Chapter three
Sexualservicesinexchangefor money might have been legal in the UK, but it didn’t mean people, police officers included, were supportive of Scott’s career.
He trudged through reception in his socks, still wearing the coffeeshop apron around his neck, and baulked at the dispassionate expression of the officer behind the desk. There was a glass sheet between them, and Scott tried to ignore the smear where it looked like someone had been violently thrown against it. He took a step to the side to speak around the mark.
“I’d like to report a crime,” Scott frowned. “An almost crime.”
The officer quirked a thinning eyebrow at him. “And what is the nature of thisalmostcrime?”
“Assault…and attempted imprisonment.”
The officer leaned closer, peering at Scott through the glass, giving him a distasteful look up and down.
“An almost assault, and an almost imprisonment…”
“Yes,” Scott replied. “I’m happy to tell you your ears are working.”
Easy, Scott told himself,easy. He couldn’t throw up the walls around himself; he needed help, and that meant calming the snarky cat inside him.
It had a bad habit of swiping when he was scared.
“Sorry, but…could I discuss this in a private room or something?” He glanced over his shoulder; it felt like disapproving eyes were pinned to him.
“I’ll see if there’s an officer free, or you can come back again tomorrow –”
“I’d rather wait for one now.” Scott gestured to one of three vacant chairs in reception. “I’ll be over there.”
If he left and went home, he’d bottle it; he knew himself too well.
Scott sat down and twitched his toes against the floor. He no longer left a bloody trail behind himself. The woman at the coffee shop had offered to drive him to her house first so she could grab him a pair of her son’s shoes for him to wear, but with a grateful smile, he’d declined.
The sooner he was at the police station, the more likely he’d go through with speaking to someone.
“What size are you?” the officer called.
“Huh?”
“Feet.”
“I’m an eight.”
He got a nod in reply, then a mumbled, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Scott watched him leave through the door behind him. A camera pointed down at Scott, recording his every move. It was one of the reasons Scott didn’t break down and cry.
He was prepared to be vulnerable in front of the officers, but notthatvulnerable.
No one had seen him cry,emotionallycry anyway. He could squeeze out a few theatrical tears if he needed to please a client. The ‘it feels so good’ kind of tears. Scott found that if he thought about the scene inLand Before Timewhere Littlefoot’s mother died, they materialised, but that was someone else’s plight, which was empathy for an orphaned dinosaur; his own emotions were locked away behind a floodgate.
It would not burst because ofhim. That would’ve pleased him too much.
The officer appeared from another door and stepped up to Scott. He had a battered pair of pink Converse in his hands. “Sorry about the colour, but they’re the only eights we have.”
“Thank you.” Scott smiled. “I like the colour. There’s nothing wrong with wearing pink shoes, or women’s perfume.”
The officer frowned at him, then gestured to the door he’d come through. “There’s an officer waiting to take your statement.”
Scott eased out a slow breath and got to his feet.
