Page 70 of Stolen Ones
‘Oh, I think it is,’ Kim pushed. ‘I know the Hollytree Estate very well. I also know where the exact property is that you grew up in. I know the main thing you can see from the window is the bins. It’s the rubbish – it’s the spot for drug deals and human defecation.’
‘And how would you know all that, Inspector? Unless, of course, you’ve experienced life there first-hand.’
‘Mr Harte, we’re not talking about—’
‘But maybe we should. Maybe we should take a minute to explore the depth of decay that breeds like vermin within Hollytree.’
Kim felt her cheeks warm at the glint of amusement in his eyes, leaving her in no doubt that he knew exactly where she’d spent the first six years of her life.
He continued. ‘Maybe we should discuss in detail how much harder it is to succeed at anything if that’s where you started. I think you have a better understanding than most that anyone who leaves that estate alive does well to avoid drugs, alcohol or a mental institution?’
Kim struggled to hang on to her composure. She would not let him take her back there, and she would continue her line of questioning.
She cleared her throat. ‘I agree that it is where much of life’s ugliness comes to visit at different times of the day. It’s a cesspit. How long was it again that you never left the home?’
‘You know the answer to that, Inspector, and now I have a question for you.’
‘You don’t get to ask the—’
‘What did you promise yourself?’
‘I’m sorry. I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘During those long hours of fear, hunger, despair. All those days of being powerless, of not knowing if you were going to eat that day. Would your mentally unstable mother drag herself out of bed to make a sandwich? If today you would taste something hot or if the grumbling pain in your stomach would worsen? When you were eating two-day-old crusts from the bin to keep your body functioning. When your only window out to the world was a view to the filthiest, seediest things life had to offer. What was your “when I’m big” promise to yourself?’
Kim said nothing but she knew exactly what he meant. She had promised herself many things. When I’m big I’ll have a fridge full of food. When I’m big I’ll drink all the orange juice in the world. When I’m big I won’t let myself feel frightened. When I’m big I’ll be able to protect Mikey from the world.
Kim felt Bryant’s foot against her own. A simple gesture but one that brought her out of the past.
‘Mr Harte, I will not be drawn away from the matter at hand,’ she said forcefully. ‘But if we’re talking about your “when I’m big” promises, I now know what you promised yourself.’
Realising the moment had passed and she was firmly back in the present, he shrugged as though he had no interest in her opinion.
‘It’s your pursuit of beauty. You promised to surround yourself with beautiful things: furnishings, wildlife, paintings, nature, colourful insects, anything beautiful – including innocent little girls.’
The realisation had started to dawn on her while walking around his house. Everything was breathtaking, tasteful. Everywhere he looked, something pretty was waiting for him. When she’d seen the line-up of photos of the girls she’d been struck by the beauty of their innocence.
‘The room that you kept them in is no different to the display cases that house your butterflies and bugs. All that was missing were the pins in their wings. It’s all so you can watch them, enjoy them.’
‘Appreciate them,’ he added.
‘The girls?’
‘The butterflies.’
‘Except little girls aren’t like butterflies. They weren’t made to be encased and observed for the viewer’s pleasure. They are not part of someone’s exotic collection. They are human beings ripped away from their families, their homes, to be—’
‘I think we’ve already established that not every child has an idyllic childhood, Inspector.’
‘Is that how you justify it to yourself? Is that your criteria – pretty and unhappy? If so that makes it somehow acceptable to you?’
‘I’m saying that some of the names you’ve mentioned to me don’t appear to have suffered as a result of their experience.’
‘But you couldn’t have known that,’ Kim said, trying to keep her composure. She was talking about him, and he was talking about someone else. One slip, just one slip was all she needed.
‘Sometimes a little period away from your problems—’
‘One year is not a short period of time, Mr Harte, and of course your first two victims adjusted; they had no choice but to adjust to their environment while you observed and ogled them.’
