Indigo by Richard Wiley Read Free Book Online Page B

know that.”
    The captain looked at his clipboard, then began searching his pockets for a pen.
    â€œI had a biro when I came in here,” he said. He looked at the floor. “I never start interrogation without my biro.”
    The word interrogation didn’t do much to help Jerry’s calm, but the captain hadn’t noticed. He was down on the floor now, looking behind the table legs and making Jerry move his feet. When he stood back up he checked his pockets again and then felt behind his ear. “Be right back,” he said.
    When the captain left, Jerry thought he would close and lock the door again, but this time he left it ajar. Jerry could hear his footsteps leaving. What the hell, he thought; does he want me to try to escape? He knew of cases where foreigners had been left to rot in Nigerian jails for weeks, even months at a time, so was this captain telling him that he’d better take his chance now, that he’d better leave while the leaving was good? Jerry walked over to the door and looked out. There were several similar doors along the corridor, but all of them were closed and silent. Across from him, along the opposite wall, the hallway was composed entirely of windows, with a view out to a parking lot two stories below. Jerry had no memory of climbing stairs when they’d come in so perhaps the building was constructed on a hill, the other side butted up against a street. Beyond the parking lot there was nothing he recognized. He saw the low houses of a residential area and he could see children playing in the dirt, but he didn’t know where he was.
    Though the captain took his time, Jerry didn’t step outside the room. And when he heard the footsteps again he did not go back to the table. Rather he remained where he was, leaning against the jamb, watching the captain come.
    â€œNow,” said the captain. “Have you had time to reconsider? I believe you saw our evidence at the Federal Secretariat.”
    â€œI saw it,” said Jerry Neal. “Why would anyone go to such trouble to involve me? I don’t have enemies here; I am not political.”
    The captain took the cap off his pen and started writing. Jerry saw the paper in the clipboard, but he could not read what the man wrote.
    â€œI want to know what you intend to do,” said Jerry, “and I want access to a phone.” He spoke quietly and the man continued writing, as if he were taking down requests.
    Finally, after Jerry had been quiet for a while, the captain looked up. “This is not America,” he said. “If you confess you may use the phone; if not you will be placed in a holding cell.”
    Jerry believed that if he were really being charged with such a huge crime there would be more people asking him questions now, an attempt to publicly announce the name of the villain, just as there had been with previous fires. Surely there would be men of higher rank. “I didn’t do it,” he said.
    The captain capped his pen and stepped back toward the door. “Very well,” he said. “Please, come this way.”
    Jerry wasn’t handcuffed or restrained in any other way, but the captain went first. Then about halfway up the hall he thought better of it and pressed himself against the windows, letting Jerry pass him by.
    When they got to the door at the end of the hall the captain reached around and opened it, giving Jerry a gratuitous shove, making him stumble, barefooted, into the next room. Here were the dozens of people he had expected, but they were not high-ranking officers. Rather the room contained prisoners, perhaps thirty of them, all jammed into three small cells.
    â€œThese are our holding facilities,” said the captain, opening one of the doors. “Since you are not guilty I know you will want to be with others who are not guilty, too.” He didn’t shove Jerry this time, so Jerry held back. “What about my call?” he asked.