Free Lonely Hearts by John Harvey

herself slowly sit down.
    “You took the first solution because it was the easiest, because it has become almost axiomatic in these increasingly well-publicized cases to see the father or stepfather as the perpetrator, and because, as you so revealingly said earlier, the good relationship you enjoy with the Social Services would have encouraged you to come to the same convenient and fashionable conclusion.”
    “I did not say…”
    “Inspector, your evidence is now a matter of record.”
    “I did not say that the views of any members of the Social Services…”
    “Inspector, please. The court is fully aware of what it was you said.”
    “Nothing was said by any outside agency that convinced us to put Mr. Taylor under arrest.”
    “Then what did?”
    Resnick held back his response, held his breath. He could feel the dampness of his shirt where it clung to the small of his back, the itch of perspiration beneath his arms and between his legs. “The girl,” he said clearly.
    “The seven-year-old girl.”
    “Yes.”
    “Upset, intimidated…”
    “No.”
    “Asked so many leading questions…”
    “No.”
    “…that, like all little girls do, she gave the answer she had come to realize was wanted.”
    A sound broke from Resnick’s mouth, somewhere between a roar and a laugh. “I watched,” Resnick said, “watched through a two-way mirror, watched seven-year-old Sharon Taylor sitting with a social worker and with nobody else in the room…”
    “Inspector,” said the barrister, “there is no need.”
    “Yes, there is!” Resnick’s hands were gripping the front of the witness stand and even from near the rear of the room Rachel could see that his knuckles were white. “There is a need.”
    The judge bent towards him. “Inspector Resnick, I do realize that this is a disquieting case.”
    Resnick faced the judge and when he spoke again his voice was low and even. “The only other things that mattered in the room were a microphone and two dolls.” He pointed towards the table where the dolls lay. “Those which have already been examined by the court. And what I heard and saw was Sharon Taylor using those dolls to explain what it was the accused had done to her. What he had made her do to him.” Resnick’s eyes fixed on the barrister’s face. “Her father.”

Eight
    At first he thought she wasn’t there and felt a flush of disappointment that ran close to anger. It was something he almost believed he had earned, that his testimony had deserved. He had allowed himself to picture how she would be standing there, the smile coming up on her face to greet him. When would he learn to stop fooling himself?
    Resnick nodded at someone he knew, skirted round a couple of solicitors, diaries out, arranging their weekly bridge game, and there she was. Off to the side, her head mostly turned away, of course, Rachel was talking to Mrs. Taylor and Resnick could imagine her tone, even and reassuring.
    He slowed his pace, not wanting to reach the exit before she noticed him.
    “Inspector.” Rachel left Mrs Taylor with a smile and crossed the foyer.
    Resnick took his time about turning, so that Rachel was almost up to him when he looked at her.
    “How are you feeling?” Rachel asked.
    Resnick nodded past her shoulder. “How’s your client?”
    “She’s spent the best part of the day in court, listening while a highly paid smoothie with a wig on his head does everything he can to prove she’s a vindictive and hysterical liar. How do you think she’s feeling?”
    Rachel lowered her head for a moment and the corners of her mouth broke into a smile. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You don’t deserve that. Mrs. Taylor’s coping pretty well. The positive thing about that kind of display is that it makes her feel angry too. Angry at what they’re trying to do to her. Whereas you…” The smile was in her eyes now. “…she thinks you’re the bee’s knees.”
    “Did she say that? The bee’s knees?”
    “No,