Page 89 of Dream a Little Dream

“Frank was evil, Dr Lyons.” Roisin’s focus remained on her crochet work. “A monster. I believe you referred to him as a psychopathic sexual deviant. I was married tothat. No one savedme. No one thought aboutmein there. Locked up in that house for years, having to hear all those horrific things he did. And my rescuers put me inhere.” She gestured to the prison. “Forgive me if I don’t shed a tear for a man who, as you say,failed miserably at being my husband.” She moved her hands again, flipping the crochet piece in her lap. “Oh, look, Dr Lyons!” She held up her work. On the front of the square, meticulously stitched, was a delicate rose vine and a slow, wide smile crept across her face, but it wasn’t warmth. It was predatory. “Do you like it?”

Kenny’s stomach twisted as he stared at the intricate pattern.She knows.“Are roses important to you, Roisin?”

“It is my name, Dr Lyons.” She cocked her head. “Are names important? What we call each other? What our mothers named us?”

“They can be. Are names important to you?”

“Why painstakingly pick a name if it means nothing? If someone is just going to scribble that name out and replace it with something meaningless?”

Kenny watched her closely. Was she referring to herself? Or to the son she named who now went by something else? Something meaningless to her. To him.

Not to Kenny.

“Did you know Kenneth stands for fire born? Good looking?” Roisin arched an eyebrow.

“Yes. I believe that is right.”

“Your mother must have known.”

“Known what?”

“That you were going to be a devilishly handsome man who rips out hearts.” She laid her eyes on Jack momentarily, before turning them back on him. “How many hearts have you broken, Dr Lyons? Enough to make your mother proud?”

Kenny remained still.

“A motheralwaysknows.” Roisin yawned, as though the conversation bored her. “You’ll have to excuse me, Dr Lyons. I am getting old. It’s nap time.” She stood, her posture gracefuldespite the handcuffs clinking with her efforts to flee from the table. “Guard!”

The two guards uncuffed her wrists, and she turned her attention to Jack.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help with your investigation, DI Bentley.” She dripped with condescension. “But we all have our limits. Maybe you should’ve stayed a police constable. Road traffic duty might’ve suited you better. Or perhaps a social worker? You did so enjoy ripping children from their mothers, as I recall.”

The words stung, and Jack stiffened, jaw clenched in restraint. But before he could respond, the guards led Roisin out, her delicate humming ofDream a Little Dream Of Melingering behind her to echo through the corridors.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Kenny exhaled.

“Well, that was a waste of fucking time!” Jack scraped out his chair and stood.

“On the contrary. It was rather insightful.” Kenny quite enjoyed it. He wouldn’t say that out loud, though. Jack would think him repugnant, but it was more about the challenge. Roisin made him think on his toes. And he’dwon. Because she left first. He’d made heruncomfortable. Taken the control away from her. The only thing she could control was her presence.

Jack gave him a look. “She gave us nothing.”

“She knows the killer. Rahul was a gift to her. One she very much appreciated. And she discarded Frank, probably with a click of her fingers. Either he did it himself, knowing she didn’t need him anymore, or she had him killed. He’s of no use to her anymore, so it’s of no bother. Because someone else is continuing her work.”

“How the fuck did you get all that out of what just happened?”

Kenny winked. “Read between the lines, Jack. There’s better narrative in there.”

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus. She is bona fide batshit fucking crazy.”

“That’s not the clinical term we like to use, DI Bentley.” Kenny tapped a pen on his lips. “Narcissistic sociopath with psychotic tendencies, diagnosed with ASBD, Anti-Social Behaviour Disorder. Likely stemming from severe trauma and a profound need to control her adult narrative, having had zero control over the horrors she endured as a child where torture and harm were part of everyday life.”

Jack gave him a look, one part disbelief, one part frustration. “Don’t make excuses for her.”

“They’re not excuses.” Kenny stood. “They’re reasons.”

Jack stared at him for a moment longer, then glanced down at the table where Roisin had left her crochet. “And what’s herreasonfor that?”

“It’s a gift, Jack. A fucking gift.”

---