Free The Full Ridiculous by Mark Lamprell Page A

expecting you. You say, ‘Yes,’ and she disappears through the rear door in search of him. Moments later she reappears and tells you to take a seat, he shouldn’t be too long.
    Team O’Dell retreats to a wooden bench and sits. Rosie looks at you with scared-rabbit eyes so you take her hand and are surprised when she lets you continue to hold it. As Wendy scans the noticeboard, you remember that she is familiar with this particular police station.
    Years ago, when the kids were small, Wendy was part of a volunteer program based here and next door at the courthouse. Every Tuesday, she would come to support women, victims of domestic violence, who were seeking legal protection from their violent partners. She would sit with the women, listen to their stories and explain how the court procedures would play out. Sometimes she would run interference between the women and their partners who were either begging for forgiveness or threatening retribution. In the two or three years that Wendy was part of the program, she became friendly with a couple of the police and police prosecutors.
    Holding Rosie’s hand, you hope that some of Wendy’s alumni are still here, that one of them will walk through the door, recognise Wendy, and throw their arms around her. You hope that this warm reunion will be witnessed by Constable Lance Johnstone; you hope that Wendy’s alumnus will explain to the constable what a remarkable contribution Wendy has made to the community and what a fine family the O’Dells are.
    But none of this happens when Constable Lance Johnstone appears and calls you over to the counter. This is the first time you have seen him and you are surprised by his maturity. He appears to be about your age and you wonder why a man in his forties has not graduated past the rank of constable.
    After a peremptory greeting, he asks Rosie to join him on the other side of the counter. You start to accompany her but he says no, just Rosie. Wendy pipes up and says a parent needs to accompany her if she’s being interviewed. The constable says he’s not interviewing her yet; he’s taking her into custody.
    Custody?
    Rosie looks from the cop, to you, to Wendy, panic rising. You and Wendy bombard him with questions and protests. What do you mean, custody? You said it was just a chat! Custody for what? How long? She’s fourteen , for God’s sake. Do we need a lawyer? Look at her! Why didn’t you warn us?
    Constable Johnstone informs you that Rosie is going to be charged with assault.
    Another barrage: Assault? But you haven’t heard her side! She’s fourteen, for God’s sake! How can you charge someone when you’ve only got one side of the story? We need a lawyer. Can we come back and do this when we’ve got a lawyer?
    Constable Johnstone informs you that he’s going to put Rosie into a holding cell while he gets the paperwork in order, then she will be fingerprinted, interviewed and formally charged.
    It is absolutely critical that you remain calm and clearheaded but panic and fury collide with your good intentions. Your mind reels. Rosie clings to you, sobbing. The cop peels her away and she looks at you like she can’t believe you’re letting him do this. You can’t believe you’re letting him do it either. Wendy is on the phone, calling a lawyer, talk-shouting in a strange, high-pitched wail.
    The cop tells you it will all be over quicker if you all just calm down. You watch impotently as he leads your daughter away and locks her in a holding cell at the far end of the room. She wraps her little hands around the bars and looks back at you, her face distorted. Suddenly she recoils and looks at her hands in disbelief. There’s blood on the bars and now there’s blood on her hands and she holds them out to show you. You can see that she’s going to scream but no sound comes out.
    Instead, you give voice to her horror and shout in a huge voice, ‘For God’s sake! For God’s sake!’ You point at your little girl and