom there, then?” the second voice interjected. “I couldn’t find it. I had to wait until we reached the bar.”
Another pause. Then the mild voice said, “Mr. Ford. If you... needed to answer a call of nature so urgently that you ran towards the bathroom only to discover that there isn’t any bathroom in the museum, why don’t the video tapes at the exit show you running towards this bar you and your girlfriend went to?”
“You know how it is. If you find you can keep it up for a minute, you probably can keep it up another hour.”
The young man entered the main hall and looked around once more. “Esther?” His gaze swept through the hall, but stopped dead at the corridor to the exit. “Esther!”
He set off in a run.
“I take it you didn’t see the robbery happen, did you?” the coarse voice interjected.
“When I ran into the corridor there was a throng of people standing at the end of it. But I didn’t really pay attention.”
“A throng of people?”
“Yes. They were standing around someone talking in an aggressively self-pitying voice. But, like I said, I wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Why not?” the third voice asked insistently.
“They’re all like that,” the second voice answered dismissively. In an amused tone it added, “Anyway, I had to go.”
The mild voice interjected, puzzled, “What do you mean with, ‘They are all like that?’ ”
“The people,” the second voice answered, “in the museum.”
“Esther! Are you all right?” the young man asked, as he hoisted his companion against the wall. Her eyes were closed and there was a bruise right above her left eye. “Esther?”
He stroked the hair out of her face, “ Speak to me. Please...” She groaned and slowly opened her eyes.
“Esther? What happened?”
She groaned again and raised her hand to the bruise. “I fell,” she answered in a feeble voice. “Someone came running behind me and pushed me forward. I must have hit my head.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m dizzy. And my head hurts.”
“You’ve got a big bruise on your forehead. That’s what you must be feeling. Do you think you can stand?”
She tried to raise herself, but almost lost her balance. The young man gripped her shoulder and pulled her up. “Come on,” he said impatiently. Then, his hand still holding her shoulder, he started to walk towards the exit. When she opened her mouth he raised an admonitory finger. “And no arguing. We’ll finish our fight tomorrow. Today, let’s be nice.”
She stared at him for a moment. Then she smiled weakly and put her arm around his shoulder.
“What happened then?” the coarse voice asked.
“Well, the girl and I decided to leave the museum and find a bar to have a drink and, ah, so that I could obey the call of nature.”
“And you went?”
“Yes, we did.”
“Stop the tape,” Henderson said.
“Right, Mr. Ford– CLICK.”
Sergeant Miller turned away from the recording machine.
“What do you think, sir?” he asked. Both men turned to the one-way window looking into the interrogation room where the young man was being kept.
“He’s lying. But we can’t prove it.” Henderson answered.
“Yeah, and that doesn’t mean he actually did it. Perhaps he just saw the robbery, but doesn’t want us to know. Has his house been searched?”
“His room, yes, but they found nothing. And we can’t spare the men to take this investigation further. We have no choice but to let him go.”
The sergeant snorted, “We shouldn’t be doing smaller cases like this anyway. There’s not enough coppers to do a full investigation every time someone gets mugged.”
“The mayor promised us a greater budget if we could recover his wife’s bracelet,” Henderson said mournfully.
“Yeah, but what Williams gives with his left hand he takes back with his right one,” the sergeant replied dismissively.
“You may well be right, sergeant. Well, let’s get this over with,” sighed Henderson. He threw a glance into the interrogation room where the young man was still studying the ceiling intently, and opened the door.
“Mr. Ford, you are free to go,” he said to the young man.
“About time. Are there going to be charges brought against me?”
“We have no reason to do so.”
“How generous of you.” The young man rose from his chair, which creaked, and pulled on his coat while walking towards the door. He stopped in front of Henderson and spoke, “Next time you suspect me of something, do make a call and we can make an appointment. Then I don’t need to spend eight hours in a cold cell because there is no officer available to interrogate me.”
With that, he pulled his coat straight and walked out. Sergeant Miller escorted him out of the cellblock and to the exit of the police station. There, he was left on his own. He looked around with hauteur, buttoned his coat up and walked away.
A figure detached itself from a nearby alley.
“How did it go?” the young woman asked.
He turned to look at her and sagged a little. “Good. They are not going to press charges against me.”
“Great.” She put her arms over his shoulders. He was staring at the fading bruise on her forehead, but turned his eyes towards her when she stepped close. The looked each other for a moment, and then kissed each other on the lips. When they broke their kiss, her impish grin returned and his lips curled into a faint smile.
She took his right hand in her left. “Come on, let’s have a drink to celebrate.” She started walking along the street and he followed her.
“How was it? Being interrogated, I mean,” she asked.
“Not as bad as I expected. Perhaps there is something in the saying that the innocent have nothing to fear. Nothing apart from being dragged of their beds and being locked up in a cell for half a day.”
“Perhaps I should start fearing then,” she said archly.
He laughed in reply and they both walked on in silence, until the young man felt something swinging against his right wrist. He looked down.
“How did you get by that bracelet?”
==================================================
.