Prisoner by White S. R

Author:White, S. R. [White, S. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9781472268464
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2021-09-01T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Thursday, 1 August 2019. 1750 hrs

Dana sat on the cold stone stairs inside the police station, to stop herself pacing. She knew where Marika Doyle was; in a marked patrol car, slipping quietly through the Carlton traffic and now approaching the motor court behind the station. The young woman was secured: job done. Yet, Dana was on edge.

It was stupid, she thought, to invest so much in finding her. Marika might turn out to be a compulsive liar. Or David Rowe could tell her to shut up and she does just that. She could dissemble; wreck the investigation by throwing it off-track. Alternatively, she may have gone off into the swamp knowing nothing about Curtis Monroe’s fate, in which case, she was little more than a source of background. If the Aryans were the killers, Marika might know nothing at all. There were myriad reasons to logically conclude that Marika Doyle would not be a particularly useful witness.

And yet.

Dana’s instincts were firing and, this close to the surface, they were rarely wrong. In part, it was inference from her interviews with Suzanne. The elder sister seemed to hold all the reins: older, better qualified, the only driver’s licence and the one wage-earner; the legal guardian after quitting university. But the younger sister seemingly held much of the power. That balance had a role to play, Dana felt, but she couldn’t work out how.

Marika emerged from the patrol car: a slight young woman, dwarfed by two uniformed officers. She trailed one foot as she moved and Dana, watching from a landing between floors, thought she might be injured. But as Marika reached the steps she skipped them two at a time and Dana realized the reluctant movement was merely slouching.

Dark hair dragged across a pale, tight face; Marika was little taller than in her photo from a decade ago. A young woman still lingering in childhood. In other circumstances, she would be a loitering teen, shivering on a park bench or in a bus shelter, hunched into herself and eyeing the world shrewdly. The type who looked permanently chilly and hungry. The kind who might sneer at gushing charity but respond to a take-it-or-leave-it gesture of indifferent generosity. Dana’s take was of a young woman fizzing with pent-up energy. It was hard to crystallize, but easy to sense.

By the time Dana reached the custody suite, Marika was in the medical room, receiving an appraisal. It would have helped Dana to get the doctor’s assessment of Marika’s state of mind. But Dana knew better than to ask him for any more than the minimum: was Marika fit to be detained, did she need any treatment or medication, and would she be fit to interview? The doctor was paid through the police but didn’t work for them: he worked for the person he was treating, and for the public good. Patient confidentiality still reigned, though some officers tried to push the envelope.

Doc Butler emerged from the medical room, removing his glasses and scratching the end of his nose.

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