you would still be, at the very least, in the loop.
‘After 2048, the police lost sight of you. This means they were no longer looking at you, Robert, in 2051. A few years had drifted by since you went down, and things changed here,
didn’t they? The Greeks, the Spanish, and many more of the Africans who’d made it as far as Europe, all hit the beaches and stormed the ports and tunnels. Three million people were
directed into the south-west, because it was still the least populated part of England. So by 2051, no one had the time to look for one little girl any more. And you must have been rubbing your
fucking hands, Robert.
‘But in 2051, a year that I will never forget, the local police’s Child Protection Team consisted of two people. One of them killed himself last year. Depression suicide. The other
one doesn’t work any more. They did what they could, but working knowledge of the case, and of the many sex offenders in this county, is now thin on the ground. The team only has one
full-time member of staff now. Did you know that? And the social workers are drowning in a tide of sick, malnourished and traumatized children, in temporary accommodation and refugee settlements,
down the coast. I bet you can see where this is leading and you are beginning to understand why I am here. There are other ways to look for missing children, Robert, and I am one of
them.’
Robert’s nostrils flared, either from suppressed rage or humiliation. ‘Home Guard, eh?’
‘Now, not only do you have a classic profile for a repeat sex offender, but your preferred victim’s gender is female. Your preferred age range is three to six years old, and
that’s another reason why I am here today. There is no wiggle room. So I want you to take a good, long look at this picture and then I want you to help me with my inquiries. OK?’
‘Vigilante. Thought they’d cleared you out.’
‘Clear your mind, Robert. Concentrate.’ And then the father turned the picture around and held it a few inches from Robert’s face.
In anti-climactic fashion Robert asked for his reading glasses and the father was uncomfortably reminded of an expert preparing to inspect a sample within his field of expertise.
The father trussed Robert’s ankles with the second set of cuffs, scanned the area around his chair, placed the stun spray back in the rucksack, then went and collected the glasses from a
table in the master bedroom. He was not convinced Robert needed the spectacles; when he returned to the living room, the man was eyeballing the picture on the coffee table, and wasn’t
squinting. Even after all they’d been through, he still took the father for a prick.
‘I recognize her,’ Robert said, looking up directly into the eyes of the father, who adjusted his own feet to remain steady. His blood had bloomed after shock, hope, terror and
euphoria had left him dizzy and erased all the colour from the room. But Robert waited and was in no hurry to blurt. He let the tantalizing detail hang, and the father no longer wanted to hit
Robert; he wanted to beg and plead with him for another sentence, a name, a date, or place. And Robert knew this. ‘I remember the news story. Was she taken from a garden?’
The father only nodded because he didn’t know what to say. This was a clever move. Robert was already creating distance by suggesting, quite convincingly, that he couldn’t remember
the details of the abduction. But an abduction of a child in Robert’s town was the kind of thing the man would remember with exacting clarity.
Or was Robert telling the damned truth? The father never knew, not really. Neither did psychiatrists, or police detectives, parole boards, or any explorers of the mind. He’d long come to
believe that all actions were symptoms of selves that came and went like smoke rings, in and out of scarlet doorways, thickening then dispersing. The autocrat in the deep was never glimpsed. He lay
in the primordial black and
‘After 2048, the police lost sight of you. This means they were no longer looking at you, Robert, in 2051. A few years had drifted by since you went down, and things changed here,
didn’t they? The Greeks, the Spanish, and many more of the Africans who’d made it as far as Europe, all hit the beaches and stormed the ports and tunnels. Three million people were
directed into the south-west, because it was still the least populated part of England. So by 2051, no one had the time to look for one little girl any more. And you must have been rubbing your
fucking hands, Robert.
‘But in 2051, a year that I will never forget, the local police’s Child Protection Team consisted of two people. One of them killed himself last year. Depression suicide. The other
one doesn’t work any more. They did what they could, but working knowledge of the case, and of the many sex offenders in this county, is now thin on the ground. The team only has one
full-time member of staff now. Did you know that? And the social workers are drowning in a tide of sick, malnourished and traumatized children, in temporary accommodation and refugee settlements,
down the coast. I bet you can see where this is leading and you are beginning to understand why I am here. There are other ways to look for missing children, Robert, and I am one of
them.’
Robert’s nostrils flared, either from suppressed rage or humiliation. ‘Home Guard, eh?’
‘Now, not only do you have a classic profile for a repeat sex offender, but your preferred victim’s gender is female. Your preferred age range is three to six years old, and
that’s another reason why I am here today. There is no wiggle room. So I want you to take a good, long look at this picture and then I want you to help me with my inquiries. OK?’
‘Vigilante. Thought they’d cleared you out.’
‘Clear your mind, Robert. Concentrate.’ And then the father turned the picture around and held it a few inches from Robert’s face.
In anti-climactic fashion Robert asked for his reading glasses and the father was uncomfortably reminded of an expert preparing to inspect a sample within his field of expertise.
The father trussed Robert’s ankles with the second set of cuffs, scanned the area around his chair, placed the stun spray back in the rucksack, then went and collected the glasses from a
table in the master bedroom. He was not convinced Robert needed the spectacles; when he returned to the living room, the man was eyeballing the picture on the coffee table, and wasn’t
squinting. Even after all they’d been through, he still took the father for a prick.
‘I recognize her,’ Robert said, looking up directly into the eyes of the father, who adjusted his own feet to remain steady. His blood had bloomed after shock, hope, terror and
euphoria had left him dizzy and erased all the colour from the room. But Robert waited and was in no hurry to blurt. He let the tantalizing detail hang, and the father no longer wanted to hit
Robert; he wanted to beg and plead with him for another sentence, a name, a date, or place. And Robert knew this. ‘I remember the news story. Was she taken from a garden?’
The father only nodded because he didn’t know what to say. This was a clever move. Robert was already creating distance by suggesting, quite convincingly, that he couldn’t remember
the details of the abduction. But an abduction of a child in Robert’s town was the kind of thing the man would remember with exacting clarity.
Or was Robert telling the damned truth? The father never knew, not really. Neither did psychiatrists, or police detectives, parole boards, or any explorers of the mind. He’d long come to
believe that all actions were symptoms of selves that came and went like smoke rings, in and out of scarlet doorways, thickening then dispersing. The autocrat in the deep was never glimpsed. He lay
in the primordial black and
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