The room was cold and hostile. Two metal chairs sat on my side, and it didn’t matter how long I sat on mine, it wasn’t warming. The two men sat the other side. The white walls were scuffed, and I was trying very hard to ignore the red stain by foot. Shaking, I looked at both men in turn. “It was awful. Truly, truly awful.” “We’ll need you to break each step of the story down for us, as best you can and when you’re ready.” And so I told them the story. “First thing you need to understand is I am not normally the type of person who will snoop around my employers’ houses, but that night I knew something wasn’t right. I’d arrived at the usual hour, and the baby was already asleep. The older two were playing on the rug in front of the fire: the girl with her doll, the boy with a fire truck. When the parents’ backs were turned the boy turned his truck to the girl’s doll and attempted to run her over, much to the little girl’s protests. I chuckled to myself, and turned back to the father running through how the phone works, the alarm system, the intercom... it was always the same, but each time we needed to run through the systems. Eventually, the parents left and I was left on my own to supervise the young terrors. I sat texting my girls, bragging about what a cushty job I’d landed, when a scream came from upstairs. I instructed the kids not to kill each other and went up to tend to the unhappy baby. The door at the top of the stairs was ajar, and a sliver of light caught my eye. A “they must’ve left a light on,” thought danced around my head, and I slid my hand into the room to flick the switch. Darkness engulfed the hallway. All lights tripped out, and I cursed myself. Now screams from downstairs joined the baby, and I shouted words of comfort down the stairs. In the nursery I scooped the tearful tot out of her cot, and clutched her to my chest with one arm and used my free hand to feel my way along the hallway. The cries from below were getting louder but I was more focused on keeping the baby safely in my arms. As I was climbing down the steps, the lights flickered twice, before coming back on. I paused where I stood, and caught my breath. The children went back to their play, and it seemed calm was settling again. I realised I was feeling panicked, and only a drink would fix it. I carried the baby down and placed her in the Moses basket in the living room, before making my way to the kitchen. The kitchen was one of those newly fitted kitchens, with counter tops so shiny the lights bounced off the surface. I knew where the father kept his alcohol; I’d seen him make a drink or two before leaving many a time. I poured myself a glass of something clear, vodka, gin? I don’t know. But I drank it as it was. And it was foul. Then, behind the glasses, I caught a sight of a ball of money. It was wedged at the back of the cupboard, held together with rubber bands and about the size of my fist. There must’ve been thousands... I closed the cupboard, but couldn’t resist, and so I opened it up again. This time I pulled the ball down to find an envelope behind it. Covered in yellow and brown stains, the envelope had her name scrawled across it, the missing girl. Her name was handwritten in the middle of the envelope, and the tack at the back was still sticky. I pulled the flap up, to release a scrap of paper with the words “task completed” etched upon it. I dropped it, the envelope and all, like they were fire. I knew I had to get out of there.” I took a breathe, and looked at the two officers. They finished writing down their notes. The bald one scratched his head; the taller one sighed. I knew I hadn’t given them enough to arrest him. But I also knew I couldn’t go back. The interview finished and, deflated, I left the station. Sitting on a bench outside, I studied the photo of the missing girl on the post in front, not sure I really knew her fate, but knowing my employer was connected. Her young face was free of make up. She seemed so innocent. I sighed, and hung my head rested into my hands. Hours passed and the day grew colder when, finally, I lifted my head ready to go home. As I stood up, I saw the officer I spoke to this afternoon leave the building. He pulled his hood up to cover his bald head, rummaged in his bag and pulled out a cigarette. Pausing under the tree by the entrance, he lit the cigarette, then stood still, waiting. Out of the shadows cast by the trees in the dusk, the father of my three babes walked to the officer, with a familiar envelope. He handed it across, and the officer took it, opened it, read the note and nodded. The two shook hands, and one went right, the other left. And me? I stood there, dead centre, realising I was in greater trouble than I was this morning.