Finding Alex - 2. Chapter 2

“Are you alright?” Frank asked kindly.

Sacha flinched and blinked at him. “I….”

“Do you need anything? A drink?”

Sacha shook his head. “No.”

The door opened and two police officers sauntered in. “Who yanked his chain?” one asked, jerking his head back the way they’d come.

“Can you show Mr Prosser to interview room two?” the custody sergeant said, ignoring the question. “Give him whatever he needs.”

One of the policemen raised an eyebrow, but shrugged and motioned Frank and Sacha toward a door. The other leaned against the desk and watched them go.

A short corridor led to another, which had various doors leading off. The policeman nodded to one with the number two tacked on. “What can I get you, mate?”

“Coffee, if you don’t mind, black one sugar. What about you, Sacha?” Sacha shook his head, his eyes fixed on the ground. “Think you could get hold of hot lemon and honey?”

Sacha’s head came up and he stared. The policeman chuckled. “I think we might have a LemSip™ in the cupboard. Will that do?”

“Why not? See if you can whip up some doughnuts, too.”

“A cop wanting doughnuts? Now there’s a stereotype for you, butt.”

Frank smiled at the warmth in the Welshman’s voice. “Doughnuts are doughnuts and I get a feeling my friend hasn’t had too many treats lately.”

The man winked at Sacha then vanished, leaving Frank suddenly at a loss for what to say.

Sacha prowled the small room, like a caged animal, and Frank let him. His thoughts were too chaotic for any meaningful conversation right now. They still hadn’t spoken a word to each other when the policeman returned with two chipped mugs, which he put on the table.

“Couldn’t find any doughnuts,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll have to make do with a couple of Jaffa Cakes™ and a packet of chocolate digestives.” He fished the biscuits out of his pocket and deposited them on the table. “Enjoy,” he said then left them alone again.

“Drink it while it’s hot,” Frank said, watching Sacha, who’d retreated to a corner and was hugging himself, seemingly trying to push himself through the wall.

“What do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just don’t like to see people suffer needlessly, and your chest hurts like fuck right now doesn’t it?”

“What? I…. How do you know?”

“I’m a cop and it’s not hard to deduce. That’s cough’s a bitch. So, sit down and drink. It will make you feel better.”

Sacha laughed ironically, but, after a moment hesitation, he slid into the seat across the table from Frank and took a sip from the mug. Frank pushed a packet of biscuits across the desk, and after a short hesitation, Sacha took one and nibbled delicately at the edge.

Again, they slipped into silence as they both sipped their drinks. Frank took the opportunity to observe Sacha. Even though he was now pretty sure he was wrong, the boy still looked no more than fourteen years old, with a fair complexion and slight frame. He was too pale, too thin, too…haunted. No fourteen year old kid should look like that. No seventeen year old either.

Frank had interviewed plenty of street punks in his time. Sacha was different. Was it just because he wanted him to be? He watched carefully as the boy fidgeted in his seat, twisting the mug between his small hands. Frank noticed a lot of little things. Like that his nails were clean and well manicured, his long, sweeping eyelashes still held traces of mascara, and his wrists were scarred. This morning certainly wasn’t the first time they’d been shackled.

Those things bothered him, they bothered him a lot, as did the fact that Sacha appeared years younger than he actually was, and was much smaller than he should have been. At least to Frank’s mind. Sacha wasn’t what he’d been expecting at all.

“So, when is this doctor going to get here?”

“They’re not.”

“What? What do you mean? I….”

“No one’s coming.”

“Then what…? Why am I here? What are you going to do with me?” Sacha’s eyes flicked nervously around the room. There was real fear in them.

“Relax. I’m not going to do anything with you. I just thought it might be a good idea to get some distance between you until things calmed down.”

“What? You’ve got to be crazy. He’s going to kill me.” Sacha got to his feet so fast the chair skidded across the floor and the mug crashed to the ground.

“Sit down. Take it easy.”

“No. You don’t understand. I have to go.”

“Sit down, Sacha. You’re not going anywhere until we’ve had a little chat.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“Sit down.”

“No.”

“Sit down.”

Unable to resist the command, Sacha sat and glared at Frank.

“Who was that man?”

“What?”

“That man? Who is he?”

“He’s my father,” Sacha spat, glaring at Frank.

“And I’m your Uncle Sam. Who is he? Your dealer? Your pimp?”

Sacha opened his mouth as if he was going to make an angry retort, then he sighed and sank back in his seat, hanging his head.

“I’m not saying anything. Let me go or get me a lawyer.”

“There’s no need for a lawyer. You’re not in trouble, Sacha, at least not with me.”

Sacha looked up. His eyes were dull and Frank badly wanted to reach for him, especially when he was gripped with a violent fit of coughing. Taking a handkerchief from his inner pocket he slid it across the table and, after a moment, Sacha took it and dabbed at his eyes, preferring to swipe at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“So, who is he?”

“I told you….”

“He’s not your father, Sacha. I’m not stupid, so stop treating me as if I am. Who is he? Your pimp?”

Sacha chewed his lip, holding Frank’s eyes, then let his eyes drift closed and nodded. Frank felt sick. Physically sick.

“What was in the pills? I take it you’re not really mentally ill.”

Sacha laughed bitterly and opened his eyes again. “Tranqs. He didn’t want me to talk. Easier if I wasn’t able to. As for being mentally ill….” He shrugged. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You don’t look too happy about it.”

Sacha didn’t answer, only laughed bitterly.

“I’d think there’d be plenty of boys happy with a nice, clean pimp like that. He looks like he takes care of his boys.”

“Yeah, he takes care of us.”

“How many of you are there?”

Sacha gave him a long, calculating look. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know kids like you, Sacha. You’re smart, really smart. Kids like you don’t get caught shoplifting sweets. They don’t trash shops. They don’t assault cops. Even when you were caught, you knew all you had to do was keep your mouth shut and it would all go away. You wanted to be caught. You wanted to get into as much trouble as you could. You wanted to get away from him. So why do you want to go back?”

“I…don’t. I don’t want to go back.”

“What about the others? There are others – your brothers and sisters? That’s what he was threatening you with, wasn’t it? Keep your mouth shut or the others will get hurt?”

Again, Sacha held his eyes for a few moments, then hung his head. “Yes.”

“How many others?”

“Seven?”

“All kids?”

Sacha nodded.

“Are you the oldest?”

Sacha shook his head. “No, there are two older, but they won’t last long. Once they hit eighteen he gets rid of them.”

“Gets rid of them how?”

“He doesn’t kill them, if that’s what you think,” Sacha sneered, then pulled himself together. “He just cuts them loose. His customers have… particular tastes.”

“They like ‘em young?”

Sacha nodded. “Young and pretty and….” Sacha closed his eyes and bit his lip. “Uncomplaining.”

“Was it him who cuffed you or one of his…customers?”

Sacha started and tugged his sleeves over his wrists. “The customers have all kinds of…requirements.”

“Where are they? The others?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Sacha, do you know what it’s like for a family to lose a child?”

“What?” Sacha stared at Frank as if he’d grown another head. He was clearly thrown by the change of direction.

“Can you imagine what it’s like for a father to lose his son? One day he’s carrying him on his shoulders, and the next he’s standing in his bedroom crying up his guts, and tearing himself apart for something, anything he could have done to save him. Can you picture a family, stumbling from day to day, trying to recover from the gaping wound in the middle of it, never giving up, never letting go, searching, hoping, praying?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sacha looked scared, and Frank caught himself up sharply.

“Every single one of those kids has a family somewhere, Sacha. Even you.”

Sacha laughed. “Me? I don’t have a family, not one that gives a shit.”

“How do you know?”

“I….” He met Frank’s eyes uncertainly. “He told me.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That…. That my family don’t care. That if they cared they would have come for me, they would have found a way. He told me they abandoned me, left me on the streets to care for myself. I would have died if he hadn’t found me.”

“What do you remember? About your family?”

“Nothing. Not much. I had a brother, I think. I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything much about before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I was with him.”

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know. Nine. Ten.” He shrugged.

“You don’t remember anything before you were ten years old? Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”

“I…. I haven’t thought…. Maybe.” Sacha seemed extremely uncomfortable, squirming in his seat. Frank knew he was touching on a sore spot. He knew. Frank was sure of that. He knew what Frank was getting at, and he’d thought about it himself. A lot.

“What about the other kids? They’re younger than you, right? Do they remember?”

Sacha stared at him, his eyes wide. “I…. No. I….”

“Do you know what he does to them? After he snatches them? What he did to you?”

“No. No, he didn’t do anything to me, not like that. He doesn’t…. They’re like that when they come to us.”

“Like what?”

“Not… not remembering… before.” Frank let silence descend, giving Sacha time to think. Sacha got up again and started to prowl. “Okay, so I’ve thought about it, wondered. I’m not stupid. I know he -or someone - must have done something to me, made me forget who I was before. All the kids who come to us are like that. They’re fine – not hurt or forced or…. It’s just that when he tells them – us - what to do, we don’t know any different. It’s all we’ve ever known. At least….that’s what he tells us, and that’s what we believe.”

“But you don’t, do you? You don’t believe. Not anymore.”

Sacha sat down and stared at him. “No, not anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I did, I guess. The last time a new one came. I looked at him and…it wasn’t right. He’s just a baby. They all are. I felt sick. I couldn’t…. The first time the kid went out he was so…confused, and when he came back he was scared. He usually gives them gentle ones to start with. They like to play pretend games. They don’t usually go the whole way, not with the little ones, but he….” Sacha covered his face with his hands and rocked.

“Will you tell us where they are? If you tell us where they are we can help them, save them.”

Sacha shook his head. “If he couldn’t get them away in time hell kill them before you could get there. He has a plan. Everyone knows it.”

Frank shook inside, partly with disgust and partly with fear. The thought that anyone could do that to a child, that someone had done that to his child….

“Okay, we’ll talk about that again later. Right now, there’s something else I want to talk to you about, something that’s more important to me.”

“More important?”

“Yes.” Now it came down to it, Frank balked. He was a cop with more than twenty years on the force, ten of them with the Met. He’d sat across the table from hardened mafia and gang members, and not felt as nervous as this.

“What do you remember about before?”

“What?” Sacha looked shocked, as if it was the last thing he was expecting to hear.

“What do you remember about your life before you came to this?”

“Nothing. I told you.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No. What’s it got to do with you?” Frank leaned back. He had to be careful. He was letting his personal feelings leak into this too much, being too eager. Sacha was beginning to get very defensive. He’d just spilled his guts about his pimp and would be feeling very, very fragile. He’d be on a knife edge – terrified of what he’d done, relieved, angry and most of all vulnerable. If Frank wasn’t very careful he’d push him away completely.

“I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but this is important. Think, Sacha. Think carefully. Do you remember anything at all?”

Sacha frowned. “I…remember my mother….I think.”

“What was she like?”

“I don’t know. I-I just remember her smell. Her smile. I remember her holding me.”

“And your father? Do you remember him?”

“No.” He paused. “No, I… Wait, I…. Maybe. I…remember.” Sacha squeezed his eyes shut, his hands clenched on the table in front of him. “I remember a car and…and a field. It was…. I think we went camping. Something for us. Just for us.”

“Something just the two of your shared, that the rest of the family weren’t interested in?”

“Maybe. Why do you care?”

“Did you feel safe with him? Your father?”

“Yeah. I think so. I wasn’t though, was I?”

“No, you weren’t. Can I see your arm, Sacha?”

“What?” Sacha had been lost in thought and he jumped, startled by the question.

“Your arm. Can I just take a look?”

Sacha pulled his sleeve down and snatched back his arms, hugging himself. “I’m not using.”

“I wasn’t trying to suggest you are. I just want to see your arm.”

“Why?”

“Do you have a birthmark on it?”

“I…. How do you know?” Not for the first time. Sacha looked terrified, afraid of the question, afraid of him. It hurt, but it was too late to pull back; too late to do anything but press on. It was important he got this right. He was sure now, absolutely certain that this boy was the one he’d been searching for all these years; that Sacha was his son, his Alex.

“Your right forearm, just above your wrist. It’s about the size of a five pence piece, although I suppose it could be a little bigger by now. You’ve got another one on your left hip, shaped like a heart.”

Sacha got to his feet and stumbled backwards, his eyes wide and terrified. “How do you know? Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“Is this your mother, Sacha?” With a shaking hand, Frank took the photograph he’d taken from Sacha’s belongings and laid it on the table. Sacha gave a little cry and lunged for the table, snatching the photograph and holding it to his heart.

“That’s mine. You had no right to take that from me.”

“Where did you find it?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“How did you manage to keep it with you, all these years? I’m pretty sure if he’d found it he would have destroyed it.”

“What are trying to do to me? I’ll tell you want you want to know. Anything. Just please – stop screwing with my head.”

Sacha backed against the wall and started to cough. He doubled over, hugging himself until the attack ended then pressed himself into the corner, panting and terrified.

Frank was in an agony of indecision. He wanted nothing more than to run to Sacha, lift him in his arms and hold tight, but he knew if he did that Sacha would fight him. He had to tread carefully, had to convince Sacha of what Frank already knew without doubt. “I want you to take a look at these photographs.” Frank took out his wallet and extracted three photographs, gazing at each one before laying it on the table in front of them.

“What are they?” Sacha was fighting to control his fear, trying to sound cocky and unconcerned. It made Frank smile inwardly. He was a strong boy. He’d always been a strong boy. Well, he was going to have to be.

“Photographs of my family.”

“Why would I want to look at photographs of your family?”

“Humour me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I’m asking nicely.”

Glancing distrustfully at Frank, Sacha edged closer and glanced at the photographs. Then he froze. With trembling fingers he reached out and touched one of them, then another, then the third.

“Who…who is this?” he asked pushing one of the photographs across the table toward him.

“That’s my son, Alex. He disappeared eight years ago and I’ve been searching for him ever since.” Sacha shook his head.

“No.”

“Do you know him, Sacha?”

Sacha shook his head again, more vehemently. “No. No, I…. No, I don’t…. I…. It can’t be.” Sacha bit his lip hard, trying unsuccessfully to stop it shaking. He was close to breaking, and when he started to cough he fell to his knees, and had to drag himself back to his feet using the table. Again Frank longed to go to him, and again he held back.

“What about this one? Do you recognize her? She was my wife. Her name was Mary. She was Alex’ mother. See.” Frank pushed the third photograph toward Sacha. “This is the whole family. There’s Alex in the middle, between me and Mary. He was the heart of the family. We all fell apart when he disappeared. Thank god for the older kids. They kept us all together. Things were never the same again, though.”

Frank looked up at Sacha who was still staring at the photographs. Even from where he sat, Frank could see him shaking.

“We never gave up on you, Alex,” Frank said softly. “Never stopped hoping, never stopped believing. I made your mother a promise I wouldn’t stop until I found you, and I never did.”

Sacha looked up, struggling to tear his eyes away from the photographs. He shook his head. “I…I’m not….” He licked his lips and shuddered, his eyelids fluttering. “I’m not….” With a sigh, he crumpled and passed out cold.