‘Give it back, Jerome,’ said Larry, without much conviction.

‘Fuck off, you little twat,’ Jerome responded, waving the doll around by its foot, like a lasso, taunting his dog with it as though the doll was a juicy steak. The woman clutched at Jerome’s arm and he batted her away in disgust. ‘Get your filthy claws off of me, you old hag.’

‘Give me my baby!’ she screeched in a cracked voice. RiRi the dog was working herself up into a frenzy, sensing the tension and aggression in the air, which was doubtless Jerome’s intention, as he kept smiling down at the dog and barking back at it. Then he somehow activated the doll’s crying mechanism, and its thin mechanical high-pitched wail could be heard above the rest of the commotion. Jerome found it hilarious. Larry had had enough.

‘I’ll do it,’ he said abruptly, ‘but in a couple of weeks, yeah? Got a lot on right now. Catch you later.’ He started walking away as more kids gathered, at a safe distance, watching the entertainment with blank faces.

Loud screams broke out behind him and when Larry turned around he saw the old woman on her knees trying to reach into RiRi’s jaws, where the dog had hold of the doll and was violently shaking it into several separate bits, limbs flying, the head rolling off and bouncing on the tarmac.

Jerome stood by with his arms crossed, laughing as though it was the funniest thing he had ever seen. Then he kicked the pram over, scattering all the other dolls.

Oh man, thought Larry. What have I let myself in for?

Chapter 18

Chapter 18
Patrick – Day 3

Patrick gathered together all the members of the team in the incident room, with a couple of notable exceptions; Winkler was missing – no one was sure where he was but Patrick was hardly cut up about it – and the DCI, as he was trying to think of her, was in a meeting with the Deputy Commissioner. But everyone else was here, all focussing intently on the large square photograph pinned to the centre of the board.

‘Denise Breem,’ Patrick said. ‘Everyone recognize the name?’

Mike was first to respond. ‘Caspar Doyle’s missus.’

The name Caspar Doyle sent a shudder of revulsion through the room from both sexes. Seven years ago, Doyle had been convicted of abducting and murdering ten-year-old twins, Lucy and Kelly Draper, who had been on their way home from school. He had brutally raped them before stabbing them to death and attempting to bury them in the back garden of his terraced house. Fortunately, a neighbour had heard him digging up his lawn at midnight and called the police. Two days later, after refusing to speak in interviews and threatening to go on hunger strike, Doyle had hanged himself in his cell.