I rub away lingering remnants of tears, pinch my cheeks for a bit of color, and smooth my hair. “Yes.”
The deputy stands, walks over to the door, and opens it. He calls for the recorder to return, and Mrs. Fielding enters the room and takes her chair again.
“Mrs. Fielding, can you tell us please where we left off?”
The woman looks at the little scroll of paper in her strange machine. “Question: And yet how can I believe you, Mrs. Hocking, when I know for a fact you have lied to me with regard to other matters? Answer: I haven’t. Question: But you have. You’ve been lying to me since the moment you sat down. Answer: That’s not true. I— Question: Since the moment you told me your name.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Fielding.” Deputy Logan turns his attention to me. “Now, then. You state that you have been answering my questions truthfully. I ask you now, if you were under oath, would you maintain that your name is in fact Sophie Hocking?”
His gaze is tight on mine.
“I would,” I reply.
“And if you were under oath, would you maintain that you do not know the whereabouts of the man you know as Martin Hocking?”
“I would.”
“And if you were under oath, Mrs. Hocking, would you still maintain that you waited to report your husband missing until six weeks after the earthquake because you were unconcerned about his whereabouts?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Why were you unconcerned?”
“Because I do not love him. I married him for convenience.”
“Is there anything you wish to add or amend to what you have told me today?”
I shake my head. “No, sir.”
The deputy regards me for a moment. “So be it. I think we are done here. Again, Mrs. Hocking, thank you for coming in. If there is any news of your husband, we will let you know, and I trust you will do the same if you hear from him.”
My mouth drops open a little. We are finished. He is done with me. “Of... of course.”
He stands. “I’ll walk you out.”
I rise from my chair, holding my handbag close to me. Deputy Logan opens the door for me. We walk out of the station and he continues to follow me out onto the pavement and into the mellow autumn sunshine.
We stop a few feet from the station entrance.
“I meant what I said, Saoirse McGough,” he says softly. “I believe in justice, but I believe it is best administered by those commissioned by the rest of humanity to give it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I never intended to take matters into my hands. I only wanted—”
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Saoirse?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He breathes in deeply and then exhales. “Go home and raise your daughter.”
Gratitude fills my soul that he is letting me do both. “Thank you.” I wish I had better words.
He nods, and I see the vein in his neck pulse again. I can go home to my daughter and make a life for her and me, but he cannot do the same. Someone beloved was stolen from him by a wicked man who walks this earth free. I can see it as plain as day.
“Who was it that was taken from you?” I ask.
He is surprised at first but hesitates for only a moment. “My wife and son.”
“What happened to them?”
