I watched his back,

Shane's panic resurfaced completely. He was there, he almost shouted. He was. He was.
Wyfold still looked studiedly unconvinced and told Shane that it would be best if he now made a formal statement, which the sergeant would write down for him to sign when he, Shane, was satisfied that it represented what he had already told us: and Shane in slight bewilderment agreed.
Wyfold nodded to the sergeant, opened the door of the room, and gestured to Oliver and me to leave. Oliver in undiluted grimness siliently pushed me out. Wyfold, with a satisfied air, said in his plain uncushioning way, There you are then, Mr. Knowles, that's how your daughter died, and you're luckier than some. That little sod's telling the truth. Proud of himself, like a lot of crooks. Wants the world to know. He shook hands perfunctorily with Oliver and nodded briefly to me, and walked away to his unsolved horrors where the papers called for his blood and other fathers choked on their tears.
Oliver pushed me back to the outside world but not directly to where my temporary chauffeur had said he would wait. I found myself making an unscheduled turn into a small public garden, where Oliver abruptly left me beside the first seat we came to and walked jerkily away.
ramrod-stiff, disappearing behind bushes and trees. In grief, as in all else, he would be tidy.
A boy came along the path on roller skates and wheeled round to a stop in front of me.
You want pushing? he said.
No. But thanks all the same.
He looked at me judiciously. Can you make that chair go straight, using just one arm?
No. I go round in a circle and end where I started.
Thought so. He considered me gravely. Just like the earth, he said.