The middle of winter: snowy, blowy and cold. The desk sergeant looked up as the man entered the station. He saw an elderly gent, stooped, walking with a stick, in a hurry, agitated. A lost pet, or maybe a noisy neighbour.
“Yes sir.”
“She’s back!” The vehemence was a surprise. A strength of feeling usually associated with a tirade against immigrants, or youths.
“Who is?”
“She is. Ruined my life. Now she’s back.”
His wife, no doubt. Same old story.
“Shall we start at the beginning, sir?”
“Child abuse. That’s what they call it now isn’t it?”
You don’t make procedural mistakes with child abuse, even if it is historical.
“I’ll get someone to take a statement, sir.”
Ten minutes later in an interview room with a WPC.
“Now, can you tell me what happened?”
“I saw her in the street, just now. That woman.”
“Which woman is that, sir? Could you start at the beginning?”
“She abducted me. Held me for over a year. Gerda rescued me.”
“Who abducted you? When?”
“I told you. She did. I was 14.”
A pause.
“When was this, sir?”
“1950.”
“Did you report it at the time?”
“Of course not. Nobody really thought anything of it in those days. But I’ve just seen her again. In the High Street.”
“So, you were 14 at the time. And how old was she?”
“I don’t know. At that age everybody looks old. Maybe mid thirties.”
“I see, sir. So you’re, um, 82.”
“Yes, yes. What’s that got to do with it?”
“And if you’re right about her age, she would be about 96. Can you describe her?”
“Yes. Tall, maybe 6 feet. Long, white hair. Slim. Dressed in white fur.“
“No, I mean can you describe what she looked like when you saw her just now?”
“That’s what I am telling you. That’s what she looks like now.”
“And she would be in her mid-nineties?” A pause. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
“No! I don’t want a cup of tea!”
There was a silence in the room as the absurdity of what he was telling her hit him and the anger left him.
“No, thank you. I don’t want a cup of tea.”
Another silence. His age, his imagination and a painful memory had betrayed him.
“I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
He left the interview room and found Gerda waiting for him.
“Are you alright, Kai? You dashed off. I haven’t seen you move like that in years.”
They left the police station. Slowly, arm in arm. An old couple wrapped up in themselves again. They were almost knocked over by a young woman, but they scarcely noticed her.
She was as agitated as the old man had been half an hour earlier, as eager for action as he had been.
“My son has gone!”
“I see madam. And how old is he?
“He’s 14. This tall woman just grabbed him and took off with him.”
Submitted by: Steve Walters