Page 122 of Child's Play
Doug turned towards him, confused, which gave Jasper just enough time to process his words.
Jasper’s knee rose up sharply and caught Doug squarely in the genitals.
Pain and surprise doubled him over as Penn sprinted towards them. He grabbed a disoriented Jasper and pushed him away from the edge.
‘Sit down on the ground,’ he said, forcefully, so he couldn’t wander back towards danger.
Doug was clutching his genitals and had rolled closer to the edge.
‘Oh no you fucking don’t,’ Penn said, rolling him back.
Doug made one attempt to get to his feet, but a meaningful right hook knocked him clean out.
Penn ran back to his brother and ripped the woollen hat from his face. Jasper’s eyes were watery and wide with fear.
‘I weed myself, Ozzy,’ he whispered.
Penn pulled him close, as he took out his phone. ‘It’s okay, buddy,’ he said, kissing the side of his head. ‘No one is going to hurt you again.’
Ninety
The market town of Evesham was located twenty-six miles south-east of Stourport, and also lay on the banks of the River Severn, on a horseshoe-shaped peninsula almost completely surrounded by water.
Due to its exceptionally fertile soil the area was renowned for its market gardening trade around the Vale of Evesham.
Not that you would have known it here, Kim thought, as Bryant pulled up outside a terraced house with no front garden in a row of twenty. The windows on either side were covered in metal grating.
Kim stepped between two wheelie bins and over a bunch of flowers lying on the doorstep to ring the bell.
A man in his late thirties opened the door. The jogging bottoms and sweatshirt did nothing to hide the fact that there was barely any flesh on those bones.
‘Mr Robinson?’ Bryant asked.
He nodded and waited.
Bryant introduced them both. ‘May we come in for a minute?’
‘Social Services send you?’ he asked, frowning. ‘Said I was all clear for…’
‘Nothing to do with Social Services,’ Kim reassured him. ‘And if you allow us to come inside, we’d like to explain.’
He stepped aside for them to enter a small reception room. They passed the stairs and entered a second reception room that had been crudely knocked into the kitchen, exposing bare wall that formed a double archway.
The kitchen table was a varnished picnic bench. He sat and pointed for them to do the same.
‘Mr Robinson, we’re sorry for your loss and for intruding at this time but a great deal of death has surrounded the Brainbox event this year and we’d just like to—’
‘I’d blow every one of ’em up if I could,’ he said, reaching for his cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply. ‘Fucking hate it but the missus wouldn’t give over. Sold the bloody car to get him entered into the competition last year. He didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want him to do it, but she wouldn’t leave it alone.’
Bitterness and anger dripped from his words.
‘The kid was throwing daily tantrums to get his point across.’
Had the kid been unable to tell his parents he didn’t want to do it? Had that failure this year led to his suicide? ‘Couldn’t he just say he didn’t?…’
‘No, officer, he couldn’t.’ He paused and turned tired eyes on her. ‘You know what savant syndrome is?’
Kim shook her head.
