Child's Play (D.I. Kim Stone #11)(81)

Doug made one attempt to get to his feet, but a meaningful right hook knocked him clean out.

Penn ran back to his brother and ripped the woollen hat from his face. Jasper’s eyes were watery and wide with fear.

‘I weed myself, Ozzy,’ he whispered.

Penn pulled him close, as he took out his phone. ‘It’s okay, buddy,’ he said, kissing the side of his head. ‘No one is going to hurt you again.’





Ninety





The market town of Evesham was located twenty-six miles south-east of Stourport, and also lay on the banks of the River Severn, on a horseshoe-shaped peninsula almost completely surrounded by water.

Due to its exceptionally fertile soil the area was renowned for its market gardening trade around the Vale of Evesham.

Not that you would have known it here, Kim thought, as Bryant pulled up outside a terraced house with no front garden in a row of twenty. The windows on either side were covered in metal grating.

Kim stepped between two wheelie bins and over a bunch of flowers lying on the doorstep to ring the bell.

A man in his late thirties opened the door. The jogging bottoms and sweatshirt did nothing to hide the fact that there was barely any flesh on those bones.

‘Mr Robinson?’ Bryant asked.

He nodded and waited.

Bryant introduced them both. ‘May we come in for a minute?’

‘Social Services send you?’ he asked, frowning. ‘Said I was all clear for…’

‘Nothing to do with Social Services,’ Kim reassured him. ‘And if you allow us to come inside, we’d like to explain.’

He stepped aside for them to enter a small reception room. They passed the stairs and entered a second reception room that had been crudely knocked into the kitchen, exposing bare wall that formed a double archway.

The kitchen table was a varnished picnic bench. He sat and pointed for them to do the same.

‘Mr Robinson, we’re sorry for your loss and for intruding at this time but a great deal of death has surrounded the Brainbox event this year and we’d just like to—’

‘I’d blow every one of ’em up if I could,’ he said, reaching for his cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply. ‘Fucking hate it but the missus wouldn’t give over. Sold the bloody car to get him entered into the competition last year. He didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want him to do it, but she wouldn’t leave it alone.’

Bitterness and anger dripped from his words.

‘The kid was throwing daily tantrums to get his point across.’

Had the kid been unable to tell his parents he didn’t want to do it? Had that failure this year led to his suicide? ‘Couldn’t he just say he didn’t?…’

‘No, officer, he couldn’t.’ He paused and turned tired eyes on her. ‘You know what savant syndrome is?’

Kim shook her head.

‘You seen Rain 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 in Rain Man or 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.’