Page 8 of Savage Justice

“No. There’s no one.”

“Well then, if you could also bring what you’ll need for him, we’ll find you a nice comfortable place to wait.”

I bow to the inevitable. “All right. Give us a few minutes…”

The family interview room down at the police station is actually quite nice. Low sofas in bright primary colours. Toys to play with, cushions and playmats, and a free vending machine dispensing hot and cold drinks. Lucy disappears into a cubicle and changes her clothes. Constable Jackman puts everything she was wearing in a plastic evidence bag and sends the stuff off to the forensic laboratory.

I give Noah his bottle while Lucy goes over her story again.

Someone produces an album full of photographs, and Detective Jackman asks her to pick out anyone who looks like the man who abducted her. Lucy thumbs through the mugshots dutifully but insists he’s not in there.

“What about either of the men who helped you? Are they in there?”

“No,” she snaps. “Why would they be?”

The detective gentles his tone. “I know they were kind to you, but I think they may not be very nice men either.”

“Why would you say that?” I demand. “They probably saved my daughter’s life.”

“We found the van, just where Lucy told us it would be. And the man.”

“So? That’s good, isn’t it?”

“The rear tyres had been shot out. And the perpetrator has two suspected broken legs. He’s in hospital, under guard, awaiting major surgery.”

“Broken legs? I…”

“He says it was done deliberately.”

Lucy nods. “I told you I heard the screaming…”

I reach for Lucy’s hand. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

The constable continues. “So, you see, these are dangerous men, and we need to speak to them. They may have been in the right place at the right time, but they used a firearm and extreme violence. Do you know their names, Lucy?”

Lucy shakes her head but doesn’t meet his gaze. Or mine.

“Lucy? Are you sure?” I prompt her.

“I don’t know who they were,” she insists. “I’m tired now. I want to go home.”

“Of course, sweetie, but—”

“Is there anything you can tell us that might help identify these men?” Inspector Russell isn’t giving up. “Did you actually see the gun?”

“No. Just the bar that he used to break the door. He dropped that on the ground.”

“Yes, we found it. Unfortunately, there were no usable prints on it. Did they wear gloves?

Lucy shrugs. “Maybe. I can’t remember.” More averting her gaze, more shifting in her seat.

And I know for certain. My daughter is lying to the police.

“Lucy, are you quite sure? It’s important you tell us everything you can remember. You’re not in any trouble, we just want to know the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I want to go home.” She starts to cry all over again.

“Can we leave it for now?” I ask. “Maybe I could take her home, and if she remembers anything more, I’ll call you.”

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