It was starting to sink in that she wasn’t going to get out of this. She stopped struggling. “I’m really sorry, officer.”

“I.D.” I repeated.

She looked around for a moment. “I think my purse is over there, on the floor.”

“Go and get it,” I said, starting to let her up, “and if you think you’re going to run away, let me remind you that I can run a five-minute mile, and—” I said, nodding towards the ground where her purse was, “I’ll still have your I.D.” With that I let go of her.

The girl seemed calmer now. And there was a hint of mischievousness in her as...