‘Keep the sessions short. Constantly reassure her that she’s doing well. Be sure of your questions, know what outcome you want, but let Sienna reveal her story in her own way. You can’t treat her like an adult and hammer her with questions or you’ll risk pushing her into a deep psychological breakdown.
‘Be very careful about touching her. She might be upset. You might want to comfort her, but physical contact can be very threatening to a child who has been abused.’
Cray interjects. ‘We don’t
‘You have Zoe’s statement.’
‘Given at her second interview - not her first.’
‘You think she’s lying?’
‘I’m just telling you the facts.’
The DCI doesn’t want to get bogged down in claims of sexual abuse. She’s an investigator, not a judge.
I tell her to avoid asking closed questions until later in the interviews, when the detail required is very specific. Until then, invite Sienna to explain. If she says something inconsistent, don’t focus on it. Instead go back later. Importantly, don’t ask the same question twice - she’ll see it as a criticism.
‘What about the crime-scene photographs?’
‘Don’t show her. It’s too early.’
Cray goes over the strategy again until she’s satisfied.
‘I want you in there. She’s a minor. You’re an appropriate adult.’
‘What about her mother?’
‘She chose you.’
‘I won’t hesitate to terminate the interview if you browbeat her.’
Cray nods and gathers her notes. ‘Let’s do this.’
Sienna sits with her hands squeezed between her thighs and her eyes fixed on the table in front of her where a can of soft drink is beading with condensation. She’s wearing jeans and a tailored shirt with dark ballet flats on her feet. The shadows beneath her eyes appear permanent.
When Ronnie Cray enters the interview room, Sienna looks at the detective’s Oxford brogues, polished to a shine. I can see her wondering what sort of woman would wear men’s shoes, ignore make-up and shear her hair to bristle.
Cray pulls up a chair and sits directly opposite, unbuttoning her jacket. Sienna eyes her nervously.
‘I’m going to turn on the tape recorder, Sienna. You can answer all of my questions, some of them or none of them, it’s up to you. But if this ends up in court and you then come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation of what has really happened, the court can choose not to believe what you say, because they will want to know why you didn’t give that version of events here and now in this interview.
‘This is your opportunity to explain what happened. The interview is being tape-recorded and any notes I take will be kept and this information can be given to the court if needs be, whether it goes against you or in your favour. Do you understand?’
Sienna looks at me.
‘You just have to say what you remember,’ I tell her.
‘What if I don’t remember?’
‘Do your best.’
‘OK,’ she says, reaching shakily for her drink.
‘Do you know why you’re here?’ asks Cray.
She nods.
‘You have to speak, Sienna, otherwise we can’t record your answers.’
‘Daddy’s dead.’
‘Yes.’
‘Can you tell us about that night?’
‘I don’t remember.’
‘Just remember what you can.’
‘I’ve been trying, but it’s like something wiped my memory, you know, like on those TV programmes where people say they were abducted by aliens and given anal probes, which is pretty gross. I’m not saying I was abducted by aliens. I don’t actually believe in little green men from outer space, although one of the doctors at the hospital looked pretty weird. He was fat and had a goatee. You never see fat doctors on
Cray looks totally perplexed. Sienna flicks her gaze from the detective’s face to mine, still waiting for an answer.
‘I’ve never thought about it,’ I say.
‘I think about stuff like that all the time.’
‘Can we get back to what happened that night?’ asks Cray.
‘It’s like I said: I can’t remember. My mind doesn’t want to go there. There’s a door that I’m not supposed to open, because I’m not supposed to look. Mum used to hide my Christmas presents on the top of her wardrobe. I wasn’t allowed to look there, but that was good stuff. This is bad.’
‘Bad?’
‘Really bad.’
DCI Cray pulls her chair forward and it makes a screeching sound. Sienna jumps as though someone has slammed a door.
‘Let’s talk about Tuesday, Sienna. Do you remember going to school?’
‘Yes.’
‘You had rehearsals.’
Sienna’s eyes pop open. ‘I need to talk to Mr Ellis.’
‘Mr Ellis?’
‘We have a rehearsal today. And I need to get my dress cleaned.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that.’
‘If something happens to Erin Lewis, I’m her understudy. It should have been the other way around. Erin walks like a giraffe.’ Sienna frowns. ‘That sounds bitchy, doesn’t it? I’m trying to stop that.’
‘They’ve postponed the musical,’ I tell her.
She looks relieved.
‘What happened after the rehearsal?’
Sienna glances at me but doesn’t answer.
‘You met up with your boyfriend.’
‘Yes.’
‘Danny Gardiner.’
She nods.
‘How long have you known Danny?’
‘A while.’
‘Where did you meet him?’
‘He was in Lance’s year at school.’
‘Lance is your brother?’
‘Yeah, Danny used to hang out with Lance. Follow him around. They were both into cars and motorbikes.’
‘Where did you and Danny go on Tuesday?’
‘For a drive.’
‘Anywhere in particular?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Now she’s lying.
Cray asks the question again, approaching it from a different angle. Sienna obfuscates and becomes deliberately vague, either covering her tracks or protecting someone.
‘Do these belong to you?’ Cray pulls a plastic bag from beneath the table. It contains a pair of muddy jazz
