mirror, early sun streaming through the bedroom window. He had to be at the police station by eight thirty so that questioning could begin again, but took the time, as he always did, to get the knot just right. He bit down on a yawn.
Last night, with a beer after midnight, he had checked the number for City General Hospital in Carlisle. He had decided not to call, but had taken note of the number anyway. If Minnie really was sick, he knew she would have been taken there. Just the thought of her being ill and dying brought a pain to his breastbone, causing him to take a deep breath. Then it would be replaced with the burn of his anger at her, dry in his gullet—still there after all this time. He would not call her. She had been dead to him for years anyway.
B ack in the interview room, Daniel inhaled the stale air of yesterday’s questions as he waited for Sebastian. Sergeant Turner’s eyes were bleary. The older man pulled gently at his collar and straightened his cuffs. Daniel knew that the police had been given a verbal report from forensics confirming blood on Sebastian’s clothes, which had been positively identified as belonging to Ben Stokes. The CCTV film had been scrutinized by police who had yet to confirm a sighting of the boys.
Sebastian was tired when the officer brought him in. Charlotte followed, removing her shades only when she sat down, her fingertips trembling.
Sergeant Turner went through the routine of identifying himself, stating the date and the time. Daniel took the lid off his pen and waited for the questioning to begin.
“How do you feel this morning, Sebastian?” said Sergeant Turner.
“Fine thanks,” said Sebastian. “I had French toast for breakfast. It wasn’t as good as Olga’s though.”
“Olga will make you some when you come home,” said Charlotte, her voice rough, almost hoarse.
“You remember we took your clothes, Sebastian, to send them to the lab for testing?”
“Of course I remember.”
“Well, we have a verbal report from the lab that says the red marks on your shirt were actually blood.”
Sebastian pursed his lips, as if he might kiss someone. He sat back in his chair with one eyebrow raised.
“Do you know whose blood might have been on your shirt, Sebastian?”
“A bird’s.”
“Why, did you hurt a bird?”
“No, but I saw a dead one once and I picked it up. It was still warm and its blood was all sticky.”
“Did you see the dead bird on the day that Ben was killed?”
“I can’t remember exactly.”
“Well, as it turns out, the blood that was on your shirt didn’t belong to a bird. It was human blood. It was Ben Stokes’s blood.”
Sebastian surveyed the corners of the room and Daniel was sure he saw the boy smile. It wasn’t a large smile, but a small curving of his lips. Daniel could feel his heart beating.
“Do you know how Ben’s blood might’ve gotten onto your shirt, Sebastian?”
“Maybe he had cut himself, and when we were playing it kind of rubbed onto me.”
“Well, the special doctors who looked at your shirt are able to tell a lot of things about the kind of blood that’s on your shirt. It turns out that the blood that is on your shirt is what’s called expirated blood. That’s blood that was blown out of Ben’s mouth or nose . . .”
Charlotte covered her face with her hands. Her long nails reached up her forehead into the roots of her hair.
“There’s also aerial splatter of blood on your trousers and your shoes. That’s blood that’s been dispersed as a result of force . . .”
Now both of Sebastian’s eyebrows were raised. He looked up into the camera. For a moment, Daniel was transfixed. It was the sight of the pretty young boy looking upward into the eye of authority; all the unseen watching him, upstairs, looking at his childlike expressions and trying to find cause to blame. Daniel remembered the saints that Minnie had prayed to, her soft, full fingers twirling the beads of her rosary. There
Last night, with a beer after midnight, he had checked the number for City General Hospital in Carlisle. He had decided not to call, but had taken note of the number anyway. If Minnie really was sick, he knew she would have been taken there. Just the thought of her being ill and dying brought a pain to his breastbone, causing him to take a deep breath. Then it would be replaced with the burn of his anger at her, dry in his gullet—still there after all this time. He would not call her. She had been dead to him for years anyway.
B ack in the interview room, Daniel inhaled the stale air of yesterday’s questions as he waited for Sebastian. Sergeant Turner’s eyes were bleary. The older man pulled gently at his collar and straightened his cuffs. Daniel knew that the police had been given a verbal report from forensics confirming blood on Sebastian’s clothes, which had been positively identified as belonging to Ben Stokes. The CCTV film had been scrutinized by police who had yet to confirm a sighting of the boys.
Sebastian was tired when the officer brought him in. Charlotte followed, removing her shades only when she sat down, her fingertips trembling.
Sergeant Turner went through the routine of identifying himself, stating the date and the time. Daniel took the lid off his pen and waited for the questioning to begin.
“How do you feel this morning, Sebastian?” said Sergeant Turner.
“Fine thanks,” said Sebastian. “I had French toast for breakfast. It wasn’t as good as Olga’s though.”
“Olga will make you some when you come home,” said Charlotte, her voice rough, almost hoarse.
“You remember we took your clothes, Sebastian, to send them to the lab for testing?”
“Of course I remember.”
“Well, we have a verbal report from the lab that says the red marks on your shirt were actually blood.”
Sebastian pursed his lips, as if he might kiss someone. He sat back in his chair with one eyebrow raised.
“Do you know whose blood might have been on your shirt, Sebastian?”
“A bird’s.”
“Why, did you hurt a bird?”
“No, but I saw a dead one once and I picked it up. It was still warm and its blood was all sticky.”
“Did you see the dead bird on the day that Ben was killed?”
“I can’t remember exactly.”
“Well, as it turns out, the blood that was on your shirt didn’t belong to a bird. It was human blood. It was Ben Stokes’s blood.”
Sebastian surveyed the corners of the room and Daniel was sure he saw the boy smile. It wasn’t a large smile, but a small curving of his lips. Daniel could feel his heart beating.
“Do you know how Ben’s blood might’ve gotten onto your shirt, Sebastian?”
“Maybe he had cut himself, and when we were playing it kind of rubbed onto me.”
“Well, the special doctors who looked at your shirt are able to tell a lot of things about the kind of blood that’s on your shirt. It turns out that the blood that is on your shirt is what’s called expirated blood. That’s blood that was blown out of Ben’s mouth or nose . . .”
Charlotte covered her face with her hands. Her long nails reached up her forehead into the roots of her hair.
“There’s also aerial splatter of blood on your trousers and your shoes. That’s blood that’s been dispersed as a result of force . . .”
Now both of Sebastian’s eyebrows were raised. He looked up into the camera. For a moment, Daniel was transfixed. It was the sight of the pretty young boy looking upward into the eye of authority; all the unseen watching him, upstairs, looking at his childlike expressions and trying to find cause to blame. Daniel remembered the saints that Minnie had prayed to, her soft, full fingers twirling the beads of her rosary. There
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