Loud click, sound of static, then air.

"This is Sergeant Sally Donovan, interviewing Claudette Bruhl. Can you say hello for the recording, Claudette?"

"Hi."

"Thank you. How old are you, Claudette?"

"Seven."

"And do you know why we're doing this—why we're having this conversation?"

"Because…" muffled rustling. "Where's my mum?"

"She's right on the other side of that window. Would you like her to come in?"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

Clothing rustles, a door opens and shuts. A chair creaks.

"Now, Mrs. Bruhl, I'm going to have to ask you not to speak, or to try to alter your daughter's account in any way. Thank you. Now, Claudette, do you know why we needed to talk to you?"

Silence.

"You'll have to say it out loud, dear. The recording can't hear your head move!"

Giggle. "Yes."

"Why are you here, Claudette?"

"Because I left the school."

"Close, very good. But you're not in trouble, I promise. We just want to know more about the man who took you away from the school."

"He was nice."

"He was nice?"

"Mm-hm. He gave Max 'n me sweets."

"Weren't you scared when he took you out of the school?"

"He didn't."

"Then who did?"

"The other man. The mean one."

"There were two men?"

"Mm-hm."

"Did they ever tell you their names, Claudette."

"No…Can I go home now?"

"In a bit, dear. I need you to think really hard—did you ever hear their names?"

"The nice one called the mean one Seb."

"Seb was the mean one?"

"Mm-hm. He had a gun. He hurt my arm—see?"

"Ouch—that's a nasty bruise. He wasn't very nice, was he?"

"No."

"But the other man was nice?"

"Yeah—he gave us sweets an' made the mean man put away his gun. He called him a…"

"Called him a what?"

"'S nasty words."

"Well, you won't get in trouble this time, just for telling us."

Unintelligible mumble.

"What? I couldn't understand you, Claudette."

"An idiot."

"The nice man called Seb an idiot?"

"Yeah. He said a right bloody idiot. Max made me cover my ears."

"Shame on that man—he shouldn't have used such language."

"But he said I was a sweetheart an' I was a princess like in a fairy tale an' he was my guard. He was protection-ing me from the dragon."

"A dragon?"

"Not a real dragon. Dragon's isn't real. They're like fairies and fairies isn't real either. Hummingbirds are real an' they look a bit like fairies but fairies…fairies isn't real."

"Was there a pretend dragon?"

Silence.

"Don't be afraid, Claudette. No one can hurt you now. Who was the pretend dragon? Was it Seb?"

"I want to go home."

"Who was the dragon, Claudette?"

Silence.

"You shrugged—do you not know?"

"He showed us a picture."

"What did it look like?"

"He said the dragon was a mean, mean man—meaner than Seb. He said the dragon wanted to hurt me an' Max an' make Daddy an' Mum pay lots an' lots of money to get us back. He said he would protection us from the dragon."

"The dragon sounds scary. What did his picture look like, Claudette?"

Silence.

"Claudette? Can you tell me?"

Whisper—too quiet for the recording to pick up.

"What was that?"

Still whispering. "He was here."

"The dragon?"

"Mm-hm."

"Who was it? What did he look like?"

"I screamed. Mum says if somebody's a stranger an' they start scaring you, you scream and get help. Right, Mum?"

"You screamed—do you mean Sherlock Holmes? The tall man with black hair?"

"He's the dragon. The man said he was mean an' he wanted to hurt us. That's why we were hiding."

"In the factory? Is that why you didn't try to get out?"

"The nice man said we were—were safe there. He gave us sweets. But Max got sick."

"The sweets made him sick, Claudette. They were very bad sweets. That nice man wasn't nice after all."

"Yes he was—except when he said nasty words."

"No, Claudette. That man is very bad and he scared your mum and dad very much. He gave you sweets that would make you sick and told you lies about Mr. Holmes."

"He's the dragon."

"No, he's not. Mr. Holmes works—that is, worked—for the police. He…he died a few days ago, Claudette."

"He died?"

"Yes."

"He won't get me an' Max?"

"No, dear. He never would have—he wasn't a dragon. He helped us find you."

"But the nice man said he was a dragon."

"Are dragons real, Claudette?"

"…No."

"No, they're not. But bad men who tell lies are very real."

"Not lies."

"Yes, they were lies. I promise—that man won't hurt you again, but he told you lies—"

"Stories."

"What?"

"He was telling stories. He said that."

"He said he was telling stories?"

"Yeah. He said he was the…"

"The what?"

"Can I go home now?"

"In just a moment. What did the man say he was?"

"The storyteller."

Silence.

"Can I go home now?"

.

.

This came out of my wondering why the two kids didn't try to escape from the factory, instead of sitting there and eating candy as fast as they could; and also from wondering why the girl (Claudette) screamed when she saw Sherlock.

If anyone catches that I made a major mistake in this (for example, I'm not exactly sure how child forensic interviews work here in the US, let alone in the UK), please give me a holler, and I'll fix it.