“You agreed to questioning,” Collier points out. “If we can’t find your dad we’ll have to keep you here overnight.”
A flash of unease passes over Cameron’s face. Blink and you’d miss it. “Whatever.”
“Wait a minute.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the plastic-coated table. “Let’s not be hasty.”
Collier looks at me. “I’m not hasty.”
Oh, joy. Now I’ve alienated him as well. “Can I have a word with Cameron? In private.” The leaflet they gave me when I agreed to accompany Cameron told me I can request to be alone with him. Collier wasn’t there when I got it, though. For a moment he just glares at me. Steely eyes. Unbending gaze. He gives me the jitters. “Please?”
“I suppose so.”
“Don’t do us any favours,” Cameron mutters, and I want to hit him. My knuckles tingle. He’s driving me crazy. His one-way route to self-destruction seems to have picked up a hitchhiker, and unfortunately it’s me.
“Can you rein it in for a minute?” I hiss. Cameron looks shocked at my vehemence, but wisely says nothing. Perhaps he’s not such an idiot, after all.
“You can have ten minutes, I’ll get a cuppa.” Collier pauses the recording and leaves the room, pulling the door shut behind him. I stare at the closed door for a minute, as though I’m waiting for him to come back. What I’m actually doing is counting to ten. Trying to calm myself down.
It’s not working.
Eventually, I turn to look at Cameron. “What the hell are you doing?”
He rocks slowly on his chair—back and
forth. Each time he tips I think he’s going to fall over, but he doesn’t. It’s as if he has an innate sense of balance, tuned to a hair trigger.
“He’s pissing me off.”
“Don’t swear.” It’s an automatic reaction.
Cameron giggles. Not a laugh, it’s too high pitched for that. “You’re worried about my language?”
I push off the table and stand up. “No, Cameron, I’m not worried about your language. I’m worried about your future. You’ve been caught red-handed stealing from a shop. The police have CCTV evidence and witnesses, yet still you’re being bolshie and uncooperative.”
“Mickey always tells me to keep my mouth shut if the pigs pull me in.”
There are so many shades of wrong with his words I don’t know where to start. Sighing, I take the easiest route. “Who’s Mickey?”
“My cousin.” He rocks forward, then adds, “He’s sixteen.” As if that explains everything.
“And what makes your sixteen-year-old cousin the expert on being arrested?” Do I really want to know?
Cameron shrugs. “Been busted a few times. Dealing, thieving. GBH.”
Lovely.
“Beating somebody up is a bit different to a first offense,” I point out. “If you cooperate, the likelihood is you’ll only get a reprimand.”
And maybe I’ll get out of here before Simon throws all my stuff out on the street.
“I don’t care.”
I come to a stop in front of him, resting against the table. “Well, you should care. This isn’t funny, Cameron, this is your life you’re pissing up the wall—”
“Language.”
“Shut up and listen for a minute. This is your first time in this police station. The first time you’ve been arrested. If you don’t buck up your ideas it won’t be your last. Do you really want to end up like Mickey, or any of those other thugs constantly being hounded by the police?”
His face falls. “I’m not sure I get the choice.” And in that voice there’s something I want to cling to: a lack of certainty, a wavering fear.