tells us everything she can remember. She’s an important witness. Where’s the mother anyway?’
The social worker flicked through the notes. ‘We don’t know exactly where she is at the moment; we’ve tried leaving her a message but we’ve had no reply. She told us she’d meet us here, but maybe it’s all too much for her.’
‘She’s got responsibilities. This kid for one, and another one lying cold.’
The social worker bristled, furrowing her brow angrily as she took a sidewards glance at Bronwin.
‘That’s enough, Detective. Not everything is so clear cut. The family are well known to us and there are problems. The mother’s very young and, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, things can get difficult for her.’
The detective sighed.
‘Fine, no more questions, but we need to take her to see the line-up. It’s important; we can only hold the men for so long.’
The line-up room was dark and Bronwin wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. The woman who kept insisting on holding her hand smelt funny. A bit like the dusty old cupboard in the kitchen at home. She didn’t like the smell and she didn’t like the woman. She wanted to go home. Where was her mum anyway? She hoped she’d come and get her soon.
‘All we want you to do is tell us if you remember any of the men’s faces. We want you to have a good look and if you remember any of them, tell us.’
‘Can I have a word, Detective?’ A man with a loud booming voice appeared out of the shadows, making Bronwin step back behind the social worker. She couldn’t really make sense of the words he was using, but he seemed to be so cross; like everyone else around her.
‘Detective, my clients feel it’s unfair they’re not only being forced to be in the line-up, but that the “guilty” party will be decided on the say-so of a child. We all know what children are like. They choose things on a whim. I want a stop to this.’
The officer in charge rubbed his top teeth with his tongue. ‘If they’ve nothing to hide, they’ve got nothing to fear.’
The man grinned nastily at the detective, his eyes reflecting the coldness in his smile. Bronwin took a sharp intake of breath. She didn’t like this at all. Why wasn’t anybody taking her home to bed? She was tired and wanted to snuggle up with Mr Hinkles, the teddy bear her sister Kathleen had got her. Where was her sister anyway? She’d heard people talking about her and they’d asked her a lot of questions, but she hadn’t seen her since the woods. She didn’t want to think about the woods; thinking about them gave Bronwin a funny feeling in her tummy.
Big tears began to spill down Bronwin’s cheeks. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she watched them fall onto the floor, right next to the man with the booming voice’s foot. Cautiously, Bronwin looked at him from underneath her shaggy fringe. He was smart and clean and smelled nice.
Bronwin quickly dropped her gaze as she saw the man looking at her. Her eyes wandered to his shoes. They were black shoes. Shiny black shoes, apart from the bottom parts of them, which were dirty with mud. She looked up again, edging back as the man bent down to meet her stare.
‘Would you like a hanky?’
Bronwin shook her head but the man insisted.
‘Here, take it.’ As he pushed the crisp white handkerchief into Bronwin’s hand she noticed some letters embroidered onto it, but she wasn’t good with letters, especially fancy ones that swirled and curled like those did.
‘Now, is everybody ready? We need to get on with this.’ The detective’s voice had a tone of weariness. He was tired and didn’t expect much from this line-up, even though in his gut he felt he had the right men; he knew only too well that with slick high-powered lawyers; like the one standing opposite him, even if the suspects had been caught with bloodstained knives in their pockets and the words ‘guilty’ written on their foreheads, there was still a possibility of them walking free.
‘Are you ready, Bronwin?’ The social worker pulled Bronwin up from her seat as the lights on the other side of the mirrored line-up room went on.
Bronwin nodded.
‘All you have to do is pick out the men who you think you saw in the woods. Do you think you can do that, Bronwin?’
Again, Bronwin nodded. She stood on a chair and in front of her a procession of men began to walk in through the door on the other side of the glass.
‘Don’t worry; Bronwin, they can’t see you or hear you.’
The men stood with their backs against the wall, staring ahead, holding up the boards they had been given. The detective adjusted the microphone as he spoke into it.
‘Can you step forward, number one, and then turn to the left and to the right, slowly.’ The tall man with dark hair stepped forward, nervously turning as instructed in both directions before stepping back to the wall.
‘Number two, can you step forward and then turn to the left and to the right, slowly.’ Without taking his eyes off Bronwin’s reaction to the men the detective stood up slightly as he realised he was too near the mike.
‘Number three, can …’
Bronwin’s mind wandered off. Her legs were getting tired having to stand up and she thought it was funny the way all the men were staring ahead. The lady had said they couldn’t see her, but she didn’t know how that was possible if she could see them.
‘Bronwin? Bronwin?’ The detective was talking to her. She didn’t know how long he had been, but she could tell he was cross; his cheeks were red like her mum’s cheeks went red when she was angry with her.
‘Do you recognise any of them? Were any of them there in the woods?’ The detective’s voice was urgent as he stared at Bronwin.
‘Detective, let me handle it.’ The social worker cut her eye at the detective. ‘Bronwin, do you recognise any of them? Were any of them there in the woods?’
Bronwin looked first at the detective and then at the lady. She didn’t know why they were asking her the same question and arguing about it.
The social worker sighed and looked at her watch. ‘Bronwin, this is very important. If you can remember anything, you need to tell us. Can you remember who it was?’
Bronwin nodded her head.
‘Show us then. Can you point them out?’
Bronwin nodded again, she raised her hand and pointed, speaking in a small voice. ‘It was him.’
The officer sprang into action. ‘Number eight.’
‘Yes. And him.’ She pointed again at the line-up.
‘Number two.’
‘Yes.’
The detective’s face didn’t give anything away. In a matter-of-fact manner he said, ‘Well done, Bronwin. You’ve done great.’
Bronwin looked at him, her elf-like face turned to the side. She swivelled around, turning her back to the line-up and staring towards the door where the man with the booming voice stood. ‘And him. I saw him in the woods as well.’
‘Bronwin do you understand what happens to children who keep telling lies?’
‘I ain’t lying, Dr Berry. It was him, it was that bloke. Why won’t you believe me?’
The psychiatrist tapped his pen on his leg absent-mindedly. ‘We’ve gone over this before and we both know why I won’t believe you, don’t we?’ The psychiatrist paused dramatically then said, ‘Because it’s simply not true. How do you think a person feels to be accused of bad things, Bronwin? How would you feel if I accused you of doing something bad?’
‘But you are. You’re saying I’m lying.’
‘That’s