Page 108 of Child's Play

Stacey was well aware of the science of producing the finest offspring by selective breeding or genetic manipulation.

‘You’re taking the argument in a completely different direction,’ Stacey said, enjoying the company of this Tiff more than the previous one. This one had an opinion and wasn’t afraid to use it.

‘Not really, because it’s already happening. There was a Repository for Germinal Choice in California where mothers could have themselves artificially inseminated from a panel of Nobel prize winners. Already there’s the expectation of greatness before the child is born and if it’s not a genius there’s instant disappointment. Not sure what that does to a kid.’

‘But back to my phone analogy, it’s advances in science that mean you can take photos play games and install a thousand apps.’

‘But just because we can doesn’t mean we should,’ Tiff argued back.

‘So, what do you want parents of gifted kids to do?’ Stacey asked.

‘I just want every child to have a childhood, to be a kid.’

Black and white.

‘Fair enough. So, next smartphone you get, disable every function other than the ability to make calls.’

‘Good point but just one problem.’

‘Which is?’

‘I’m not gonna irrevocably damage the psyche of my phone for the rest of its life by downloading a game ofPet Rescue.’

Stacey stared at her for a full twenty seconds before bursting into laughter.

‘Good answer, Tiff. Good answer,’ she said, turning back to her own screen. ‘Now, give me just a few minutes to conclude that there’s absolutely nothing interesting to find about Beth Nixon and I’ll jump on to those names with you,’ she said, resuming her search.

So far she’d established that Beth had been brought to the event just one time from her home in Lancashire by her maternal grandmother, who had taken on both Beth and her half-brother when their mother had died of a brain tumour. Beth had been five and her brother nineteen months. During the event the fourteen-year-old had taken two counselling sessions with Barry Nixon, her future husband, and Stacey didn’t care how the woman had spun it to her boss and Bryant, that was just plain wrong in her eyes.

She had worked forward slowly through the woman’s education and reached the point at which she’d voluntarily signed herself into Meadow View Psychiatric Hospital up north for a rest two months before graduating university with a physics degree. She wondered just how far she was supposed to dig to find anything more about the woman that was remotely interesting.

She sighed and glanced at her overwhelmed colleague.

‘Pass me some of those names, Tiff,’ she said, holding out her hand.

Beth Nixon was just going to have to wait.

Seventy-Seven

Penn was just a mile from the station when his phone rang.

He indicated and pulled on to an empty car park.

‘Hey,’ he said, answering the call.

‘Hey, yourself, officer,’ Mitch said in response. ‘Thought you’d want to know as early as possible the results of those extra tests I ran.’

‘Thanks, Mitch,’ he said, not even sure what the techie had been looking for. ‘So, what did you find?’

‘Absolutely bugger all,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ Penn replied, pretty sure that wasn’t going to tell him much.

‘Yeah, how weird is that?’ Mitch asked.

‘Mitch, I’m not sure…’

‘I took samples from various parts of the tee shirt. As you well know we’re shedding and collecting DNA all day and the majority of it lands on our clothes, but this garment is as clean as a whistle. Absolutely zilch.’