Chasing Innocence by John Potter Read Free Book Online Page A

the booths. He pulled out his phone. There were no missed calls or messages. He pressed speed dial and waited with an addict’s breath in his lungs. It went straight to voicemail. Reluctantly he slid the phone back into his pocket.
    The large woman started crying and returned to her seat. The buzzer sounded and another woman, smartly dressed and slim, headed towards the vacant booth. Nobody moved for the following buzz, so the display flashed 536 . Adam stood and walked across the room.
    Shatterproof was etched down one side of the perspex screen, although the ragged scratches and deep chips indicated many had tried disproving the statement. A white-shirted officer, with compassionate eyes and short grey hair, sat the other side. His pen was poised over a yellow form, a tray stacked full of them on the table beside him.
    ‘I think a child has been kidnapped.’ The only statement Adam could think to make.
    The officer’s gaze flicked up over Adam’s shoulder and then back down to the sheet of paper in front of him. Then he put down the pen and sighed.
    ‘You think a child has been kidnapped?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, my wife is sure a child has been abducted.’
    ‘Why is your wife not reporting this?’
    ‘She…she followed the person she thought abducted the child, in her car.’
    ‘You said she was sure?’
    ‘I am. She is sure.’
    ‘So how can she be sure?’
    ‘She was sure a box loaded into a car had the girl inside. She is sure of this.’
    The officer looked at the yellow page, centred it with a finger. Looked back up at Adam. ‘Where is your wife now?’’
    ‘Watching the driver of the car. I haven’t heard from her since.’
    The officer opened his mouth then closed it. He told Adam to wait and disappeared through a door. He returned minutes later.
    ‘I will take a few details. Then my colleagues will take a statement.’ He picked up his pen.
    ‘Sure,’ Adam replied and they rattled through the everyday semantics of Sarah’s life. When they were done the officer directed him back to the seats. The soldier of fortune was now gone, so he sat in his place, which was still warm. Adam checked his phone again and watched the display in the ceiling flash through a succession of numbers. People walked to and from the booth. The acoustics meant little of the detail remained secret. He watched a tracksuited teenager head towards the booth as a heavy door swung open on his right. A female constable appeared, wearing a combat vest and a bulky belt.
    ‘Mr Sawacki?’ she called.
    Adam followed her through the heavy door into an office. The floors were covered in coarse grey carpet tile, the walls painted a cool blue. The only difference from a real office was in the wall art. Here modernist prints were swapped for posters with big knives, guns and innocent faces. The constable ushered him to a corner office, leaned in and flicked on the light. It had floor to ceiling glass on one side, closed blinds and beech-coloured wooden chairs around a matching table. An ordinary meeting room in another world. He pulled out a chair and sat down.
    ‘Detectives Boer and Ferreira will be with you soon.’
    The door swept closed, rattling the blinds and playing with the posters. We want your gun, not you . And behind him, Know your neighbour? Terrorists live among us.
    He tapped his fingers on the table and resisted the urge to check his phone.

THIRTEEN
     
    Francis Boer dropped his keys and phone onto the coffee table, loosened his tie and stepped into the kitchen. He mentally braced himself for the clink of bottles and looked past his overbearing need. He opened the fridge door and pulled out a plastic bottle of water. He poured himself a glass then went back to the living room, flicking off the lights as he did.
    He was too tired to get undressed. He savoured two mouthfuls of the water then set it on the table, easing himself into his chair. He released the footrest and winced through the pain, reclining far enough to