‘We do,’ Irene agreed. ‘But I’ve never been in one before.’ She looked around nervously, shrinking closer to Kai on the plank seat.
He put an arm round her shoulders on cue, glowering at the cops. ‘I won’t have any of you bullying my girl like this,’ he said arrogantly.
‘Seems to me your girl was doing just fine sticking up for herself back there,’ the other cop said. ‘Now don’t you give us no trouble and we’ll have a nice quiet trip.’
The police van jolted into motion. There were no windows, but the regular bursts of high speed followed by jarring stops gave Irene some idea of their progression through traffic, and the sound of offended car horns provided the rest. Prisoner transport vehicles were similar, whatever the culture or time period.
She patted Kai’s hand. ‘I’m sure that we can get this sorted out once we get to the police station, dear.’
‘Stationhouse, ma’am,’ the first cop said. ‘That’s what we call them over here. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it in no time.’
‘Thank you,’ Irene said. ‘Will they have a lawyer at the stationhouse?’
‘Not unless you’re planning to call one in,’ the second cop said. ‘But I suppose a lady like yourself has the numbers of all the local law firms, mm?’
Irene was forced to accept that Hu’s frame-up job on her must have been really good. These two cops weren’t even considering that she might be an innocent victim of circumstances. ‘I’m just here on vacation,’ she said helplessly. ‘With my boyfriend. I’m just a secretary.’
‘Sure you are, ma’am,’ the cop agreed. ‘And you can have a nice long chat with the captain about it, real soon now.’
Irene and Kai exchanged glances. She could read her own impatience and frustration in his eyes. They couldn’t afford to be delayed. The contest would be over in a few days, and if Evariste was up to something, then he had to be stopped before that deadline. But running would just confirm any police suspicions, and being hunted by the police would hamper their attempts to locate Evariste.
All too soon the police van screeched to a stop. They were hustled out of the vehicle and into a heavy building that had clearly been built for security. It tried to look impressive, but merely succeeded in looking monolithic and forbidding. It was faced with sandstone and – to Irene’s hasty glance – marked with recent bullet scars. ‘Has someone been shooting at this place?’ she asked her escort.
He followed her gaze. ‘Oh yeah, that was last year. Don’t you worry about it, ma’am. The gangs have been quiet lately. And we’re all hoping they stay that way.’
Captain Venner caught up with their group in the main entrance hall. The gaggle of reporters who’d followed from the station eddied and flowed round the edge of the group, notebooks at the ready. The place was clearly warming up to the day’s work. Cops strode briskly from place to place, their voices echoing under the high ceiling. Hard-bitten men and women seated behind heavy desks listened to visitors – lawyers, reporters, relatives, or arrestees waiting to be booked in – with the air of cops who’d heard it all before. A janitor pushed her mop across the floor, leaving a streak of clean tiles behind her. The place smelled of sweat, dust and coffee.
‘I’ll be talking to Miss Smith in my office,’ the captain said. ‘Barnes, why don’t you have a little chat with her friend here. What’s your name?’
‘Robert Pearce,’ Kai said helpfully. ‘Shouldn’t you be reading us our rights?’
‘Oh, we’ve got a smart one here. For your information, Mr Pearce, that only happens when we’re arresting you, and we haven’t arrested you . . . yet.’
Irene and Kai exchanged a loaded glance. It certainly felt like an arrest. Sadly, while insulting the police captain in front of all his men would be extremely satisfying, it would bias any future conversation. But a genuinely innocent person would be saying something at this point . . .
‘Your uncle’s going to be furious if he hears about this,’ she said to Kai, letting a wobble enter her voice. ‘Do you suppose he’ll think it’s one of those slice-of-life moments? Visitors to New York getting mistaken for famous mobsters and hauled off by the police . . .’
‘I hope he doesn’t hear about it in the first place.’ Kai took her hand and squeezed it. ‘Chin up, Rosalie. Stiff upper lip. We’ll be out of here in no time.’
‘And the sooner we have that talk, the sooner it might be,’ Captain Venner said. He stalked off down a side corridor, his belly swaying under his uniform.
Irene didn’t bother hiding a last, lingering look at Kai as the two of them were led away in opposite directions. After all, it fitted the part she was playing.
In the captain’s office the smell of cigarettes was overlaid with one of more expensive pipe tobacco. Captain Venner sat down behind his desk with a grunt of relief, adjusting his glasses. He noticeably didn’t offer Irene a chair.
Irene took the opportunity to look around while she waited. The window had a view overlooking the street below, and the road was already full of morning traffic. Iron bars across the window provided an incongruous note – precautions against theft, or against more direct assault? She remembered the bullet marks on the building’s exterior. Photos of the captain shaking hands with various expensively-dressed people hung on the walls. The filing cabinets were heavy steel, and looked proof against anything up to dynamite. The captain’s own desk was good quality wood, with the sheen that came from regular polishing. Political connections, expensive office furniture, and a private interview . . . he’s looking for a payoff, Irene suspected.
The room held only her, the captain and another cop on guard at the door. And she was willing to bet the cop at the door would have a very selective memory about this interview. Her odds had just improved.
Captain Venner finally fixed his gaze on her. ‘For a woman who’s supposed to be innocent, Miss Smith, you’re taking all this very calmly.’
‘I trust the police,’ Irene said. ‘We went along with you because of all those reporters, but surely now that you can check up on things here, you can see there’s been some sort of mistake. And I’m not Miss Smith,’ she added stubbornly.
The captain leaned over and extracted a folder from one of the desk drawers. He slapped it on the desk in front of him. ‘Some sort of mistake, you say.’
‘Yes.’ Irene spread her hands. ‘I mean, really, do I look like a woman who runs a protection racket?’
‘And how would you know what a woman who runs a protection racket would look like, ma’am?’