© Copyright 2006 by More Than Novellas

Elizabeth Delayne
Aug 3, 05
lizdelayne@hotmail.com

She sat in the metal chair, with its uneven legs and tried not to rock. She'd been told to stay put. There were officers around the station. They had their eye on her ... she thought.

It was all a mistake.

Her hands were cold. She slid them into the pockets of her denim jacket and wished for her leather coat she'd bought last year. Temperatures were dropping. It would be cold when she went outside.

If they let her leave.

Of course they would. She'd only been brought in for questioning. That's what she'd been told.

But she'd never in her life been involved with anything like this ... even by accident.

She was so cold.

She stared at the window, a little higher then most, without much of a view. Night was closing in.

The chair creaked beneath her. She froze and drew in a slow breath.

She watched the policeman cross back over, weaving around a desk. He stopped and talked to the woman over at the other desk ... who'd been watching her. They both looked over.

He frowned.

She closed her eyes.

Please Lord ...

But she wasn't sure, exactly, what to pray for.

Rachel Waspe
Aug 4, 05
Funshine999@aol.com

"You're cold." He said gently, removing his jacket and wrapping it around her shoulders. "Would you like some coffee?"

She shook her head and handed his jacket back. She didn't want favours. She just wanted to be out of there and back home where she could just forget about everything.

The Policeman frowned. "Have it your way then, but don't blame me if you go down with pneumonia."

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here at all." She clamped her hand over her mouth. Rats! She had broken her vow to stick by her right to remain silent. She didn't like this man and she was not, she repeated, was not going to waste breath on him.

Mrs Brown
August 8, 05
mrsbrown1@optusnet.com.au
www.tulipfiction.com

“And if it weren’t for you -” he broke off with a sigh, and shook his head. “For your sake I just hope they catch McCartney soon.”

Deanna closed her eyes so she didn’t have to meet his measuring stare.

A few moments ago he had almost looked sorry for her, but she couldn’t forget the accusation she’d seen in his eyes when he’d bundled her roughly into the back of the police van some hours earlier.

She began to shake as the whole episode ran through her mind again. It had been just on dusk. She was walking back to her car in a small parking lot when she saw two huge men stealthily approach a slight young male on the other side of the car park. The young man hadn’t heard them coming, and she had watched in horror as one of them pulled out some kind of club and struck him down from behind.

In panic she scanned the lot, but there was no one else in sight and without knowing what she was doing she had begun running towards them.

The second man grabbed the youth by the arms and was dragging him back up as she reached them. Neither of his attackers were aware of her, and when she swung her solid briefcase at the nearest man’s head she knocked him sprawling, and sent the second man staggering to regain his balance.

They were back on their feet within seconds, but it created just enough distraction for the young man to break free and sprint away. One man tore off in pursuit but the other grabbed her roughly, forcing her to the ground and pinning her arms painfully behind her back.

Deanna had barely had time to start praying when the sudden shriek of police sirens rent the air. Her relief was short lived however, and she could hardly comprehend what was happening when she felt handcuffs being clipped on her wrists and was then dragged to her feet by the uniformed officer who stood in front of her now.

The look in his eyes had shocked her, and only after he’d placed her in the back of the vehicle had he reluctantly given into her frightened pleas for an explanation. The men she had attacked were plain clothes detectives – making an arrest. on a dangerous fugitive. And they all assumed she had been deliberately aiding his escape . . .

She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Although the officers had listened to her explanation, she was sure they still didn’t trust her. And she wasn’t sure that she trusted them.

Rachel Waspe
Aug 9, 05
Funshine999@aol.com

No, make that she was sure that she didn't trust them. Sure one was supposed to be able to trust Police Officers but...how could one trust someone who had been so...so heavy handed? Okay so it might have been necessary with..what did they say his name was? Oh yes, McCartney...with McCartney but they surely realised that someone as small and frail as herself would be easily overpowered with the same brute fore.

"Well, if you Police Officers didn't work in such a similar way to the criminals you wouldn't get yourself in such scrapes, would you?" She challenged. "After all, if I saw a couple of thugs doing what you officers were doing, you would expect me to do something about it wouldn't you? Or is there no such thing as a decent citizen anymore?" Deanna bit her lip. From the look on his face, she had definitely said too much.

Sarah
Aug 9, 05
baughmanks@sbcgobal.net

Officer John Petersen barely hid his smile at the horror on the woman's face as she realized how bold she had been -- almost defiant -- to a police officer. He knew not everyone respected the Order of Police, but most folks seemed to maintain a healthy fear of the authority they carried. Instead of a smile, he schooled his features into a deep scowl.

No matter that his gut told him that she had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and decided to help someone who seemed to need it. A good Samaritan was what Deanna thought she was being. Unfortunately, things weren't always what they seemed. Which is why John decided to ignore his gut until there was some evidence one way or another. Or at least more than his gut.

Mrs Brown
August 8, 05
mrsbrown1@optusnet.com.au
www.tulipfiction.com

John turned quickly when the phone on his desk rang. In two strides longs he had crossed the floor and snatched it up, answering with his back to the young woman curled up on the metal chair.

A long sigh of relief escaped him when he heard that McCartney had been apprehended and brought into the station, but he frowned in consternation when he was told to bring the female suspect down to the cells were the prisoner was being held. The Officers in charge of the case obviously weren’t taking any more chances, but hopefully they’d get things cleared up quickly now.

“Okay, Miss . . . um . . . Smith,” he said, replacing the phone and turning back to face her. “They’ve got him downstairs, we’ll go down now and see if we can get this all sorted out.”

He watched as she unfolded herself stiffly from the chair and stare at him warily, his stomach tightening in sudden sympathy.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you tell me your real name – then I could call your parents to come and be here with you.”

“Smith IS my real name! And I haven’t got any parents to ring!” Deanna almost shouted back, her voice shaking, “I can look after myself, anyway. I’m not a child!” She took a shuddering breath and then added haughtily, “And DON’T call me Sweetheart!”

“Okay, okay – I’m sorry I asked.” John held up his hands in mock surrender and opened the office door for her to pass through. He looked down on the petite girl as she walked past him, unable to imagine anyone who looked less able to take care of themselves. "Lord, this girl really needs someone on her side," he prayed silently, "please show me how to help her."

***

The air grew even chillier as Deanna descended with the young policeman into the depths of the police station. The concrete stairwell felt like a tomb and their footsteps seemed to echo for miles beneath them. Finally they reached the bottom of the stairs, a curved surveillance mirror revealing a long corridor like a tunnel on the other side of the sharp bend.

Harsh voices met her ears, and Deanna drew back against Officer Petersen – finding his presence an unexpected comfort. She began to shake violently as she recognised the plain clothes detectives standing in front of a barred cell nearly at the end of the corridor.

There was something menacing in the way they were waiting for her, watching her approach. Suddenly she was too frightened to think, and it took all her concentration to keep breathing.

"The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want," she began to recite verse after verse of the familiar Psalm under her breath, vaguely aware of Petersen’s hand gently taking hold of her arm as she neared the waiting men, "I will fear no evil, for you are with me, Lord . . ."

“Right,” one of the detectives said without preamble, and addressed the youth within the cell, “McCartney – do you know this girl?”


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