Free Game Theory by Barry Jonsberg Page B

sound. I sat next to her and took the opportunity to tie my laces. I wondered if someone had takenSummerlee’s away, assuming she had any. Didn’t they do that so you couldn’t hang yourself in your cell? I sat forward, forearms on my thighs, and inspected the grouting between the floor tiles. It had once been grey, but now it was black.
    They kept me and Mum waiting for forty-five minutes. I suppose it’s not unreasonable. Perhaps the guy was off somewhere interrogating a suspect or filling out forms. Wasn’t that the way it was in TV shows, the endless form-filling a barrier to catching the baddies? But I couldn’t help concluding it was insensitive. Summer was eighteen. Yeah, an adult. But still eighteen. And her mum was there, not knowing whether she had dropped litter in the street or caved someone’s head in with a hammer. Forty-five minutes of agonising speculation was excessive. Mum never stopped the key jingling, but she didn’t say a word.
    Finally, a door to the reception area opened and a man in a suit put his head around. His tie was undone, the knot hanging way below his chin.
    ‘Ms Delaware?’ he said. Mum stood.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Come this way, please.’ We both followed him through the door and along a corridor to a small office. The cop didn’t ask who I was and I didn’t volunteer the information. I was half expecting Summerlee to be in there, but the room was empty. The man motioned to a chair and then sat behind a desk. There was only one chair so Mum took it. The place was pretty much like the cubicles I had imagined out there in the waiting room.The only thing missing was the takeaway sandwich. The man picked up a thin manila folder and examined a page. He glanced up at Mum.
    ‘At one-thirty this morning we received a call from the night manager at the Hyatt Hotel in the city. He reported that there was a disturbance in one of the rooms and asked for assistance. A patrol car was sent out and, as a result, your daughter and two other people were arrested.’
    Mum sighed. It could have been worse, I suppose. A disturbance was better than an assault. Then again, the word ‘disturbance’ covered a multitude of possibilities.
    ‘What has she done?’ Mum asked.
    The cop turned back to the folder.
    ‘At present, the charge sheet reads affray, possession of illicit substances, resisting arrest and assaulting a police officer,’ he said. It turned out the disturbance was an assault. He put the sheet down. ‘In addition, Ms Delaware, your daughter trashed the hotel room. That was the reason the police were called in the first place. Apparently, she and her guests made a real mess. Smashed the television, destroyed the bed, tipped up the bar fridge, broke tiles in the bathroom . . .’ He picked up the sheet again, clearly thought about listing more of the damage, changed his mind and put the sheet back. ‘Let’s just say that there wasn’t much in that hotel room that could be broken that wasn’t. I imagine the Hyatt will be hitting your daughter with a substantial bill for damages.’
    ‘She can afford it,’ said Mum. I didn’t know if the police officerwould pick up the irony, the weary resignation, in her words or interpret the remark as dismissive.
    ‘Yes,’ said the cop. ‘Summerlee Delaware, multi-millionaire.’ Did he intend the rhyme? I almost laughed. ‘I read all about it. Saw the news. But that doesn’t give her the right to destroy other people’s property or assault police officers.’
    ‘I know that,’ said Mum. ‘Believe me, I know.’
    The cop stared at her for a few moments. I was really tempted to break my silence. The guy was looking at Mum as if she was a shit parent. Just another one in a long line of shit parents he had had to deal with in his career. Your daughter didn’t just turn out this way. You made her. How about taking some responsibility? But Mum had tried. She was the only one who had. She’d fucked up, sure, with all of us, but which parent