Accounts

‘If you could state your name for the purpose of this recording.’

‘Paul.’

‘Surname.’

‘Jenkinson.’

Paul Jenkinson slurred his words as he spoke, fidgeted with his chair, scratched his head and stank of liquor. His voice was harsh, rude and distorted. I went through the procedures necessary to get his account, and listened patiently to an incredibly drunk man.

‘I haven’ a clue what wen’ on last night. I wa’ just getting meself a couple a drinks for the night, nuthin’ suspicious nor nothing. I saw sumat go on but I dunno what wa’ happening. Whatever it was, that girl ruined my nap in the park by her screaming n’all. That’s right! There was a screaming girl. Real loud bitch, she screamed something but I’ve no clue what-‘

I stopped Mr. Jenkinson’s statement there. He was of no use to this investigation, and perhaps if he had been of sound mind there might have been more uncovered about the incident. I helped him leave the room as he stumbled from the table and toward the interview door, before clicking stop on the recording, and preparing for the second witness to be sent through by my superior, DCI Mark Winters.

Francis was a weak and vulnerable man. He shook as he prepared to give his account of the events of last night to me. I had also found him in the park, shaking just like he was now, though not to the same extent. His glasses visibly vibrated on his face as he whimpered his name into the recording device, his hands sweating prints onto the table we shared. He was too petrified of any social situation to try and indirectly convict anyone of any crime, but we began.

‘Francis, I wonder if you could tell me what you know of last night’s events?’ I asked in what I saw as an appropriate tone.

He looked behind him at the glass screen which hid DCI Winters, and looked back at me, before attempting a coherent statement. ‘I – I – I don’t remember seeing a great deal.’ He said in a whining tone. ‘There was definitely something fishy in the air, a sort of coldness, as though all the order of the world had been inverted.’ He was being deliberately vague, and seemed to be satisfied by what he had offered, and kept darting looks to the door to the interview room, desperate to finish.

‘Do you remember any screaming at all?’

He thought for a moment, looked at me inquisitively, and answered. ‘No.’ That was the one answer he seemed confident of. I told him he could go and he seemed incredibly grateful, clambering up out of his chair and leaving the room. Following that interview, I had a brief discussion with my superior about the investigation, and then I continued.

Carol was a very thin woman, with bloodshot eyes and a nervous air to her. She too fidgeted in her chair, just as Paul had earlier. I prepared her for interview – something which took longer than it had with the previous two witnesses. Her hair hadn’t been washed for days, and her clothing amounted to rags. Carol was an intravenous drug user.

‘Screaming? I never stop hearing screams. Be it day or night, I just can’t not hear the screaming – I can see it right out in front of me.’

‘You see screams?’ I chuckled to myself.

‘Don’t you laugh at me.’ She stared right past me as she said this, distracted by something she saw around my head. ‘You’re the one with a clan of fairies following him round.’ She snapped. It appeared that there would be no information grasped from this witness either. I went to stop the interview, but Carol’s hand lashed out against mine. ‘I did see something!’ She declared. ‘Some fella chasing this girl around the park, looked like they’d had an argument or something. Don’t know nothing else.’ She blabbered, almost foaming at the mouth. She picked up her stuff and left the room, seemingly uninterested in giving any more information.

The fourth account of last night’s events were given by Tobias Medlock. We had found Tobias curled up in a ball on one of the swings in the park, shaking back and forth and violently scratching his head, repeating over and over the words to the national anthem.

‘Victoria.’

‘Real Name.’ I sighed.

‘Wendy.’

‘Tobias Medlock.’ I corrected him, announcing his own name for him.

‘What can you tell me of last night, Tobias?’

‘Slow and steady wins the race.’ He laughed, scratching his head again, but this time with just the one hand.

‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked calmly.

‘The big monster was chasing the bunny rabbit. The bunny rabbit used to like the monster but she didn’t like to play the running game.’ He smiled, grinning widely and smiling back at me.

‘Did you hear a scream?’ I asked.

‘Oh no, the bunny rabbit never screams. Only when the monster lets her scream does the bunny rabbit scream. The bunny rabbit doesn’t like the running game.’ He grew increasingly violent as he spoke, rocking back and forth in his chair, blurting out his words. ‘She doesn’t like the running game. The monster just wanted to play, but she doesn’t like the running game.’

It had been three hours, and still nobody had brought any useful information to the table. It was unclear if there had been any screaming at all, and so far the list of suspects amounted to a bunny rabbit and a monster. After a discussion with the DCI, we invited in the final witness to the event into the interview room.

Gracie, a 4-year old girl, walked in through the door. She had been given some colouring to do by whoever was looking after her, and had decided to bring it in with her. She wore a dress decorated with blue flowers, which matched the blue bow keeping her hair in place. She studied me as she took her seat across from me in the interview room, before looking behind her at the glass screen.

‘Gracie Clark.’ She announced into the recording, without me prompting her to do so.

‘Gracie, are you able to tell me anything about what you saw last night?’ I asked.

‘I was looking for my doggy.’ She replied, colouring in the outfit on the person in her drawing. ‘He had run out of our gate, so I went to look for him in the park.’ She didn’t look up from her work.

‘Did you see anything at all, Gracie? Did you hear a scream?’

‘This poor lady was screaming. I couldn’t see why.’ She recalled.

‘Was there anyone with her?’

‘A man. He seemed nice, and was talking to her, holding her hand.’ She smiled, still working on her masterpiece.

‘Can you remember what he looked like?’ I pressed.

She didn’t reply, and carried on working for a few moments. She slid her piece of paper over to me, revealing her sketch. As I took the piece of paper, and studied its contents, the DCI opened the door, walked over to my side of the table, and looked at what I had just been given. The interview was terminated.

‘Please state your full name for the purpose of this recording.’

‘Detective Inspector Joe Tethlan.’ I said into the recording.

‘Joe, would you like to repeat to me, in full, what you told me earlier?’ Detective Chief Inspector Winters demanded, with a rushed tone to his voice.

‘All of the interviews conducted as of this morning are void. Paul Jenkinson, the first witness, was an alcoholic.’

‘What did you do to him?’

‘I got him blind drunk.’

‘So you corrupted the statement of a key witness to a crime such as this?’ He shook his head as he asked a question he knew the answer to. He looked at me, urging me to continue.

‘And the accounts of Francis and Carol Smith, Tobias Medlock and Gracie Evans.’

‘And how exactly did you perform this task on these four witnesses?’

‘I threatened Francis.’

‘Carol?’

‘I gave her the fix she demanded.’

‘Tobias?’

‘I took his medication.’

‘And finally, Gracie. How on earth could you find it in yourself to do something to innocent little Gracie?’ He demanded.

‘I didn’t.’ I retorted. ‘Her account was entirely truthful. All the evidence she has provided to this investigation is correc-‘

DCI Winters interrupted me. ‘And, DI Tethlan, where were you last night?’ He looked at me in the same way he had before.

‘I followed and assaulted a young woman.’ I blurted out. That would be enough – he wouldn’t need me to say anything more.

DCI Winters visited me the next morning. He repeated what he had said to me the previous day just before I went into my interview. He patted me on the back and smiled as he left my cell, closing the door behind him.

That’s how I remember this all happening, though DCI Winters had gotten me very drunk.