affected by violence, but it made her blood boil.
The door opened and in walked the female officer who had escorted her from the station the day before. Pleased to see at least one person who held some sympathy for her predicament, Melissa asked the officers name.
“Mulligan, Miss Jones. Officer Mulligan. Can I get you some coffee?”
“Thanks, but I’d rather leave.”
“Won’t be long now. I have to check a couple of things with you and then you’re free to go. Ten minutes tops, is that okay?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back with my notes and that coffee.”
It didn’t take long for Mulligan to return. The coffee was too hot and very bitter, but Melissa drank it anyway.
“I just wanted to confirm you didn’t see any faces of the men who kidnapped you.”
“That’s right.”
“So there’s no point in looking through this.” She placed a heavy binder of suspect photographs to one side. “I do need to ask you the nature of your relationship with Senator Barns.”
Melissa blinked.
“I don’t have a relationship with him,” she said. “First time I met him was in his basement when he surprised the kidnapper and then cut me loose.”
“Oh, well, it’s just that the officers present saw you stand up for him. They assumed you two were…”
Melissa shook her head. “No no, nothing like that. I just didn’t want him to get in trouble. It was pretty obvious someone set him up and I wanted to make sure he wasn’t arrested after he saved me.”
“That’s very brave of you.”
Melissa didn’t reply. Officer Mulligan smiled at her.
“Now, when the men bundled you into the car, one of them said something to you. Can you confirm what it was?”
“He said I was told not to tell anyone.”
“About what?”
“About what happened with Howie I guess, I’m not really sure.”
“And who told you not to tell anyone?”
Melissa just stared at her.
“Oh,” said Mulligan, looking flustered. “I’m… I’m sorry about that.”
“Was I kidnapped by police officers?” Melissa demanded.
“No, no I don’t think so.”
“Then how did they know what the police told me not to talk to anyone about Howie?”
“I… don’t know.” The officer seemed distressed, much more upset than the victim sitting in front of her.
“Can I go now?”
“Er, yes. Yes that should be fine. I’ll process your release. Do you want police protection?”
“Do you think I want police protection?”
“Well, probably not but I have to ask.”
“Quite frankly I’d rather take my chances with the kidnappers. Nothing personal.” She added, “You’ve been nice to me. Thanks.”
Mulligan nodded weakly.
“Let’s get you out of here,” she said.
There was no taxi waiting for her this time, but the press was out in force. She had to get to the rank further down the street, which meant pushing through the photographers and microphones and questions firing at her from all sides. Nobody had warned her to keep quiet before she left this time, presumably because they felt the kidnapping made that point already.
Melissa was having none of it. She stopped, ignoring the pushing throng of people thrusting mikes in her face.
“Where’s the Times-Dispatch?” she asked.
A female reporter raised her hand, in which she grasped her press pass.
“Harriet Fletcher, Times-Dispatch. Hi Miss Jones, thanks for talking to me. Can you confirm that you were found by Senator Tim Barns earlier this evening, tied up in his basement?”
“That’s correct,” she answered. “He rescued me.”
“Rescued you from whom?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa replied. “Some men grabbed me off the street. They kept me in the back of a van for hours and then took me to what turned out to be Senator Barns’s basement. If the Senator hadn’t returned home earlier than expected, I don’t know what would have happened. He scared off my kidnapper and set me free. Then the police arrived.”
“Have you ever met Senator Tim Barns before today?”
“Never. I’m from Canada so I don’t know much about US politicians. I’d never even heard of him before today.”
“Will you be staying in Richmond or heading home now?”
“I don’t know, I haven’t decided.”
“One more question, Miss Jones. Do you have any idea why you were tied up in Senator Barns’s basement?”
“I have no idea. Thanks, I’d like to get on.”
Fletcher thanked her and she and her photographer stepped aside. The others continued to push in close, however, photographers snapping pictures and shouting at her to look up and to “smile”, which pissed her off. She didn’t feel much like smiling, the insensitive jerks. She was finding it hard to breathe. She couldn’t see where she was going and it was hard to walk.
Suddenly there was a new man to her left. He carried no microphone or camera. He was large, black and wearing a #blacklivesmatter t-shirt. Then there was another to her right. Both were big enough to hold back the press to give her space to walk. Another three or four, some men, some women, all black people wearing the same shirts, moved in to surround her. They didn’t say anything, they didn’t try to steer her in any direction, they simply held back the crush and followed her lead. Melissa thanked them as she reached the first in a line of taxis.
“Wilson would love you to join us on our march later this evening,” one of the women said.
“Did he send you guys to protect me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank him for me, and thank you!” She meant it. “Please tell Wilson that I still don’t feel ready to march, but it’s nice that he’s thinking of me.”
She got in the taxi and gave the name of her hotel, then left them all on the street.
Melissa sat alone in her hotel room again, enjoying the peace and quiet. She took another painkiller as her arm was starting to bother her again.
It was obvious to her that Wilson had sent those people to protect her from the press in order to convince her she should join the protest. Would it be so bad if she did? Clearly the cops in this town were screwed up. Whether it was them behind the kidnapping or not, clearly the men who bundled her into the van were aware of the warning they gave her the first time she left the police station. What was that about?
She took out her phone and answered a text from her mom, who was now checking in with her every ten minutes, and going into a blind panic if she didn’t respond immediately. It was a message from Shania that caught her eye.
Saw the protest last night. Did you join in?
No, Melissa responded. I was too tired and sad.