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“Miss Daniels,” the round-faced man speaks to me, “I’m Detective Finnegan. I’ll have a female officer accompany you to the station. It’s all routine. Nothing to worry about.” He pre-empts my protest, but this couldn’t be further from my mind. He continues to steer me toward a police car. I nod, my brain on autopilot.
“Excuse me, where are you taking her?” Gianni leaves Piero’s side and almost grabs Finnegan.
“She’s being taken to the station to give a statement,” Finnegan replies. “You can accompany her if you want, but you’ll have to wait. Are you family?”
“No, I’m her boss.”
“Okay. She’ll need a change of clothes if you can help with that?”
“I have some spare uniforms in the boot of my car. I was meant to be dropping them off at another branch. There will be something for her in there.”
“She’ll be at the station for a while, so there’s no rush.”
Gianni and Finnegan continue to organize me as I’m ushered into the back of a police car. My eyes are pulled to the large window at the front of the shop. I know what’s going on in there. I know what lies beneath the mass of bodies hunting for hair, scraps of clothing, and debris that may just be the tiny piece of evidence that will result in a conviction. I know the stretcher stands outside, waiting to be wheeled in, and this is how Lewis will leave the shop.
What I don’t understand is where my tears are. There’s no shudder down my spine when I see the large black bag sitting ready on the stretcher. Why am I not throwing up against a wall at the mere thought of this? Instead, there’s a monotone hum within me, a bland nothingness that has enveloped me, leaving me feeling hard and inhuman.
As the car pulls away from the scene, I realize why I’m so hardened. I’ve been here before. Police officers have questioned and judged me. I’ve been examined by professionals, my every word recorded and scrutinized. None of this is new to me. It only brings back memories I’d rather forget.
* * *
“You can go home now, Miss Daniels. DI Klein has asked for you to come back tomorrow for an interview, though,” the young female officer, whose name I’ve already forgotten, tells me once I’m released from the interview room. She’s small and dainty, and I wonder how someone so petite could stand up against a hardened criminal.
The past hour has gone by in a daze. I’ve been prodded, swabbed, and sampled. My clothes have been removed and placed in large evidence bags. My hair has been combed and collected. I have been harvested and logged, parts of my body tagged and labeled, ready to be examined under a microscope. I’ve been attended to by so many people that their uniforms and fake smiles have all molded into one person.
I’m taken back into the reception area, where Gianni sits huddled on a plastic chair he is far too big for. He stands as I am led through some doors. His face is grave, his suit pristine.
“Are you here for Miss Daniels?” the officer asks.
“Yes,” Gianni answers.
“She could really do with being taken to the hospital,” she tells Gianni.
“I said no hospital,” I argue. Gianni and the officer share a conspiratorial look.
“She’s suffering from shock and has sustained a head injury. She needs to be watched, just to be on the safe side,” she tells him.
“I’ll take her home.” Gianni’s intense voice doesn’t sound right here. His whole persona is too exquisite for such a place. I imagine he’s never had cause to set foot in a police station, unlike me. The young officer studies me. I’m exposed as Gianni takes several steps closer.
“She can’t be left alone tonight. Does she live with anyone, a partner or housemate?” the officer enquires.
“She’s house-sitting for her parents. Her brother is staying there.”
“Frank is away on a job,” I mumble.
Gianni glances at me and then back to the policewoman. “I’ll stay with her tonight. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
They wait for my reaction, but my eyes are heavy. I’m drunk on Gianni’s Italian accent—the richness of his words is like a full-bodied red wine, the vapors of which are seeping into my bloodstream and shutting down my limbs.
“If that’s okay with Miss Daniels, then I think it would be a good idea,” the officer answers, taking the lead on my welfare. I blink. The effort involved in nodding my head feels too much. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her tug on Gianni’s arm, then she lowers her voice, indicating she doesn’t want me to hear what’s being said. Her words carry themselves to me, regardless of her effort.
“She’s tired. Her body is beginning to crash after so much adrenaline. She needs to rest and be kept comfortable. She may be confused about what she’s witnessed. It’s not unusual for people to think the ordeal was a dream or become disorientated about where they are or what happened. And how she deals with this will depend on what kind of person she is. Everyone is different.”
“I understand.”
“She should be fine after some rest, but if you’re concerned for any reason, take her straight to the hospital.”
Gianni nods, and the officer leaves us.
