1997
Laurel sat opposite the police officers. She swung her calves rhythmically, hands tucked under her thighs, chin raised a little in the air despite the tears staining her cheeks.
‘I don’t want to stay here any more,’ she said. ‘I want to go home with my mummy.’
‘I know you do, Laurel,’ the lady police officer said softly. She looked tired, they all did. Last night, Laurel had slept in a small detention room in the empty police station, which had been cleared of other prisoners, sent away to holding cells in the environs. Social Services had brought a thin mattress, blankets and pillows from somewhere and Laurel had curled up on them under high walls, her father dozing over the end of the bed, his hands resting on her ankles.
In the morning, they had brought Laurel a bacon sandwich and a glass of Fanta. When she had finished her breakfast, she had rubbed her eyes and asked Gregor when she would be allowed home.
‘Not until you answer all of the police lady’s questions,’ he had said. ‘You must tell the truth, Laurel. You must tell them what you know about baby Kirstie.’
‘I don’t know anything about her,’ Laurel kept saying. There, in the detention cell, and now in the interview room. She sat in between her uncle, who was also her solicitor, and her father. The two police officers – a man and a woman – were on the other side of the table. A tape machine ran in the middle of them, whirring silently for forty-five-minute bursts. After each period, Laurel would be allowed a short break.
‘Tell me about the playground,’ the male police officer said. ‘You went there with Rosie and what did you do?’
‘We went on the slide and the old rocking horse. Then we went off. We didn’t see the baby. I wouldn’t hurt a baby,’ Laurel said firmly.
‘All right. But let’s take it one step at a time. Now, you know what true means, don’t you, Laurel?’
She nodded.
‘If I said there are ten people in this room, would that be true or a lie?’
‘A lie.’
‘Right, because there are only five of us, aren’t there?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you were at the playground, weren’t you? With Rosie.’
‘Yes.’
‘And we know that because you were seen there, Laurel. You were seen with Rosie, playing on the horse and on the swings, so we know that you were there.’
‘We went there in the afternoon. We were playing Mums and Dads. It was just a game.’
‘Right. And we also know you were there because we got something called a fingerprint of yours on the metal horse. Do you know what a fingerprint is?’
Laurel looked down at her hands and held one up. ‘Like from here?’ she asked.
‘Yes. When you touch something, you leave a special mark that belongs only to you. So when you came here last night, to the police station, do you remember putting your fingers in the black ink, and then pushing them onto the paper?’
Laurel nodded.
‘That gave us your special mark, that can only come from you. And we also found it on the horse. So we know that you were there. We can see that you were.’
Laurel looked in panic at her father. ‘I didn’t take the baby, Daddy! I swear it. I didn’t. I wouldn’t hurt the baby.’
‘Shush, shush, little one. I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t.’ Gregor put his arm around Laurel, squeezing her tight, tears in his eyes.
She leapt up from her chair and climbed onto his lap, burying her head in his shoulder. ‘Tell them, Daddy. Tell them I want to go home. I want to see Mummy. I don’t want to be here any more. I didn’t hurt the baby, I swear. Please . . .’ Her voice rose to a wail, her fists curled and tight.
Gregor looked over at Toby. He tried to convey his anguish, his desperate need to get his daughter out of this nightmare and bring her home.
Toby nodded. ‘Laurel’s very distressed. I suggest we take a break.’
‘OK,’ one of the officers said, after a slight pause, and the tape was switched off. ‘Would you like a drink, Laurel?’
She said nothing, sobbing into Gregor’s chest, her hands white and clenched on his shoulders. After a moment, the police officers stood. ‘We’ll give you fifteen minutes,’ they said before leaving the room.
Gregor closed his eyes, stroking Laurel’s hair. ‘Shush now, baby. Shush now. Everything will be all right.’
‘The special mark, Daddy,’ Laurel said, her voice scratched and hoarse. ‘The special mark of mine that they’ve got. They’ll say it was me, won’t they?’
‘No, no. Not if you weren’t with the baby, sweetheart. They can’t say something’s there if it’s not.’
‘But supposing it is,’ Laurel said, sitting up and wiping her face. ‘Daddy, supposing they find it? And . . .’ stopped, looking deep she into Gregor’s eyes. ‘Daddy, can the special mark be found on somebody’s skin?’