Читать книгу Innocents - Jonathan Rose - Страница 6
ОглавлениеIt was a snapshot of traditional Britain, Christmas Eve 1975. A small, neatly furnished room, its lighting dim, as if to enhance the atmosphere of peace. The green fir tree pointed symbolically heavenwards. Bedecked with tinsel and baubles, its myriad of fairy lights twinkled so much brighter in the half-gloom. Surrounded by gifts, brightly wrapped, unopened – as they would surely now remain. A solitary, poignant angel stood aloft, wings spread, embracing the scene below, gazing down, beatifically, upon the chair.
The chair. Where the man-child had sat until a few hours ago, staring at the presents with the same excitement he had shown as a young boy. His mother looked, without comprehension, at the vacant seat, as if staring upon some ancient royal throne. The king had gone, for surely he had been a king to her. Her only son, her only child. Her boy-child.
They had come for him earlier. Three wise men. Not kings, but surely men of power. He had risen from the chair, his massive frame dwarfing her, dwarfing them, but bent and stooped as if already shamed. Posing no threat, he had stood and listened, barely responsive to the words spoken.
‘Stefan Ivan Kiszko. I must caution you that you do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but that anything you say will be taken down and may be given in evidence against you.’
He had said nothing.
‘I would like you to accompany us to the police station at Rochdale.’
He had demurred, but for a moment only. Then he had nodded his bowed head. More of a shrug than a nod. He may have understood or he may not, but the nod was acquiescence and compliance, it was not agreement.
She had watched him leave with them. Leave the sanctuary of her home; leave the protection which she had always given him; leave the safety which their family had always afforded him. Now, for the first time, he was alone.
