She had lost all track of time when a key rattled in the lock. Then the door burst open and two burly female officers entered.
“Turn around. Place your hands behind your back,” one said.
“Why am I here?” Alice asked.
“No talking. Now, I repeat. Turn around. Place your hands behind your back.”
“Do it,” the other said in a guttural Scottish accent.
Alice complied and heard the handcuffs click into place. “Ow. Do they have to be so tight?”
They spun her around and marched her down the corridor to another room. The hinges squeaked when they opened the door. Cameras spied from all four corners of the ceiling. More equipment sat on the table, nudged against the wall. The Scottish officer released the handcuffs from her left hand, pushed her onto a chair and cuffed her right hand to one of two rings in the table. She pulled it tight and Alice winced. They slammed the door as they left.
Alice rubbed her right wrist and tried to loosen the link, but it wouldn’t budge. She gave up. At least they had only cuffed one hand, not both. More minutes passed. She stared up at the cameras. People would be watching her. Assessing her. She wondered how an innocent person would react. Different to a guilty person? She didn’t know and she concentrated on pushing her shoulders forward so her breasts wouldn’t show.
She turned as the door creaked open. Marks and Gilmore entered the room and sat opposite her. Gilmore pressed buttons on the recording equipment and nodded to Marks.
Marks spoke first. “DI Colin Marks and DS Barry Gilmore interviewing Alice Madsen.”
Alice blinked when she heard him state the date and time. It was almost midnight. She opened her mouth to speak but Marks cut her off. “For the record, I am cautioning Alice Madsen.” He looked at her. “Alice Madsen, you are under arrest on suspicion of assisting or abetting a terrorist offence. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“You already told me that.”
Marks ignored her. “Tell me what you know about Samir Hassan.”
“Ian told me to wait for a lawyer. Where is my lawyer?”
“We arrested you under the provisions of the terrorism act. We can question you for up to 48 hours before you can talk to a lawyer.”
“I don't believe you.”
“I don't give a damn what you believe. There is no lawyer. Fact.”
Alice’s heart thumped in her chest and she balled her fists tight. “I don't trust you police.”
Marks narrowed his eyes. “Why is that, Alice? Have you been in trouble with the police before?”
Alice looked up at a camera in the ceiling and shook her head. “Not me. A friend. They didn't help when they should have. At home. Copenhagen. They were useless.”
“A friend, eh? That a euphemism?”
Alice stared at him with a blank expression.
“Oh sorry.” Marks’ smile looked anything but genuine. “I forgot you’re foreign. It means...”
“I know what it means. And it’s not.”
“Right. Did you get away with something? Is that it? Because, and let me assure of this, we won't let you get away with anything. This is London.”
“It wasn't like that.”
“No? What was it like?”
“It wasn’t me, okay? It was somebody else.” Fatigue ate at her. The initial surge of adrenaline was wearing off, allowing fear and anxiety to rush in and take over. She would have to cling to the certainty of her innocence, focus on the fact she was right and they were wrong, and tell herself she had nothing to fear.
“All right.” Marks changed his line of questioning. “Did you ever contact Samir Hassan outside of work?”
“Ian told me not to say anything until I get a lawyer.”
“Are you sure you want to do that Alice?” Marks pointed a finger at her. “Remember what we told you about saying nothing. The right to silence isn't the same anymore. Silence may harm your defence.”
“Defence? I didn't do anything, therefore I’ve nothing to worry about if I say nothing. If I do say something, you’ll twist my words.”
“How can we twist your words?” Marks indicated the recording equipment. “We record everything. You’ve nothing to worry about.”
Alice lifted her head up and stared at Marks with as much defiance as she could muster. “I want a lawyer.”
“What did you do to help the terrorist?”
“I want a lawyer.”
Marks smiled. “Why do you want a lawyer? Are you guilty?”
“I’m innocent.”
“If you’re innocent, then that's even better. And you know, Alice, I want to help you. So, go on, tell us about Hassan. Where did you meet?”
She sighed. “Look, you know that. I told you yesterday.”
“If you told us already, then surely it’s all right if you tell us again? You didn't need a lawyer yesterday, right?”
Alice shrugged. She rubbed at her handcuffed wrist with her free hand.
Marks pulled a key from his pocket. “How about I unlock that, huh? Then you can tell us again. How about it?”
Her wrist was sore and the beginnings of a nasty headache had taken hold behind her eyes. She cursed her crumbling resolve.
Marks reached over and raised an eyebrow. “Just a few questions, Alice. That’s all. Maybe
