Friday, 8 April 2016

The Interview Room

This is part two of this story but it also works as a stand alone I think. 
Karel didn't know for sure, but he had a hunch that the woman asking him questions about the death of Fritz was the very woman who had killed Fritz just an hour or so ago. She had the same style, the same grace, but more importantly the same strange shape; short, slim but curved like an S.
“Where's the gun?” She asked, staring at him from across the desk.
Karel ignored her and stared at the ceiling, noting the brown water marks. He wasn't about to talk his way into trouble. Saying nothing was risky, but anything he said could be used against him. The officer sitting next to her was silent too, sitting bolt upright, his hands resting on the table like a prim school teacher. He had one hair that dangled from his nose that made Karel feel sick.
“We'll find it, and we'll find your prints on it, so you may as well tell us.” The woman said. Karel stared at her, she was breathtakingly beautiful, her hair scraped back into a pony tale, her features dainty, pretty, sinister. He again let the question go unanswered, but he was sure they would find the gun; punks like her didn't let the truth stand in the way of hard evidence.
“Why did you shoot him?” She asked. Karel closed his eyes and held his nose between his palms. The recording equipment whirred; recording his silence. Would they splice together words later, fabricate his confession?
“In the country with no papers, no entry visa. In a car park with a dead man still warm. It’s not looking good for you is it?”
Karel guessed it was a rhetorical question.
“It’s just the matter of time before we find the murder weapon.” the officer smiled, “and then…” She stood up and walked behind Karel. He could smell her perfume, it reminded him of a long lost girlfriend. The flowery smell at odds with the stale cell. “Might be better to speak now, don't you think?”
Karel nodded. She was right, but he was stubborn.
The slap took him by surprise, the force of it nearly knocked him off the chair. His head stung where the hand had connected. His eyes began to water, but still he remained silent.
“Interview suspended,” The recording machine clicked off. 
He wanted to turn, to see when she was lining up the next blow but he daren't. All he could do was listen for her movements and try to guess. He noticed her colleague's face remained passive giving him no clue, the hair slightly vibrating as he breathed.
“The strong silent type,” she said. “How cute.”
The blow landed just at the bottom of Karel's skull. Pain shot through his brain and he could have sworn he heard birds singing above his head. Such a small woman, such a violent punch.
The room had just about stood still, but pain still throbbed in his temples when the next blow landed; the same place but harder. He slumped forward and before he could stop himself he was throwing up on the desk in front of him.
“That's better,” a voice seemingly from another world said, “finally we are getting something out of you.” She laughed.
The door swung open. Through his tears Karel could see an officer with an evidence bag with a gun inside clumsily wrapped in Karel's Arctic Monkey's T-shirt.
“Looks like we are making progress,” the woman said. “Anything to say?”

Karel shook his head before wretching again, this time just bringing up bitter bile.
“Take him back to his cell.”
The other officer took Karel by the arm and led him through the building. Karel unsteady on his feet, head throbbing collapsed on the small cot and drifted into unconsciousness.

Part 3 here and for part 4 here

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