Page 107 of Psychopath

“You look nervous,” Cleo said, nudging him with her elbow.

Quinn was beyond nervous. He stood beside the prison van, waiting for Harris and Richard. They were taking two prisoners to the hospital at a time over two consecutive days, and three prison officers, including Cleo, had been assigned to escort duty. A police car waited beside the van as back-up.

The sun beat down on them. Quinn had swapped his normal long-sleeved shirt to a short-sleeved one, and Cleo had popped open the top two buttons on her blouse. The breeze offered no relief and licked the sweat on Quinn’s brow.

Harris came out first. His wrists were cuffed in front of him, and prison officers Simon and Clint each had hold of one of Harris’s biceps as they walked him over. Quinn smiled at Harris, who bowed his head in response.

He climbed into the van, and Clint secured him in one of the small cubicles inside.

“Richard,” Simon announced, walking away with Clint hot on his heels.

“What if something goes wrong?” Quinn asked Cleo out of earshot of the van.

“Nothing’s going to go wrong.”

“People could get hurt.”

“This is your study, Quinn.”

“I know that.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I just…”

“It’s okay to be nervous. I’m nervous, but you can’t let them see. I’m there. Clint and Simon too, not to mention them.” She tipped her head in the direction of the police car.

Simon and Clint returned with Richard between them. Richard raised his cuffed hands in a wave as he passed Cleo and Quinn to get to the van.

“You good?” Cleo asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

Quinn nodded.

“Go on then,” she said, shoving him towards the door for the back. Simon and Clint got in the front of the van, leaving Cleo to jump in the back. There were four cubicles for prisoners with only two of the doors locked with Harris and Richard inside.

Cleo knocked on the window to the front of the van. “We’re good to go.”

The van started, and Quinn sat down, praying everything would go smoothly.

Harris, a top-scoring psychopath, was a serial killer. He didn’t feel empathy for those he had killed. He felt no guilt, remorse, or sadness. And in his mind, the women he’d murdered deserved it for under-valuing themselves. He had already been classed as a psychopath, and Quinn’s study and all the work they’d done together over the past six months supported that. He was expecting validation from his MRI scan. He prayed for validation. Without it, the last six months of his life would be meaningless.

Clint waited in the van with Richard while Harris went first. Their police escort accompanied them but kept a few metres back, surveying the area, trying to spot potential escape routes or suspicious characters.

The prisoners were not told in advance what day they’d go to the hospital, limiting the chance they could plan an escape. Harris didn’t whip his head around like he was considering running, he stared straight ahead as he walked, cuffed hands hanging down.

A nurse greeted them at the reception, snapping blue gloves off her hands. She didn’t look at Quinn, but her horror at being faced with Harris was obvious. It was midday on a Tuesday, and the security guards at the hospital had led them through a back door to avoid the majority of patients.

They couldn’t avoid everyone, though, and a red-headed man snapped a photograph of Harris on his phone, gawping at the picture.

“We’re not in the zoo,” Quinn hissed.

“Careful, Quinn.” Harris snorted. “It almost sounds like you give a shit about me,” he murmured.

Quinn didn’t respond.

The nurse lifted her chin and flashed a nervous look at Harris. “You’re here for the MRI?”

Harris didn’t answer. His gaze pierced her brown eyes, and she looked away.

“Yes,” Quinn said quickly. “We’re here for the MRI.”

“I’m Gemma.”

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