Chapter 7: The Interrogation in the Dark
Officer Miller didn't waste a second. With practiced efficiency, he clicked the steel cuffs around Arthur Vance’s wrists, pressing the older man firmly against the hood of the patrol car. The routine nature of the rescue had instantly transformed into a criminal investigation. Mark stood up slowly, lifting Leo into his arms so the boy’s face was buried safely against his shoulder, shielding him from the sight of the man who had kept him prisoner, however briefly.
"You said you found him by accident, Arthur," Miller said, his voice hard and uncompromising as he patted down the suspect's jumpsuit pockets, retrieving a heavy brass key ring and a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "The boy says you told him he had to wait until dark. Care to explain that discrepancy?"
Vance didn't struggle, nor did he raise his voice. He stared down at the gravel beneath his boots, his beard twitching slightly as he swallowed hard. "I didn't hurt him," Vance muttered, the rasp in his throat more pronounced now. "I just wanted someone to listen. The city forgot about this place years ago. They forgot about me, too. When I saw the boy wandering near the drainage pipe, I... I just wanted a conversation. I wanted someone to know I was still here."
Mark felt a hot surge of blind rage clawing up his throat, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, knowing Leo could feel every muscle tension in his body. "You locked him in a concrete vault," Mark growled, taking a step forward before checking himself. "You left an eight-year-old child in the dark with no way out."
"I left the inner door propped!" Vance protested, his voice suddenly sharp with defensive panic. "It was the wind. The wind caught the outer iron doors and slammed the hasp shut. The latch is rusted; it drops on its own. I didn't mean to trap him there for hours. By the time I realized the lock had jammed solid, I couldn't budge it without tools."
"Then why didn't you call 911 immediately?" Miller demanded, shoving Vance slightly toward the rear door of the cruiser. "You had access to the utility lines. You had a phone right there in the office."
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Vance fell silent, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his own indefensible negligence. Whether it was malice, confusion, or a desperate, twisted loneliness that drove him, the result was the same: an innocent child had been subjected to hours of unspeakable terror. Miller pushed Vance into the back seat of the cruiser, slamming the heavy door shut with a definitive thud that echoed through the quiet industrial yard.
The elderly woman in the beige cardigan, who had remained watching from a distance near the edge of the property, slowly turned and walked back toward her porch, her silhouette fading into the warm amber glow of her porch light. Her vigilance had saved Leo from an even longer, darker night, a debt Mark knew he could never adequately repay.
