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Once they’d reviewed and copied the footage, a female officer had asked for a moment alone with her. The others vacated the room she’d been escorted to quietly, waiting outside.
It was only then, amongst the silence, Ivy saw the room. She had been vaguely aware of moving, but she’d just tuned everything out. The small, what she could only describe as a break room, had a large table in the centre, which was where she now sat. Neutral colours decorated the walls, with the odd piece of bizarre artwork. A child’s drawings were pinned to the fridge with brightly coloured magnets. The low humming noise coming from the appliance was the only sound audible except for the voice of the woman who addressed her.
“What was in the envelope?” she asked softly. Ivy clutched her bag tighter to her chest. She’d hoped they’d overlooked it, that no one would ask. Although she’d known there was little chance it would go unmentioned, not with how thoroughly they’d gone over the footage. It was on there, clear as day. As was her placing it in her bag.
“It’s… personal.” Her voice faltered.
“Blackmail?”
“I don’t know.” Her breathing quickened, closing her eyes as she counted slowly, trying to banish the prickling sensation behind her eyelids, the belt around her waist increased another notch by habit, despite her shaking fingers struggling the secure it.
“I know who you are, Miss Sinclair. What I need now, is for you to help me do my job. I can promise you the utmost discretion, but I need the envelope.”
Ivy opened her eyes, shame and trepidation spiralling through every vein as it chased cold dread through her. Reaching into her bag, she pulled it out. Sliding it across to the lady as she slipped on some gloves, removing an evidence bag. Except it wasn’t the kind she was used to seeing on TV shows. It was different, with things inside the lady spread over the table.
Carefully, she tipped the contents onto the paper she’d laid down. Her face paled as she saw the photos. Ivy turned away, cheeks burning in humiliation as pictures of masked men were caught in still life using her. Her body was raw and bruised. Bloody welts crisscrossed her back, adding colour to the macabre canvas. One by one the policewoman examined the pictures, sliding them inside the evidence bag before folding up the table covering she’d placed down, putting it inside too.
There was a heavy silence while the woman sat quietly, as if in reflection of what she’d seen. Ivy could feel the weight of her stare, despite her own tearful gaze burning into the tiled floor, unable to being herself to look at the person who’d just witnessed a fragment of her shame. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear, focusing on breathing. Nausea welled as the prickle of sweat began to cause her top to stick to her skin, its texture rekindling memories of drying blood.
“Who would have access to this kind of footage, Miss Sinclair?”
“No one.” She attempted to sound strong, her arms squeezing across her stomach tightly as the belt failed to offer the needed comfort. Her voice came out as nothing more than a whisper of wind, something a breeze or sound would have easily drowned out.
“There’s very little detail on file about what happened to you.”
Good, that was how it should be. “I was rescued.”
“Who rescued you, Miss Sinclair?”
“I was, erm… catatonic. I don’t remember anything of the rescue, just waking up, weeks later in a hospital.” It was the truth. Whilst she knew damn well who had tracked her down and found her, she had no first-hand knowledge of what happened that day. And that was what mattered. She’d been told to stick to only the facts she’d witnessed if she ever had to relay details. And she took Miles’ and his friends’ anonymity very seriously. Who knew what kind of repercussions there would be? The law didn’t always work, and sometimes ended up treating protectors worse than criminals.
“Surely someone wanted to take credit?”
“No one has come forward for a reward.” That wasn’t strictly speaking true. A few random people had tried to take credit, but their lack of insight into events, and the way they created stories to try to match the pictures found, betrayed their lies.
“So, how do you know there was no footage?”
“I was told the place I was kept was destroyed during my rescue.”
“And where were you held?”
Ivy forced herself to sit a little straighter, blowing out a long breath, finding the strength to meet the woman’s eyes. “I was held in a windowless room where I was beaten, tortured, and raped. Where I was left in complete darkness until Owner had a use for me. I’d be forced to pleasure him, and if I didn’t perform to his expectations he’d beat me into unconsciousness. But you know what? Unconsciousness was the blessing. It was the only time I didn’t feel. He’d bring friends around, force me to please them and have them rate my performance, knowing a bad score would earn me further punishments.
“That’s what you’ve got there. The rules changed, but it got to the point near the end that as long as they wore condoms, they could do anything they wanted to me. So you ask where I was held? It felt like the deepest recesses of Hell.” Ivy took a deep shuddering breath, holding it, hoping to retain the inner strength she felt beginning to ignite. The righteous fury that sometimes rose from her place of shame and humiliation. “The reason there’re no statements, no charges, is I knew better than to look anyone in the eye, not that I would have seen their faces.” She gestured towards the bag, to the men wearing masks.
“And who is this owner? What was his name?”
Ivy turned her head, her fingernails digging into her sides painfully as her self-hug failed to keep her calm. Her mouth opened and closed a few times.
Owner was Owner.
She dared not utter any other name. Even though she’d tried to remove that title from him mentally, it always came creeping back.
A knock at the door interrupted her. Ivy recognised Mr Taylor instantly as he stepped inside, not waiting to be beckoned. A scowl of righteous fury lined his brow as his eyes passed over her to zero in on the woman sitting on the opposite side of the table.
Miles had so much of his father about him, right down to the way he walked with power and purpose. His hand was on her shoulder, his grip the only warmth that had managed to penetrate the icy chill that had been present since discovering her car. Within seconds, the evidence bag had been secured from the woman before them, a stern look in his eyes as he delivered a warning.
“Officer, if you’re aware of Miss Sinclair’s identity, you’re also aware that all information pertaining to her abduction is being handled by a domestic law enforcement agency other than yourselves, and you have no jurisdiction with regard to her case. I would kindly ask you to strike anything Miss Sinclair may have said from the record and allow the necessary agency to deal with this as already agreed with your superiors.
