CHAPTER 4

"Did you get to the daycare?"

"Yes, I'm walking toward the entrance," Officer Raymond St. John commented. "I'll charge you for this one."

Vos, still standing in front of the door that locked Miss Sullivan in, gave instructions to one of your greatest allies in the police force.

"Don't let anyone touch that baby, and make sure the caregivers aren't complicit in anything."

"Got it."

About to hang up, Officer Vos listened:

"Why are you doing all this for her? How long have you known her?"

Vos paid no attention and hung up without answering. And it was better not to, especially since he didn't know what to say.

He looked straight ahead, not focusing his eyes on anything, he needed to find a way to communicate with her without the cameras recording.

Just as he decided to move from there with an idea in mind, he heard a noise to his right.

Vos squinted, scanning the three people walking through the glass door, the same one the rookie walked through.

One of his Intelligence colleagues, dressed in civilian clothes, with a black suit jacket and dress pants, walking as if she were in a meadow in midsummer, her lush black hair waving freely, seemed to share something funny with the director of the station, who wore the uniform corresponding to his position, white shirt, and black pants, flying badges and decorations, being the same man who placed him the mission to locate and bring Sofia. But they didn't come alone. At their side, with a serene and self-assured face, dressed in suit and tie, Gael Cliff. The three of them seemed to feel that the situation was silly, while behind those doors a worried and fearful young woman was waiting for them, unbeknownst.

"Vos! You look good in uniform," the woman joked, tossing out her comment sarcastically.

He could have said something to her without caring that the director was present, but he didn't because he was staring sternly at Cliff.

"I have brought your son's mother, sir," he dared to say, causing the two policemen to stop for a moment.

"Vos..." the director warned, knowing he had to stop the officer if he didn't want to be removed from the patrol area as well.

The man dressed in a suit looked at him with narrowed eyes and a half smile. He approached the lady and said something in her ear, to which she nodded.

"Officer Vos, you may leave, we'll take care of this."

Vos felt pressure mixed with helplessness, feelings that caused his heart rate to increase.

"I understand," he said to her, hiding everything that was going on in his mind and body, "but the detainee has claimed to be cold since she entered the interrogation room. Save yourself a problem with inspection, I can fix it."

"Inspection, you say?" she spoke. "I mean, Internal Affairs? I should pay attention, shouldn't I? Since you're an expert in that department."

Vos smiled with his lips closed, gritting his teeth.

"You're right, that's precisely why I'm giving you that recommendation."

The director sighed.

"Bring her something to cover herself and a hot drink," he said quickly, wearily. "Let's not waste any more time." He opened the door next to Sofia's, that being the space where those who would not participate in the interrogation would stay.

As Gael and the director crossed the threshold, Vos could see Sofia's beautiful, anguished face through the spy mirror just before the door was closed. The policewoman entered the room, she being in charge of the interrogation, but Vos didn't see that, as she was walking hurriedly into the building, upstairs, through a hallway to the lockers.

He opened his and took out a black jacket made of waterproof fabric on the outside and a kind of suede on the inside.

Looking around and confirming that he was alone, he took out his ticket book and pen from his front pocket.

He tore out a sheet of paper, already having in mind what to say when declaring the serial number of that missing form, and quickly wrote a message.

He folded the paper, tucked it into his right jacket pocket, and walked out of there straight to one of the coffee vending machines located in the building's coffee shop.

Keeping his hands busy, he walked down the same hallway and opened the door where the two men were standing, with the idea of asking for authorization to give the detainee what he was bringing her.

"The best thing is for you to calm down, Sofia; you are not being detained; we have not even placed you in handcuffs. The only thing we want is for you to explain in detail what led you to take that money from Gael Cliff's account."

"For God's sake, how can you ask me to calm down? I've already explained it and I feel like I'm not making myself clear. That's a bank account that Gael himself gave me for our son's expenses. He gave me the card himself! Otherwise, how do you explain that I have it, if I haven't seen his face for almost a year?"

"Why now? Why did you take the money after so much time has passed?"

"Because he never had any money until now!"

"Vos, go and give her that. Then leave."

He looked at his boss after his command, trying not to let him notice that he was breathing through his mouth so as not to explode.

He looked at Gael; he wore a strange expression on his face; he seemed curious, and there was some regret, too, but in his scrutiny and expertise, Vos detected action and wanted to know, like nothing before, why that guy was giving the worst of days to the mother of his son. He knew then that he could feel true repulsion for someone.

Vos looked at the glass and watched Sofia defend herself, her face tired, alert, flushed.

He walked out and into the other room, startling the policewoman a little and cutting off the detainee's words.

The officer looked into Sofia's eyes as he placed the coffee glass on the table and handed her the jacket.

"If your hands are cold, use your pockets," he whispered very softly, almost a murmur.

She wrinkled her brow; at the time, it seemed to her a very strange advice. She was cold, and she appreciated all the attention; in fact, it made her feel like she wasn't alone, but it seemed odd that he would give her such specific advice.

He nodded to the police officer and left without looking back, letting out a sigh to try to calm down. He felt desperate, he didn't quite understand the reason. He didn't know her at all, but he felt such a feeling, like a gauge of her innocence, and one of the things he hated the most was injustice, a word that had generated problems for him at that station. The best thing for L. Vos was to detach himself from all that and return to his job, but he simply could not, so he looked for a way to be present at the interrogation.

He exited the station through the main doors and pulled out his cell phone again to communicate once more with his friend, Officer St. John.

"I need you to do me one more favor."

Inside the room, Sofia was beginning to shiver and she could already sense that the cold couldn't be the culprit, nor could literal nerves manifesting themselves. She was understanding her body, which was telling her that the mixture of all the fear and anguish was starting to make her sick.

"Are you feeling all right?" the female officer asked.

"I'm cold. And I want this to stop now."

"Put on your jacket and drink your coffee. Sofia, we're here to clarify your situation, relax."

She looked at her with the face of a few friends and finally obeyed, putting on the big jacket that immediately gave off a smell of masculine perfume that left her breathless.

The aroma was exquisite and she perceived it before when that beautiful man dressed in uniform approached her in the coffee shop, changing her day completely.

She put her hands in her pockets and stretched them out to her lap to rest them there when she felt an object with her fingertips.

«If your hands are cold, use your pockets... use your pockets,» she remembered that advice as she fumbled with the inside of the right side of the coat, realizing it was a piece of paper.

She lowered her hands further, positioning them under the table, and moved as if she was feeling relief; the only thing she wanted was for that woman not to notice anything strange.

"We want to know why you took money out of someone else's account."

"It's not someone else's account," Sofia said. "As I have already explained on several occasions, Gael himself gave me a debit card and told me to use it for the baby's expenses, but from the minute I tried to use it, I knew the account was empty.

"When I contacted him that time, he promised me that he would deposit soon, and it never happened, so I took the reins of the situation and solved it as I could, not only with my work but with a request for help at the city hall, something temporary. I imagine you know what that support is about, one that I stopped receiving after the pandemic and that is why I turned to the card to see if he had finally made the so famous deposit he promised. Sure enough, I checked the ATM and there was money there. I took out the amount to pay the daycare f*e; then I went to the supermarket; I spent less than fifty dollars; I only took less than fifty to buy diapers and food; that's all I did."

"Why didn't you let Mr. Cliff know you were going to do that?"

"Because I know that the reason he left me that plastic was so that there would be no possibility of communication between us, I understood perfectly well that it wouldn't change, so I went straight to try and see if there was any money."

"Very well, we won't discuss the lack of parental responsibility we have here, but didn't you find it strange, with this lack of money for the child, money appeared overnight in an account that was supposed to be dedicated only to the child's maintenance?"

"I didn't pay attention to whether it was strange or not, ma'am. What I thought at the time was that he did eventually deposit, that maybe he did it months after I waited and since I didn't try to swipe the card again, I couldn't be sure of the exact date of when he deposited. I called him, I called Gael and had no success, he changed his number. I called his house, but nothing. I called his parents' house, but nothing. I went to the supermarket and bought things, then I went to his apartment and the concierge of the building told me that no one was there, that he went on a trip and would not be back soon. I went and left a note at his parents' house to let them know that I spent the dollars for the child from the authorized account. They did not receive me, I guess the note was left at the gate. What else do you want to know, should I return the money? I will do it, bill by bill. I will deposit to that same bank account if possible, but I would like to know how I am going to do it while I am detained here; how?"

The lush-haired, executive-suited officer leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table.

"Sofia, your story is touching, but we have proof that you are lying." The questioned woman wrinkled her face. She opened a folder, turned it over, and showed it to Sofia. "This is the last account statement, you can see the date at the top." She pointed to the area with a pen. Then, she dragged the tip of the pen to the end of the numbers in a row. "It doesn't say fifty dollars there, Sofia. It says $100,000."