Page 123 of Child's Play
‘You seenRain Man?’
She nodded.
‘Dustin Hoffman has savant syndrome, same as Stevie. It’s where someone with significant mental disabilities demonstrates certain abilities far in excess of average. Often rapid calculation, like inRain Manor a musical ability but just the one skill.’
‘Is it common?’ Kim asked. She’d seen the film but had had no clue of what the condition was called or the level or types of genius that came with it.
He shook his head. ‘It’s rare, just one in a million which is why it wasn’t picked up even though he was a slow developer. He didn’t walk until he was eighteen months or utter a word until after his second birthday. Basic physical tests were normal, so doc told us to take him to playgroups to interact with other kids to catch him up. I took him. Crawled straight over to some other kid’s keyboard and started playing it until people stopped and listened. He didn’t like that.
‘Missus was straight out to get him one. Pawned her jewellery at Cash Converters and put it in his room. He played and played and played as long as no one was watching. Then the missus had the brainwave of taking him to that Brainbox thing and the kid went ape. Missus insisted he’d be fine once he was there. I tried to talk her out of it, but she’s a bloody stubborn cow when she wants to be. She wanted to turn him into some kind of star, and I just wanted to play footie with a normal kid.’
‘So, Stevie went to Brainboxes last year?’ Kim asked, feeling the man’s palpable rage. Had the child met with all three of their victims and this man somehow wanted vengeance for his son’s suicide?
‘Yeah, we went. Bloody competition. Stevie didn’t speak for the whole time. Missus tried to get him to mix, and I tried to explain that he just wasn’t built that way. He sat at the piano and froze, wouldn’t play a note and then started keening. Worst sound I ever heard in my life. It was bloody miserable. We all hated every minute of it, except for the missus who only went and signed him up for it again this year.’
‘And where’s the missus now?’ Kim asked.
‘Fucked if I know. We had a bust-up. Legged it when I told her our son’s death was all her fault.’
Kim wondered at the harshness of such a statement made to someone who must already have been feeling responsible.
‘I don’t care what you think,’ he said, shrugging. ‘It was her fault. You should arrest the bitch for murder.’ He swallowed down his anger as a tear rolled over his cheek. He wiped it away roughly. ‘Every bit of her attention on Stevie all the time. Poor kid couldn’t cope. She killed our son and I’ll never forgive her. May she rot in hell.’
Kim was about to stand when Bryant beat her to it. This man’s anger was borne of grief and despite his comments to the contrary she couldn’t see him being responsible for anyone’s murder. He possessed all of the anger but none of the control.
Bryant offered the man his hand. ‘We’re sorry for intruding on…’ his words trailed away as piano music suddenly sounded from above.
The man didn’t bat an eyelid.
‘Mr Robinson, who is?…’
‘I already told you, didn’t I? Stevie loves to play the piano.’
She locked gazes with Bryant to see she hadn’t missed anything. His expression said not.
‘But Stevie is dead… he killed himself?’
‘Who told you that? It’s his brother, Ryan, the normal kid that did himself in,’ he said, looking upwards. ‘And as you can hear, our genius kid is still very much alive.’
Ninety-One
Kim let out a breath as she and Bryant got back into the car.
‘How the hell did we not know which kid had died?’ Bryant asked.
Yes, it was annoying that they’d been ill-prepared but it was no one’s fault. ‘Serena never mentioned the first name of the boy that died, and Stacey wasn’t to know by the vague police statements. The news articles, as always, read between the lines.’
Kim knew that the press would not report fully on the full names and details until after the inquest and then would be guided by the Samaritans’ guidelines.
‘You think this is linked to our investigation?’ Bryant asked.
‘I don’t think the family is linked, but I can’t help feeling that the boy’s suicide was the catalyst. Hang on, so what day did he die?’ she asked, looking at her colleague.
‘Thursday afternoon.’
She counted backwards. ‘Around the time our first victim, Freddie Compton, met his end over a board game.’
Kim didn’t wait for a reply.
