A cold, hard realization hit him. His lawyer, an unremarkable grey man, had explained that the papers had been forbidden by the courts to mention his name. They would not say that Kevin Milne abducted and killed Matthew Michael Cook. Child X did these things. The television would not be allowed to show pictures of him, and the lawyer promised he was going to petition the courts to ask that Kevin Milne be given a new identity. The new identity would entitle him not only to a new name, but a background story with papers to back it up. A new passport, a new birth certificate and a new home. He would be given an education. With therapy, his lawyer assured him, he would be equipped to face the outside world. Kevin started to laugh; he laughed and laughed until his belly began to hurt. He would be prepared for society, but would society be prepared for him? He hoped not. He would do his time and then he would be safe.

Kevin Milne smiled. The naughtier you were, the better you were treated.

And the papers thought he was crazy.

Chapter Thirty-One

By the time the prison transit van arrived at Wood Green Crown Court, the world’s media were ready, having been camped on its doorstep since before dawn. The reporters were wired on coffee, sugar and nicotine, and they were baying for blood. Journalists barged into one another jostling for position, notepads and pens held above heads because there was no space to keep them down by their sides. Photographers had long, fat lenses on their cameras, which made them look like offensive weapons. Television crews from every corner of the globe parked their vans in the car park. CNN had a satellite dish, and an impossibly glamorous, anorexic blonde anchor-woman who was trying to interview the onlookers. The parkland outside Wood Green Court might have been bare, but the angry mob and media frenzy covered the ground. The naked trees waved in the wet wind, and the sound of the prison transit van’s wheels crunching on the fallen leaves was lost amongst the catcalls and swearing from the mob. The sky was grey and a fine drizzle landed on the crowds that had gathered, the reason for the large police presence. They looked ready to stamp out the first sign of trouble. A shield wall guarded the steps of the court; wearing riot gear, the officers linked arms and stood shoulder to shoulder behind Perspex screens. In clear view, a man bent down, picked up the biggest stone he could find and hurled it at the van. It bounced off the window, skittered along the side, and bounced harmlessly on the road.