Lord Hunter’s heavy silk robes pressed against his legs and the long wig was hot on his head. At times like this he envied those of his brother judges who were bald. He longed to reach up with his forefinger and scratch the itch at the back of his head, but that would never do–the solemnity of the bench must be observed. He looked over at the dock where the two prisoners were sitting. It was like a scene from Alice in Wonderland. Just as in the Queen’s court when Alice was on trial, everything was wrong. Little Renee Smith and Kevin Milne sat on their high chairs so that their faces were visible over the edge of the dock. The girl was white and tearful as she draped her hand over the edge of the box and her mother held it. Through the heavy silence of the courtroom her sniffles reverberated off the rafters. A chill ran up his back. All eyes in the court were upon Lord Edward Hunter, but he was only interested in one person–Kevin Milne.

The boy was dressed in clothes that did him no favours; the outfit was too small and he was too fat. His face was clean, his mouth down-turned; he caught the judge’s eyes and he would not let go. The force of the small boy’s personality stole his breath away. Lord Hunter’s heart fluttered in distress at what he truly believed was evil sitting in his court; he would have to revise all his notions, regardless of criticism or the notion that an accused person is innocent until proven guilty. Lord Hunter knew, with a certainty he had seldom felt, that he was in the presence of something genuinely rare, even in the highest court in the land. He felt as if he was in the presence of evil.

Hunter narrowed his eyes until they became slits and stared back at the boy, refusing to be cowed. The corners of Kevin Milne’s mouth slowly lifted, curling into a sadistic smile. The trial had hardly begun, but as Hunter stared at the snivelling boy, he made himself a promise. The boy would serve twenty-five years in correctional facilities and then be transferred to a secure mental hospital. He wasn’t safe to be allowed to walk the streets again, and Hunter would do all he could to make sure that he never did.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The courtroom was hushed. It was after lunch, the air was stuffy, and almost everyone on the public benches was sleepy.

Dr Gerry Cornwell faltered. How do you look a mother in the eye and tell the world she produced a child so wrong that no drugs, no therapy, and no amount of love could fix him?

‘Dr Cornwell, please answer the question,’ bid Lord Justice Edward Hunter.