“Do you have a pair of binoculars?”
“Yes.” They had picked them up in the search, so I don’t know why they were asking me. Jackie whispered that they had to do their job this way. That was fine. She was almost holding my hand.
“Do you use them?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use them this morning?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“Bird watching.”
“There is a witness ready to testify that you were seen training your binoculars on the school opposite.”
“Yes, I do look at the school opposite.”
“For what purpose?”
“It’s unavoidable, really. Birds fly where they will.” I said this with a flourish of my hand.
“This is a criminal investigation, sir. We expect you to take our questions seriously.”
“My client is taking your questions seriously,” Jackie interjected. She smiled at me encouragingly. “You can put the question again, officer.”
“Very well. For what purpose did you have your binoculars trained on the school and the schoolchildren?”
“Well, seriously, it is unavoidable when looking at birds, as you can imagine, but yes, I thought I would do a bit of detection. We’re all aware of what’s happening. There doesn’t seem to be too much detection going on in this country.” I could hear my voice getting excitable. Jackie was warning me with her eyes.
“I would caution you, sir, to answer the questions appropriately, otherwise we will have no choice but to charge you with obstructing our legitimate police investigation into the abduction of a number of children from Miss Beaubrun’s School.”
“You might make better use of your time trying to find the abductors and the children and that little boy, rather than wasting your time interviewing me.”
“Sir, I caution you.”
“My client apologizes, officer. It won’t happen again.” I could see that Jackie was saying this to me. Jackie was a smart young black woman trained at the local law school. Carmella said she was the best in town.
“What do you mean, that little boy?” the officer asked. The room was as silent as a tomb. The glass doors to the veranda were closed, but at that moment you could hear the cries of children drifting over from the school. It was recess. Jackie looked at me. I looked back at her and we both turned to the officers sitting opposite. It was fear. It was some intractable part of my unconscious, some memory I could never remember. My memory expressed itself as tears that welled up in my eyes and ran down my cheeks. I expect the officers thought, He’s cracking up, we’ll get a confession any moment. Jackie seemed pretty apprehensive, as if saying, What haven’t you told me? She got me a glass of water and a tissue from her bag. It smelled of some kind of Chanel. Gradually, I pulled myself together and spoke.
“One of them. The day after I first came back, I was doing what I told you, bird watching. I saw that little boy, the one who disappeared on the twentieth of November. I’ve been reading the reports. I feel sure it was he that I saw get into a Rover with a well-dressed gentleman. It was mid-morning when I have a break and I thought it odd that the boy was leaving school then, but other than that I did not think anything, because at that time I did not know about the abductions, having just come back into the country. But piecing together the stories in the papers, I feel pretty sure.”
“Why all the interest?” This question was spontaneous and not one of their prepared ones.
“I write. I’m writing a story about the disappearing children for a journal in London.”
“But you’ve been withholding information in a criminal investigation. Why didn’t you report this?”
Jackie was looking intently at me. I had not told her this.
“When I first saw him, I was unaware of the abductions. When I found out, my visit to the police station did not inspire confidence. You fellas don’t get good press.”
“I would not play detective, sir. And now, to clear you from our list of suspects, we will require you to come down to the St. Claire Police Station and give us your fingerprints and other particulars.”
Jackie nodded. This was appropriate formality.
“Yes, certainly. But you know, when you came earlier, even today when you were going through my private things—”
“If you or your lawyer has any complaints, sir, you can put them in writing to the Commissioner of Police. You understand? You know.”
There it was again, you know. That nervous tic. This told me that they had reached their limit of good behavior. The fuckers. They were going to get away with their obscenity and brutality.
“One thing, sir. We would like an item of clothing from your soiled clothes to match a stain there with other evidence.”
“You what?” It was all in his eyes: the hate, the brutality which he had not been able to administer.
Jackie was utterly professional. “I trust that the item of clothing will be returned to my client in the proper manner.” They did not bother to reply, so Jackie repeated the question.
“Yeah, man,” the officer replied.
“Officer, I will repeat my question a third time and I will expect you to take the matter of a criminal investigation seriously. I trust that the item of clothing will be returned to my client in the proper manner.”
“Yes, madam.”
Jackie went down to the police station with me and the officer on duty did the required.
Weeks have gone and I’ve not made any headway with my little boy or with my weight, despite the fact that I am walking each day. Walk faster, eat less. How will I make the road on j’ouvert morning?
I get these ideas into my head on my walks. I have been noticing this house, cute little bungalow, just around the corner, really, with petrias that have just burst into bloom, bluey-purple; gorgeous color, and I love that I know the names of trees. The house is empty, or looks like it is. I wonder about that each morning as I pass and dream. I have been building a fantasy to give up my cage and move into this bungalow. I can see that there is a garden behind. The porch has been closed in, pity, fear!
I’m still shaken by my visit from the police. I keep my focus. No, not on my childhood, my stolen childhood, but the stolen childhoods which are at the moment plaguing this city.
I think the teachers are having a meeting today. No kids have arrived. That’s ominous. I hope now that they are not going to close the school, though I will completely understand why if they do. What have I got? Absolutely nothing. We need detection. Do you know that DNA is not allowed as evidence in the attempt to prosecute in this country? What are they going to do with my soiled briefs?
There he is. I can see him. He’s running along the pavement opposite: khaki pants, blue shirt, satchel for a mountain climber on his back, a mite stacked with education books. Remember what Prime Minister Williams said back in ’62: Your future is in your school bag. I feel to be sick. He lifts his head with his mum and dad’s hopes and ambitions, not to mention Miss Beaubrun’s injunctions based on the national anthem, where every creed and race find an equal place, and as it was just Christmastime when I came, the carols of the story of Bethlehem. What I think is that every creed and race does have an equal place and that any of them could be the abductor of the children, of my little boy. He has a name. His name is Elijah.