Free The Full Ridiculous by Mark Lamprell Page B

now every cop in the police station is looking and they see Rosie and rush towards her.
    Wendy walks back through the front doors and you realise she’s been outside on her phone. She asks, ‘Where’s Rosie?’ and you explain about the blood and that they have taken her away to wash her hands. You ask when the lawyer is coming.
    The lawyer is an acquaintance of Wendy’s from her volunteer days. Shelley Mainwaring is an ex-police prosecutor. She knows most of the cops in this precinct but she doesn’t know Constable Lance Johnstone; he must be new. Or newish. She tells Wendy that he sounds like a bit of a dickhead and reckons he’s just trying to give Rosie a fright.
    Shelley’s advice is to comply. Go along with this guy, let Rosie give her statement, and make sure you get a copy when she is finished. There’s no way this matter will end up in court; if it did it would be thrown out in two seconds. Shelley says she’s not coming to the station—that would be a waste of time and money—and to call her tomorrow and debrief.
    Rosie reappears in the company of two policewomen and you can see she is struggling to remain composed. She looks so small and vulnerable next to these two taller, armed women. You want to wrap your arms around her and hobble as far away as you can go.
    Wendy examines Rosie’s hands and cross-examines the cops about the blood. They apologise and explain that there’d been a fight in the cell earlier and they didn’t realise there was blood until Rosie discovered it. You know Wendy has gone straight to AIDS and you look at Rosie’s hands for any signs of cuts or abrasions, but Thank God they’re clear.
    The older policewoman tells you she is now going to fingerprint Rosie. Wendy asks if that’s really necessary. The policewoman— Carol Fossey it says on her badge—says yes but you can tell she doesn’t mean it.
    Carol produces a large inkpad, takes the index finger of Rosie’s right hand, rolls it across the pad, then presses it onto a document, producing a perfect impression. Rosie does not look up but you can see the humiliation burning across her face. You imagine grabbing Carol’s gun and blowing all these fuckers away but this offers little comfort so you try to focus on the mechanics of the fingerprinting.
    Ring finger: roll, press.
    Pinkie finger: roll, press.
    Thumb: roll, press.
    Watching your daughter’s lovely hands, you are transported back fourteen and a half years.
    You’re kneeling on the floor in front of Wendy, your jeans soaked in blood and water. The baby’s head has crowned and the midwife says, ‘Don’t push,’ but Wendy shouts, ‘I can’t not push!’ and this slippery little creature shoots out and you just manage to catch her in your hands. The umbilical cord is wrapped around her neck and the midwife quickly uncoils it. You look up at Wendy; she’s crying and laughing at the same time and you both try to absorb the miracle before you.
    The midwife says, ‘It’s a girl.’ Indeed, she is a girl. You scan her body and that’s when you notice them and see that Wendy has also noticed them: her hands. Even on this tiny newborn, the hands are remarkable: long delicate fingers, impossibly expressive and elegant.
    Wendy says, ‘Beautiful hands,’ and you nod, too moved to speak. ‘Great for jewellery,’ she jokes. And you’re nodding and smiling and smiling and you can’t stop smiling.
    If anything, Rosie’s hands have become more beautiful, stronger and more dexterous. But now they’re covered in ink so Senior Constable Carol Fossey takes her away to wash them.
    When Rosie returns, Constable Lance Johnstone also reappears. He leads all three of you down a short corridor to a windowless, airless room with a desk and three chairs. There is a beat while you all appraise the fact that one of you will have to stand. The constable leaves the room and returns with a fourth chair.
    You and Wendy sit either side of Rosie, opposite Constable Johnstone. You