“Your girlfriend? Is she involved?”
Matty’s throat tightened. She swallowed. “No. Sloan wouldn’t—”
“Be honest, Matty. You were packing because you planned to run, right?” the first detective asked. “You got wind about the raid, and you were about to skip town.”
Matty glanced at the clock—just gone seven. She thought of Sloan at home, waiting, worrying.
“My name’s Matilda Bradford. I work at Art-Too part-time, because one job doesn’t cover rent. I also do care work for Gloria Slater.” She swallowed. “Ask them.”
“We might,” the woman said, “when we’re finished questioning you.”
Matty huffed. “Don’t I get a phone call?”
“If you want one, yes,” she answered. “Who do you want to call?”
Sloan.She almost said it. But Sloan didn’t need this, on top of Gloria.
“Do I need a solicitor?”
“It would be advisable,” the male detective said. “We’ll take a break. You decide what you want to do.”
***
“She’s been arrested,” Sloan said the moment Gloria picked up.
“Arrested? The hippie? What for?”
“I don’t know.” Sloan held her palm to her forehead and looked up at the station. Somewhere inside, Matty was being held.
“Must be a mistake, Sloan. I know she’s a bit strange, but she’s a good kid.”
“That’s whatIthought,” Sloan said quietly, now not so sure. “I let myself believe that, but really, what do we know about her?”
Gloria didn’t answer fast enough. Sloan kept going.
“Maybe I made a huge mistake? What if I was so desperate to find someone to take care of you that I let a criminal into our home...and my bed?”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Sloan, don’t make me get on my scooter, drive into town to find you, just to knock some sense into you.” Gloria let that settle before adding, “You know who she is, otherwise you’d never have let her in the house, or your bed. You’re not naïve. Never have been. Nobody pulls the wool over your eyes.”
Sloan let out a rough breath and dragged in another.
“Whatever has happened, there’s going to be a reasonable explanation. You just have to find out what it is.”
“Okay, thanks, Mum. I’m at the police station. I’ll go in and see what else I can find out.”
“Alright, let me know.”
“Will do.” Sloan closed the call and stared at the building again. She walked up to the door and gathered up all the strength and courage she could muster and pressed the buzzer. A loud sound went off and the door opened automatically.
She’d only ever been in a police station once, years ago, when she’d been mugged and needed to report her handbag stolen for insurance purposes.Stepping inside, she glanced around. It was clean, at least. The air had that stale, over-warm smell of too many bodies and not enough fresh air.
A large, glassed-in counter sat at the back of the room, and she strode towards it, shoulders tight, waiting as a woman with a crying baby in arms tried to explain she needed to, ‘…speak with a specific officer about the specific things she needed to specifically say to them’.
Sloan tried not to judge. The woman made it difficult.
“Well, what am I supposed to do now?” the woman barked at the man behind the screen, before backing up, almost knocking Sloan over. She twisted the huge pushchair around with one arm and gave Sloan a sideways glare as she bolted towards the door, muttering, “Stuck up bitch.”
Sloan lifted a brow, but she said nothing, just stared at the officer on duty who shook his head slowly.
