The police station was a three-storied building with a façade of beige and red tiles. Incongruous red geraniums adorned the windows, wilting in a hopeless uphill battle against the cold of November.

Inspector Savage headed up the short flight of stairs leading to the front door and disappeared inside, leaving Ponytail to herd in her charges.

"Please." She extended her arm.

Art followed the Meiers and Monica.

Ponytail was pulling her ponytail as he passed her. Her face was heavily freckled.

She smiled when she noticed Art's eyes on her. "This won't take long, I assure you."

Art wanted to see more of the freckles. "What will happen here?" he asked.

She joined him. "We'll need your personal details, fingerprints, and DNA samples, and Inspector Savage will interview you."

DNA samples?

Art was intrigued. He had never had his DNA taken and was curious about the process.

They walked down a corridor and turned into a room with an assortment of chairs and some tables cluttered with newspapers and magazines. Inspector Savage was already there and held a stack of papers in his hands. A small smile was playing on his lips, but it lost itself in a frown when he saw them. "Where's the blonde one?"

Art looked behind him expecting to see Adriana. But she wasn't there.

"Wasn't she with you, Mr. Sharpe?" Mrs. Meier looked at him with arched brows.

"Er... no. I last saw her when we got out of the van. But then I talked to... her." He motioned at Ponytail.

"Mrs. Bossi?" Savage looked sternly at Ponytail.

"I'll check." She turned and ran back into the corridor.

"Please, do have a seat," Savage said. His words carried irritation.

As he sat down beside Monica, Art tried to picture Adriana running, escaping the claws of law and order closing in upon her murderous person. The picture did not work. Seconds later, she and Ponytail—Mrs. Bossi—appeared in the door.

"I'm so sorry," Adriana said. Her face was flushed. "I did need a smoke, so I lit that cigarette, and then you all were gone."

"Please, do take a seat." Savage's words and face were devoid of emotion. He pointed to the free chair beside Art.

"All of you will now get a form to fill out. And then we'll call you in for your interviews." He handed the sheaf to Bossi. "I have to ask you not to discuss the case until we've concluded the interviews. Thanks. Questions?"

As they all sat silent, he nodded curtly at Bossi and then left the room.

Bossi handed out the forms and took a seat close to the door, watching the assembled tenants silently.

Savage's instructions not to talk about the matter, combined with Bossi's non-nonsensical, freckled presence, and the rigor and hardship of answering the form's inquisitive questions—all of that combined killed any conversation.

Art wondered if he should ask for a lawyer. They usually did this in the movies, but he doubted it to be worth it. He was vaguely astonished that Monica did not scream for one. After finishing her form, she was again concentrated on her phone, speed-typing. Sometimes, a subdued chuckle broke her stony expression, like a ghost of warmth flickering over arctic rock.

Texting maybe.

A faint whiff of stale smoke wafted from Adriana on his other side. She was leafing through a magazine from one of the tables. It showed a series of photographs of what was apparently the same one woman wearing the same one sheepish expression under a number of different hairdos.

The Meiers were reading newspapers.

Monica's typing continued, way too long for a simple text message. The tip of her tongue was sticking from the corner of her mouth. Her thumbs were in constant, blurry motion, giving birth to a stream of words on the screen of her phone. Their movement reminded Art of small animals.

Like fickle ferrets ferreting fleeting figments of fiction.

Art smiled at his thought. He loved alliterations.

Monica's tapping frenzy was interrupted by an officer entering. The man picked up the forms and asked Monica to accompany him to the interview. As she got up, she looked at Art, pressing her lips together and arching her eyebrows. Then she shrugged and followed the officer without saying a word.

The Meiers and Adriana returned to their reading.

The place reminded Art of the preparation room at the court where the judge had heard his divorce case. The room where he had seen Jane—and her new love, Danny—one last time, where she had given him that look of pity and a whispered sorry. That was the day when she finally had walked away for good, clinging to Danny's well-muscled arm, leaving Art feeling like roadkill to rot on the shoulder of the highway of life.

This had been the reason why he had decided to go working abroad, someplace far away. And he had seized the first opportunity that offered itself. The Tavetian Institute of Technology.

Jane sure was happy now, with her Danny.

Daft, dashingly delicious Danny.

When the officer returned, Monica wasn't with him. He came for Mrs. Meier.

"Don't worry," she said to her son as she got up. "I'll take care of that."

Ralph waved silently at her, his face tense. After she had left, he started bouncing his knees—a habit that Art disliked intensely in anyone.

Ralph smiled at Art when he saw him looking his way. "What a day." His knees settled.

Art smiled back. "Didn't really expect to spend the day at a police station. Had different plans."

"Of course." Ralph nodded. "What plans if I may ask?"

Good question. What had they been, his plans, Art wondered. Then he remembered this morning's thoughts. "I had planned to go jogging."

"Great." Ralph leaned forward. "I'm into sports, too. You know, there's a fitness club close to Dumstreet. If you're interested, I can show you around."

Art had never set foot inside a fitness club his whole life. "Yeah, sounds great... if we ever get out of here" He glanced towards Bossi who watched them stonily.

"Right." Ralph nodded. "I wonder if they have fitness equipment in prisons." Ralph chuckled.

Bossi harrumphed.

Mrs. Meier's interview was taking a long time. Art wasn't surprised. She knew everyone and everything going on in the house. He did not envy Inspector Savage for having to listen to this.

When she finally came back, it was Ralph's turn.

"Where's Monica?" Art asked after the officer had left.

"I don't know." Mrs. Meier shrugged. "After our interview, Inspector Savage told me that I'm free to leave. But, of course, I returned here for Ralph. Don't know about Monica Marez, though..."

Ponytail cleared her throat. "May I please remind you that you're not supposed to talk about the case," she said. "I'm sorry." Her smile looked tired.

"Of course, Mrs. Bossi. I just didn't want to be rude to Mr. Sharpe here." She flashed Art a smile. "At Dumstreet 9, we're polite to each other as a matter of course."

The next person to enter the room wasn't Ralph Meier, but Rashid Pathan, the taxi-driver from the third floor. He was accompanied by yet another police officer.

When he saw his neighbors, he gave them a dazzling grin, his white teeth like brilliant sunshine in the warm penumbra of his tanned face. "Hello, neighbors! So good to see you."

He shook hands with Mrs. Meier, Adriana and Art then sat down on a chair opposite the table from them. "So, what is this about, can you tell me? When they called me through headquarters, they said that it's for some investigation... of a murder. Something having to do with our house."

This triggered Ponytail to clear her throat again. "Sorry, sir. They, and you, are not supposed to discuss the case at this time."

"Of course, Officer." Rashid held up his hands as if caught in the act of burglary. "I'm sorry. I'll be as quiet as a dormouse." He smiled mischievously at Mrs. Meier, Adriana, and Art.

Silence ensued.

Art grabbed a copy of Scientific American that had mysteriously made its way onto the table of this police waiting room. He tried to read an article about fossil pigments, but the concept of colored dinosaurs didn't hold enough fascination to keep his mind from wandering.

The desultory room, the harsh fluorescent light, the brooding silence—he longed to be outside. Gray sky with patches of blue was visible through the windows, cut into rectangular pieces by dark metal bars.

Barred windows.

He felt trapped.

When Ralph Meier returned, the officer asked Art to follow him.

——

A/N, for anyone who may not have noticed it yet: As of yesterday (15 March 2017), we've got an official adultfiction profile catering for the needs of the slightly older folks. Check it out.