Page 77 of Child's Play

‘Correct.’

‘And how does that tend to manifest in… gifted children?’ Kim asked.

‘Drugs sometimes, alcohol others, the need for sex, validation, anything that brings attention and approval.’

‘All of the above?’

‘Occasionally,’ Veronica answered.

‘I’d imagine that such individuals may need close supervision, a safety net, possibly for most, if not all of their lives.’

‘Yes, Inspector, some probably do.’

Kim wondered if she was beginning to understand this woman a little better.

‘And you both changed your name to Evans?’

Veronica’s face hardened to granite.

‘If you know that then you really don’t need me at all,’ she said righting herself and moving away from the sideboard.

‘So, yes, Inspector, now you have access to everything.’

Fifty-Four

HM Prison Hewell was situated in the village of Tardebigge in Worcestershire and also helped to serve West Midlands and Warwickshire.

Housing mixed-category prisons, the place had seen the Tornado squads brought in in July 2017 to deal with a prison riot following the commencement of a phased smoking ban.

Penn recalled watching footage of the elite team of prison officers bring the commotion under control and thanked the Lord for his own career choice. A couple of failed exams and that might have been him, and given the rising violence recorded in every official report he still felt the police force was a safer bet.

He drummed his fingers on the table feeling as though he was doing something wrong. He had his temporary boss’s permission to be here and yet he still expected someone to tap him on the shoulder for consorting with the enemy.

Ultimately, he was the arresting police officer of a murderer visiting that murderer during the course of the trial. Oh, absolutely no codes of practice being broken there.

It didn’t matter that the murderer in question looked none too pleased to see him as the guard pointed him out.

‘What the fuck you want?’ he asked, sitting down. His Russian accent was slightly thicker than his wife’s.

Although Penn noticed that he’d aged in the time since they’d last spoken. Faint lines had appeared at the corner of his eyes. His ruddy, healthy outdoor complexion had been replaced with pale, sallow skin.

‘How’s it?—’

‘Fuck you,’ he said, and Penn had to move back slightly to avoid a few droplets of spittle that barrelled towards him like mini torpedoes.

Penn opened his mouth to speak but lost his chance.

‘What you guys gonna fuck up today, eh? You got the wrong man and built your case on my lying wife and a fucking low-level street crim.’

Penn met his gaze. There was no avoiding the red-hot rage in his eyes. And that didn’t bother him. He’d put away plenty of people who now fantasised about pulling him apart limb by limb like an insect. Pissing off criminals and bad people was his job. What he didn’t like seeing reflected there was accusation: the silent allegation of being told he’d got it wrong.

‘You fucked up, copper,’ Gregor said, bitterly.

‘Did we?’ Penn asked, without batting an eyelid. He would expect a man charged with murder to say exactly that. But, that’s what he was here to find out. He’d spoken to just about everyone else.

‘Yeah, like you’re gonna fucking listen to me now. You wouldn’t listen to me back then, so why you interested now? You got your guy for the crime. Well you gotaguy for the crime, so your stats and targets are all good; so who fucking cares if I actually killed that kid, right?’

‘I do,’ Penn said, honestly, talking little but listening hard and watching even harder.