know!”
“You’re a fucking liar!”
He smiles at me. “No, son. I’m not a liar. I’m the truth. I’m the fucking
stoowyteller
here. What am I?”
“Fuck off!”
Next thing he gathers me up by my lapels and stands me on my feet. My knees buckle, but he easily holds me up with one hand. He places this huge polished black boot on my toes and presses down. That in itself doesn’t hurt; but then he punches me again, hard, and I go backward and I feel the tendons in my ankle tearing with my foot still trapped under his boot.
This time I scream.
No one comes.
He gathers me up a second time and sits me back on my seat. I’m hyperventilating and the pain in my foot is almost making me black out again. “Let’s do that again. What am I?”
“Sto-reh,” I gasp.
“Can’t hear you,
Wichie
.”
“Storyteller.”
He dusts me down and rearranges my collar and he chucks my cheek like I’m a crying five-year-old. “Calm down,
Wichie
,” he says, in his reedy voice. “Pull yourself together. Look at the state you’re in.”
He sits back in his chair and smiles at me. After a few minutes the uniformed copper comes in with a tray of tea in plastic cups. He looks at me and then glances at the Hulk and there’s just enough ofa pause to make me realize he’s clocked what’s happened. But he’s not going to say a word, I know that. We all know that. He lays the tray on the interview table, sets one of the plastic cups of tea in front of me, and reaches for his notepad.
I pick up the tea but my hands are trembling and it spills all over the place. I manage a sip. My lip is already fattening.
I hear laughter in the corridor. It’s DC Dave and my lawyer sharing a joke as they come back to the interview room and it hasn’t occurred to me before that she’s actually been on their side all along. But then she takes one look at my condition and my rapidly swelling lip. “For God’s sake!” she says.
Then Dave leans across and grabs my chin. He looks—or pretends to look—angry. He moves my face to one side, then the other. Then he turns to Detective Constable Hulk and bawls, “Get out of my sight. Go on.”
The Hulk wipes a finger under his nose and goes out of the room without a word.
Dave shakes his head. “Did he do this?” he says to me.
“What does it look like?” I say. “Perhaps I slipped while I was trying to sit in my chair.”
My lawyer snaps. “That’s enough.” DC Dave may be playacting, but she isn’t. Her eyeballs are popping and I can see tiny veins throbbing at her temple. “Charge him or let him go.”
“I’m not going to charge you, Richie. I’m sorry that happened. He’s old school, Richie. That’s how they used to do it. Look, boy, just give me something. Anything. Any tiny detail that will help me find her. You know where she is, Richie. Any tiny detail. Her mum and dad, Richie, they are going out of their minds. It would be better for them if they could find out what happened. You can see that, can’t you? I mean, they are very fond of you, Richie. They’ve been kind to you. Like a second mum and dad, right? You owe it to them. You can see that?”
“I don’t know anything!”
“Just one detail, Richie. Help yourself. I beg you.”
And I start crying. I wish I could say that I didn’t but I’m blubbering like a baby. It’s not being smacked around, that’s not it. Well, it might have something to do with that, but mostly it’s the thought of what might have happened to Tara.
“Is it true?” I manage to get out. “Did Tara get rid of the baby?”
Dave nods at me, yes. He closes in across the table. My head is bent forward and he has a gentle but leathery hand on my neck. “It’s all right. Let it go, Richie. Let it all go. That’s right. That’s right. That’s the way. It’s all going to be all right. That’s the way. Richie, did you hurt Tara?”
“Yes,” I sob, “yes, yes, yes.”
“This is duress,” says my lawyer.
Dave nods.
“You’re a fucking liar!”
He smiles at me. “No, son. I’m not a liar. I’m the truth. I’m the fucking
stoowyteller
here. What am I?”
“Fuck off!”
Next thing he gathers me up by my lapels and stands me on my feet. My knees buckle, but he easily holds me up with one hand. He places this huge polished black boot on my toes and presses down. That in itself doesn’t hurt; but then he punches me again, hard, and I go backward and I feel the tendons in my ankle tearing with my foot still trapped under his boot.
This time I scream.
No one comes.
He gathers me up a second time and sits me back on my seat. I’m hyperventilating and the pain in my foot is almost making me black out again. “Let’s do that again. What am I?”
“Sto-reh,” I gasp.
“Can’t hear you,
Wichie
.”
“Storyteller.”
He dusts me down and rearranges my collar and he chucks my cheek like I’m a crying five-year-old. “Calm down,
Wichie
,” he says, in his reedy voice. “Pull yourself together. Look at the state you’re in.”
He sits back in his chair and smiles at me. After a few minutes the uniformed copper comes in with a tray of tea in plastic cups. He looks at me and then glances at the Hulk and there’s just enough ofa pause to make me realize he’s clocked what’s happened. But he’s not going to say a word, I know that. We all know that. He lays the tray on the interview table, sets one of the plastic cups of tea in front of me, and reaches for his notepad.
I pick up the tea but my hands are trembling and it spills all over the place. I manage a sip. My lip is already fattening.
I hear laughter in the corridor. It’s DC Dave and my lawyer sharing a joke as they come back to the interview room and it hasn’t occurred to me before that she’s actually been on their side all along. But then she takes one look at my condition and my rapidly swelling lip. “For God’s sake!” she says.
Then Dave leans across and grabs my chin. He looks—or pretends to look—angry. He moves my face to one side, then the other. Then he turns to Detective Constable Hulk and bawls, “Get out of my sight. Go on.”
The Hulk wipes a finger under his nose and goes out of the room without a word.
Dave shakes his head. “Did he do this?” he says to me.
“What does it look like?” I say. “Perhaps I slipped while I was trying to sit in my chair.”
My lawyer snaps. “That’s enough.” DC Dave may be playacting, but she isn’t. Her eyeballs are popping and I can see tiny veins throbbing at her temple. “Charge him or let him go.”
“I’m not going to charge you, Richie. I’m sorry that happened. He’s old school, Richie. That’s how they used to do it. Look, boy, just give me something. Anything. Any tiny detail that will help me find her. You know where she is, Richie. Any tiny detail. Her mum and dad, Richie, they are going out of their minds. It would be better for them if they could find out what happened. You can see that, can’t you? I mean, they are very fond of you, Richie. They’ve been kind to you. Like a second mum and dad, right? You owe it to them. You can see that?”
“I don’t know anything!”
“Just one detail, Richie. Help yourself. I beg you.”
And I start crying. I wish I could say that I didn’t but I’m blubbering like a baby. It’s not being smacked around, that’s not it. Well, it might have something to do with that, but mostly it’s the thought of what might have happened to Tara.
“Is it true?” I manage to get out. “Did Tara get rid of the baby?”
Dave nods at me, yes. He closes in across the table. My head is bent forward and he has a gentle but leathery hand on my neck. “It’s all right. Let it go, Richie. Let it all go. That’s right. That’s right. That’s the way. It’s all going to be all right. That’s the way. Richie, did you hurt Tara?”
“Yes,” I sob, “yes, yes, yes.”
“This is duress,” says my lawyer.
Dave nods.
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