plate with my finger. I want another sandwich, but don’t really want to ask. Looking up, I realize they are both staring at me. I remember what the lady cop said in the car, that I wasn’t acting like I’d been abducted.
“I’m so happy to be home, to be safe again,” I say.
The mother starts crying at that, her chest heaving with painful, guttural sobs, her hands held over her face like a shield. It is a long time before she stops.
When we get to the police station, I ask the parents if they’ll come in with me. I grip the mom’s hand tightly; I need her there with me to answer some of the questions. These people are trained at spotting a lie; no matter how good I am, it’s their job to see through me.
“If you want us to I’m sure we can ask,” says the mom, taking a step forward. The dad holds her arm, stopping her.
“I think Vince will want to talk to you alone, Bec. But we’ll wait right out here.” The mother takes a step back and looks down, her eyes still red and puffy.
The uniformed policeman at the desk ushers me through. Rebecca’s T-shirt is starting to feel a little snug.
A man wearing a brand-new suit walks toward me, his hand outstretched.
“Rebecca Winter?” he asks. I nod and he gives my hand a brisk shake.
“I’m Detective Vali Malik, Vince’s partner.”
“Bec!” Andopolis says, coming over to us, a file under his arm. “You look much better.”
He never mentioned having a partner. “Thanks,” I say.
“Come with me,” Malik says, turning on the heel of his perfectly polished shoe.
Trailing behind the two of them, I peer into a room to my left. Inside is a large board covered in notes that I can’t quite read from here. Stuck to it is a map, a large photograph of Rebecca smiling into the camera and a close-up of a cracked mobile phone in grass. There are a few men sitting at a large table and one of them looks up at me as I pass. Andopolis’s wide hand presses against my lower back, gently pushing me forward. He smiles reassuringly.
“Right in here,” he says as he holds a door on the right open for me.
I’m expecting another cold concrete box like the one in Sydney. Instead they bring me into a sunny room with couches, a miniature table and a plastic tub of toys in the corner. Like Sydney, there’s a large mirror across one of the walls. I wonder if the cops I just walked past are going to come and watch. Malik motions toward one of the couches. It squeaks as I sit down.
“Would you like anything, Rebecca? Tea, coffee?”
“I’m okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“How does it feel to be home?” Andopolis asks, sitting on the couch across from me.
“It’s amazing.”
Malik sits on the chair to my left, opening a folder.
“That’s great to hear,” he says and smiles.
“Your tests have come back looking good,” Malik says, flicking through some papers in the folder.
Victory. Even I can’t believe I actually pulled that off. But I can’t get cocky now. I need to concentrate on this new stage of the game.
I take them in for a moment. Malik must be at least fifteen years younger than Andopolis. He is all sharp lines and impeccable grooming. Next to him Andopolis looks old and rumpled.
“You weren’t there this morning when I woke up,” I say to Malik.
“No. I was talking to your parents.” He smiles his quick, efficient smile again and continues. “I’m happy that you’re back with your family, Rebecca, but we really have to focus on the investigation. The longer we leave it, the less likely we are to get answers.”
He was right. I didn’t want them getting any answers; I had to hold them off as long as possible. Their notebooks come back out. Ding, ding. Round two. I’d knocked it out of the park at the last round at the hospital, so hopefully I could do as well now. After this, things would only get easier.
“Can you describe the location of where you were held?” Malik, diving straight in there.
“I didn’t really…” I pause for effect. “I didn’t really see the outside. It could have been anywhere. Sorry.”
“That’s okay, Bec. Don’t pressure yourself. How much time do you think passed between your escape and when the police picked you up? You were picked up in Sydney, so presumably you were held near there,” Andopolis asks.
I think about that last night in the cheap hostel at Kings Cross. It was only a week ago, but it feels like much longer. I’d counted my money out on the mattress, knowing I wouldn’t have enough, that I’d have to check out in the morning. I remember trying to sleep. From the window I could hear women screaming outside, bottles smashing, men swearing. I knew that the next day I’d be out there with them.
“No. Not really, sorry.”
It smells weird in here, like a hospital. I guess the toys have to be cleaned every time a kid picked them up. I look at the miniature chair and table, wondering if Andopolis ever sat down there with a child, asking them to use a dolly to play out whatever abuse they’d encountered.
“I know this is hard, but we need you to tell us everything you can remember,” Malik says.
I take a breath, getting ready to tell them what they’re gagging to hear. I’d planned it all out: torture chambers, men in masks, everything. They’d lap it up and I’d lead them on a wild-goose chase around Australia. But then, just as I’m about to begin, the photograph from the investigation room comes into my mind. Rebecca Winter, young and happy. Did I really want to make her fate so ghastly? I look between their waiting faces. I was being silly. Whatever I said had no bearing on whatever really happened to her. It was stupid to even think about that. It was my life now, not hers. I had to be smart about this. Of course, as soon as I tell them a story, they’ll start digging through it and finding holes. Less is more. The cleverest thing to do is to tell no story at all.
“That’s the problem,” I say, quietly. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Nothing?” Malik tries to cover his frustration, but I can hear it there in his voice.
“What about more recently? Do you remember who hit you? Who caused that bruise?” asks Andopolis, eyeing the side of my face. I look down, as though I’m ashamed of it. Really, the story is sort of embarrassing. I was running from a fruit vendor. I’d stolen two apples before I tripped and fell on the curb. No one hit me.
“No.”
“What about your arm?” Andopolis asks, softly. If he’s annoyed he doesn’t show it.
I shake my head.
“When I first came to see you,” Andopolis says gently, “you said that you hurt it when you escaped. Do you remember that?”
“Yes.” No. I’d forgotten.
“So you do remember escaping?” Malik asks.
I take a breath. I’m going to have to give them something.
“I remember breaking the window glass,” I say, remembering the bottle smashing in the bathroom. My body shudders at the memory, they notice.
“My arm got caught, but I kept going. I just remember knowing I didn’t have much time.”
“Why didn’t you have much time?” Malik asks, quick as a whip.
Because I knew the cop outside was going to come in and check up on me. I wonder if there was some way of asking if she lost her job without seeming vindictive. Probably best not to.
I wish I could press Pause on this situation. Go outside for a cigarette and have