The Interrogation
I was cold and I was hungry. More time had passed and I didn’t know how much because the police had taken everything: my bag, my watch, and my shoes. I looked at the unsavoury throw on the rock-hard bench in my cell but I wasn’t tempted to put it around my shoulders. I had to keep getting off the bench and rubbing my bum because it was going numb from sitting for so long. No one had pushed a plate under a little hatch in the door (there was no hatch, actually) and no one had offered me a chance to make a call.
This was police brutality at its worst. Completely unnecessary because this was all some great big misunderstanding. Surely I had rights. I pictured Anthony, happy and grumpy in his studio, and I had never missed him more. In fact, I missed home; I missed work, my family, and friends; and I missed my caffè macchiato from Jimmy’s.
I heard a key in the lock and stopped rubbing my bottom.
‘At last,’ I said. ‘Have you sorted out the mix-up?’
The guard at the door simply jerked his head towards the corridor and said, ‘Allez!’
I knew what that meant. Was I free to go? I certainly hoped so and I’d be calling my lawyer to sue every last member of the French police.
‘Where do I get my things?’ I asked.
Just outside the door was the policewoman from earlier. She hooked my elbow with a clamp-like hand and started pushing me along the corridor and up a flight of stairs. Along the dark corridor on the upper floor was a series of closed doors and at the very end, a fire escape. She opened a door. The room looked ominously like the interview room in NCIS. I looked at the fire escape just before entering and thought I could make a break for it. It was obvious I wasn’t about to be released; they wanted to interrogate me about the bag. But at least I would get the chance to explain.
The policewoman gestured for me to go in with a hard shove. Her hand went to her gun. I got nervous and went into panic mode.
‘Look,’ I said, swiftly backing into the room. ‘I didn’t do anything. Whatever it is you think I’ve done, I’m innocent. Well no one is completely innocent. I mean, who is right?’ She jerked me into a chair at a metal desk. I fell into it. ‘But this, whatever this is about, I’m completely innocent.’
‘You just said no one is completely innocent.’ A voice came from the doorway. I turned to see a tall, thin man entering the room. Closely cropped hair and a receding hairline. He pulled up a chair and sat opposite me. The policewoman sat beside him and looked me up and down. She hadn’t said a single word so I tried to appeal to this new officer’s kind-looking eyes. They were deep blue and his slim face was unshaven. He rubbed his chin as he flicked open a file he’d brought in.
‘Magenta Bright, you say? From London?’ he said.
‘That’s right. You can confirm this. Just call anyone –’
He put up a hand to shush me. I shushed.
Looking at me but not saying a word he began to lay photographs out in front of me on the desk. ‘I am Inspecteur Martin.’ He tapped loudly with his forefinger at a photograph. ‘You know this man?’
I looked from his kind eyes to the photo. He pushed it closer. I shook my head.
‘Never seen him before,’ I said. ‘But he wasn’t the one who gave me the bag. That guy was a lot younger.’
‘His name?’
‘I never knew his name. He just passed me the bag.’
‘And you just took it?’
‘Well, yes, I had lots of bags, you see. I was confused. I thought it was one of mine but then I realized that –’
‘Look at the photos. Tell me the names of all the people you recognize.’ His voice wasn’t unpleasant. If anything he sounded tired and uninterested.
I looked at each photograph, shaking my head with as much confidence as I could muster.
‘I don’t know a single one,’ I declared.
The inspector and the policewoman looked at each other and the atmosphere in the room changed. It got decidedly heavier and I knew that my arrest had nothing to do with anything as simple as a case of a stolen bag. He gathered the photos and put them back into the file. He then whipped out a sheet of paper. On it was a list of names.
‘All I want you to do is look at the list and tell me which one of them is your contact.’
I mouthed the words ‘my contact’, because I was too nervous to use actual words. I blinked vigorously so I could read the list through the tears welling up in my eyes.
I shook my head after carefully going down the list. I cleared my throat and pointed at a name.
‘Yes?’ Inspector Martin said. He and the police officer leaned forward on their elbows.
‘W-well,’ I stuttered. ‘I think this one won an Emmy at the awards recently.’
‘Very funny.’ He snatched the list away and got up, scraping the chair on the floor. ‘This interview is terminated.’
I stood and the policewoman got up, too. Inspector Martin was at the door.
‘Wait,’ I said. ‘This interview is not terminated.’
‘You have something to confess?’ he said.
‘No, I don’t. I want to go home. I know my rights. You should at least let me make a telephone call. At least one. I know the law.’
Inspector Martin looked at the policewoman with the gun. She shot a look at the chair I’d got out of so abruptly, implying I should sit. I did so, my eyes on her weapon, and gulped. Inspector Martin left and the policewoman plugged in a phone, which appeared from a shelf I hadn’t noticed before.
‘I’m calling London,’ I said, haughtily.
Anthony would be at the art gallery or on his way home if I was right about the time. His phone started ringing. Please pick up, please pick up, I kept saying under my breath. The second I heard Anthony’s voice I inhaled deeply and burst into tears.
‘Magenta, slow down. I don’t understand a single word. Did you say arrested?’ Anthony sounded as desperate as I was.
‘Well, I think so. No one said that thing, you know: “You have the right to remain silent” or whatever it is. Or if they did, they said it in French and I missed it. If I’m not arrested can’t I just walk out? Only they’ve got my shoes.’
‘Magenta, I’m coming out there straight away. Ask for a translator. In fact, don’t say anything until I get you a lawyer.’
‘Call Indigo,’ I said. ‘She’ll know what to do.’ My sister specialized in business and corporate law. In truth, I probably needed a criminal lawyer but I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. Besides which, Indigo’s French was fairly fluent. ‘I’m scared, Anthony. I can’t make them see that there’s been a mistake. I have no idea what I’m supposed to have done.’
‘It’s okay. Sit tight. I’ll get the first flight. Don’t worry about anything, I’ll take care of it all.’ Anthony sounded confident, probably only for my benefit. I had to put my faith in him but I wouldn’t be reassured until he was there in front of me with my sister, Indigo, and a French phrase book.
I was reluctant to get off the phone but the sooner I could, the sooner Anthony would arrive. I was escorted back to the cell. It was colder than I’d remembered and before I knew it my teeth had begun to chatter and I couldn’t control them. I placed the dusty-looking throw over my shoulders and curled up in a ball on the bench and closed my eyes.
I couldn’t sleep, of course. I was just trying to block out my surroundings. I felt sure that once Anthony arrived he’d get me out of that hellhole. That was what I kept telling myself. All I had to do was think positive thoughts and the nightmare would eventually end.
With my eyes closed I retraced my day, from my successful meeting with Clara to the visit to the pharmacist. I hadn’t forgotten about my pregnancy scare. If it turned out to be positive I hoped I wouldn’t have to give birth in prison. I shook the image from my head. Of course I wouldn’t. Anyway, I wasn’t pregnant … was I?