The Reborn Read Online Free PDF Page B

Coulter seemed to buzz with energy.
    Magnus wanted to ask why he had sent the diary. Why not simply destroy it?
    He, along with many others, had not been convinced by Coulter’s plea of insanity, which was partly why he was here. The diagnosis presented to the court had been conflicting. Proponents of psychopathy had pointed to Coulter’s arrogance, his lack of empathy, shallow emotions, violent outbursts and, most important of all, his lack of remorse, shame or guilt. When asked what he felt about the death of his baby son, Coulter had responded, ‘I can always father another one.’
    Yet the covering letter that had arrived with the diary had painted a completely different picture. One of sadness and remorse, and a need to make amends for what he had done.
    But then again, psychopaths were also known to be inveterate liars.
    ‘Would you like to see what I do now?’
    ‘Is that possible?’
    Coulter turned to his minders. ‘What do you say, guys? Can I show the professor my babies?’
    The tiny hand was curled shut, the central nail clasped against the palm.
    ‘Newborn nails are blueish in tone. They change to pink a few weeks after birth,’ Coulter told him.
    Magnus watched as he chose colours, mixing blue and pink pigment, adding clear liquid.
    ‘Glazing gel. Helps it to set and gives a glossy finish.’ Coulter stroked the brush gently downwards. When he had completed all ten nails, he moved to the feet, where a delicate thread of veins marked the ankle. ‘I painted those in. Realistic, eh?’
    He lifted a tiny foot and showed Magnus the pink-blushed soles.
    ‘You have to be sparing with the paint, build it up over a few coats, but it’s worth it to get to this warm look.’
    He began coating the toenails to match the fingers.
    Magnus could hardly bear to watch. The small body looked so real, every sign pointing to life – ‘stork bites’ on the back of the neck, milk bumps on the cheeks, a sucking blister on the lip.
    Coulter ran his finger down the delicate groove from the doll’s nose to its lip.
    ‘This is called the angel’s touch.’ His voice was almost reverential. ‘Its length and depth is a baby’s most distinctive feature before the eyes open.’
    He laid the newborn gently inside a satin-lined box and handed Magnus a photograph.
    ‘What do you think?’
    The likeness made Magnus’s skin crawl.
    ‘Cot death at five weeks. Still, this one won’t cry or shit its nappy.’
    He snapped a lid on the box. Magnus wanted to remonstrate, as though the baby might not be able to breathe. He knew it was just a doll, yet his brain told him otherwise.
    As Coulter cleaned his brushes and tidied up, Magnus pondered why a parent would crave a replica baby. Yet there they all were. Photographs on the wall of smiling parents, nursing dolls that looked like their dead children.
    He tried to understand his own feelings of abhorrence. He would have been unable to hold that doll, had it been offered to him. Maybe it was the scent of paint and plastic instead of flesh and blood that had made him recoil. Something that looked human, yet wasn’t.
    Coulter was observing him, sizing up his reaction.
    ‘It gets some people like that.’
    Magnus strove to make his feelings less obvious.
    ‘How did you start?’
    ‘I saw a programme on TV about someone who did it for a living. I made it my Art Project. It takes a lot of skill and patience, you know.’
    Coulter’s enthusiasm was obvious. Psychopaths were known for grandiose schemes which rarely came to fruition. If he was a psychopath, he seemed to be bucking the trend.
    ‘Jimmy Boyle took up sculpture in Peterhead. Now he’s a millionaire.’ He laughed at his little joke. ‘I’m doing not too badly in the celebrity stakes myself.’
    That much was true. The newspapers loved the story of the child killer turned fashioner of ‘Reborns’. There was even talk of a movie.
    But you couldn’t get away from the fact that he was a murderer. Like similar killers