Page 71 of Stolen Ones
She saw a faint look of distaste at her intentional use of the word ogle.
‘One year to a child is half a lifetime. Why did you keep them so long?’ she asked.
He weighed his words for a moment.
‘The average butterfly has an adult lifespan of two weeks or less. There’s a point during this time that the butterfly is at its best, at its most beautiful stage of being. It reaches its optimum unspoiled beauty before time and other insects get the opportunity to age and maim it.’
‘So when you talk of other insects you mean humans, you mean life and age in relation to little girls. You take them at what you feel is their optimum beauty, observe them and watch them and then set them free?’
‘I’m talking of butterflies.’
‘And I’m talking about real-life little girls.’
He said nothing.
‘What went wrong with Melody?’
His face hardened.
‘Why wasn’t she set free like the rest?’
He folded his arms and regarded her silently. His face was emotionless.
Now she’d brought it up, she had no choice but to commit to that line of questioning.
‘Why didn’t you set Melody free once she’d aged past your optimum expectation?’
No response.
‘Why is Melody not out there living her life like the first two?’
No response.
‘Did you decide that looking was no longer enough?’
No response but another tightening of the jaw.
‘Did she fight back when you tried to touch her?’
No response but she could see he was struggling to keep the emotion from his face.
‘Or did you feel so guilty afterwards that you’d succumbed to your true desires?’
She saw the almost imperceptible movements of his head to the side.
‘Was there something about Melody that woke those urges in you?’
His gaze fixed on her.
‘Did you kill Melody and bury her at Hawne Park?’
His eyes blazed.
‘Did Melody die because she knew you were a paedo—’
‘Stop,’ he said, slamming his fist down on the table.
‘Is there something you’d like to say, Mr Harte.’
