Free The Mentor by Rita Carla Francesca Monticelli Page A

Maybe Sayyid saw someone go in or come out. Does he often play out here in the hallway?”
    Miss Jassim turned to her son and shot him a look of reproof. It almost seemed as if she were blaming him for the fact that she was now stuck talking to the detective in front of her.
    Going over to them, Miriam bent down so that her eyes were at the same level as Sayyid’s. “Do you often play out here in the hallway, Sayyid?”
    The boy said nothing.
    “Answer the lady!” his mother implored.
    Sayyid looked first at his mother, then back at Miriam. Then he nodded, clutching his mother’s wrist with his hands.
    Detective Leroux smiled at him. “That’s fine. Did you see anyone new enter or leave your neighbor’s apartment?”
    The child stared at her. He was almost trembling.
    “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You can talk to me. I’m with the police.”
    This didn’t appear to calm the boy one bit. “I-I don’t know . . .” he stammered.
    “You don’t know? Try to think about it a little. I don’t know . . . maybe a lady, for example?”
    Sayyid squinted for a moment. “Yes,” he said, practically whispering.
    “Goodness gracious!” exclaimed the mother. “Behave yourself. Tell the lady what you saw. And pull yourself together!” She forced Sayyid to let go of her and stand on his own.
    “I saw a woman come out of there,” he said, pointing to Thompson’s apartment.
    “When?”
    “I don’t remember.”
    “Okay. Had you ever seen her before?”
    Sayyid shook his head no.
    “What do you remember about her? Was she short, tall . . . ?”
    “Tall!”
    “As tall as me?” asked Miriam, standing up straight and pointing to herself. “Or taller? Or not as tall?”
    The boy hesitated for a moment, then looked away from the policewoman. “Like you . . .”
    “Okay, Sayyid.” She bent down to his level again, bringing her face just inches from his, forcing him to look right at her. “Do you remember what she looked like?”
    The boy swallowed nervously. “She was dressed in black. And she wore a big pair of sunglasses.”
    “What color was her hair?”
    The boy shrugged.
    “Would you recognize her, if you saw her again?”
    Sayyid immediately shook his head forcefully.
    “Okay,” said Miriam, sighing.
    “Do you need us much longer?” asked the mother, sounding bored. “My son has to do his homework.”
    The detective stood up again. “Of course,” she said. “You’re right.” She smiled to the woman and took a step back.
    Miss Jassim turned the key in the lock and opened the door.
    “Just one last thing,” Detective Leroux added.
    Miriam’s voice interrupted the other woman’s movement. The child had set the ball down on the floor and put both hands on the door in order to push his way in, but his mother had a firm grip on the knob and kept Sayyid from slipping inside.
    “When the woman came out of the apartment, what did she do after that?”
    Sayyid stopped pushing on the door and looked at her, but he didn’t answer.
    “Did she leave right away, or did she do something else before she left?” insisted the detective.
    “She locked the door behind her,” the boy said.
    Then the mother let go of the doorknob and Sayyid ran inside.
     
    The cell phone rang right as the light turned green. Miriam pressed the answer button on the steering wheel and accelerated hard, cutting off the car to her left in the process, tires screeching. A car horn honked behind her.
    “Leroux,” she answered.
    “Detective, this is Mills. I investigated that thing you were asking about, and I may have found something interesting,” said a male voice coming through her speakers.
    Just as she was overtaking a bus, a pedestrian stepped out into the street ahead of her, forcing Miriam to screech to a stop. “Merde!” she swore in French.
    “Everything okay?” asked her colleague, preoccupied.
    Miriam took off again. “Yes, everything’s okay. You were saying?”
    “After digging around in