Free Bobby's Girl by Catrin Collier Page B

impossible to determine if it was day or night in a windowless cell with a naked burning light bulb. She’d lost track of time and wondered if she’d dreamt someone calling hername. The silence was so absolute it seemed to buzz.
    Her muscles were stiff, frozen. The right side of her body where she’d leant against the cell wall was numb from the cold and lack of circulation. When she touched the fingers of her right hand with her left they felt odd, as though they belonged to someone else.
    Disorientated, she looked around. Any hopes she’d nurtured of her arrest being a nightmare shattered in the face of the painted brick walls. And, as if the cell wasn’t proof enough, her hands and knees were throbbing with pain from her fall.
    The blonde girls were still hunched on the floor, their eyes closed. It was impossible to tell whether or not they were sleeping. She didn’t disturb them. She was grateful they were silent.
    Then she heard footsteps outside the cell accompanied by the jangle of keys.
    â€˜Penelope John! Penelope John!’
    It was the same harsh female voice that had woken her.
    Rose opened her eyes. ‘That you?’
    She nodded, shivering from more than cold. She called out, ‘Here.’
    Rose whispered. ‘The protesters who’d been arrested before warned Mike not to sign anything or admit he was guilty of any charge, no matter what the police did or said to him. Apparently, everyone who takes the officers’ advice to plead guilty ends up in court and prison.’
    â€˜Thanks for the warning.’ After seeing officers beat Bobby, she knew she was too cowardly to stand the threat of police ‘questioning’ for any length of time.
    A key turned in the metal door. It swung open. A woman officer stood framed in the doorway.
    â€˜Penelope John?’
    She clambered awkwardly to her feet.
    â€˜Why didn’t you answer when I first called?’
    â€˜I’m sorry. I was asleep.’
    â€˜Follow me.’
    â€˜Good luck,’ Rose shouted after her.
    â€˜Straight ahead to the end of the corridor.’ The policewoman walked behind her.
    She clamped her hand on the waistband of her jeans. They’d stretched since she’d last washed them and without a belt were in danger of falling down.
    â€˜Into reception,’ the officer barked.
    She walked through the door. Kate was standing pale-faced in front of the desk. Next to her was a handsome, middle-aged, tall, slim, blond man wearing a camel-haired coat. He exuded authority and a confidence born of good looks, expensive clothes and wealth. Penny froze, too weakened by relief to take another step. The man turned and held out his arms. She fell into them.
    â€˜Is this your niece, Mr Powell?’ the officer behind the desk asked.
    Haydn Powell lifted his head above hers and rested his chin on the crown of her head. ‘Can’t you see the family resemblance, Superintendent?’
    Given that her Uncle Haydn had blonde hair and blue eyes and she’d inherited her father’s auburn hair and tawny-gold eyes, her uncle was stretching a point, but she was too happy to see a familiar face to contradict anything he said.
    â€˜We have to give her a formal caution, Mr Powell.’
    â€˜Do you think you’ll survive that indignity?’ Haydn held her away from him and winked at her.
    â€˜We’ll also need to complete our paperwork and return her personal possessions.’
    Haydn gave the superintendent and the room in general the full benefit of the professional smile that had charmed international audiences for over thirty years, and five women into marrying him. ‘I would be grateful if you could do it quickly, Superintendent. I have to fly to the States tonight and I would like to spend some time with my niece before I leave.’
    â€˜Time you’ll spend lecturing her on acceptable behaviour, I hope, Mr Powell.’
    â€˜Naturally.’
    â€˜Ten