‘If I was a killer, I wouldn’t want to be the most recent person on an app like that. I’d use the app to make a few fake dates.’

‘Okay,’ Vasquez says. ‘I’ll look into that right now.’

‘First,’ I say, ‘show me this “weird porn”.’

Vasquez boots up Biggs’s computer. He brings up a list of websites and offers me the chair.

I sit down. I don’t have a computer at home so my exposure to pornography is limited, if you don’t count advertising and music videos. Back at the group home, a kid named Stephen Stattelis had a tattered Penthouse magazine that got shared around a lot before Mrs Radfield found it. When it was my turn, I did find all the flesh exciting, but not for the same reasons as the other boys.

‘Biggs didn’t know how to clear his browser history?’ I ask.

‘This all came from his ISP. He used private browsing, but not a VPN.’

I click through to one of the websites. I’d been expecting gay porn, or maybe pictures of women’s feet. What I find is something entirely different.

‘Jesus,’ Thistle says, looking over my shoulder. ‘That’s … unusual.’

Biggs’s genre of choice seemed to be ‘giantess’ porn. Videos of women filmed from a low angle to make them look huge, crushing toy cars and action figures under their stiletto heels. Photoshopped images of models in bikinis stomping through cities like Godzilla. Computer animations and cartoons of huge women crushing tiny men against their bulging breasts, suffocating them.

‘So he was a feminist,’ Vasquez says dryly.

‘I don’t want to oversimplify things,’ Thistle says to me, ‘but did you notice the size of Biggs’s wife?’

‘Was she huge?’ Vasquez asks.

‘No. Tiny.’

‘Huh. Guess that means he loved her for real.’

‘This is all fantasy.’ I keep scrolling. ‘People don’t fantasise about what they already have.’

Buried under the pic and video sites, I find a database of user-submitted short stories. I find the ones Biggs liked enough to click through to page two, and I skim them. They all involve a man being seduced by a woman at least twice his size. Sometimes he fucks her, sometimes she breastfeeds him, and in one case …

She eats him.

My mouth goes dry as I read the description of the man disappearing headfirst into the woman’s huge mouth, of her gagging as she swallows him whole. Then he’s slowly digested, still alive as her stomach acid dissolves him.

‘Some people out there fantasise about being eaten?’ I say, my voice cracking.

‘Yup. They’re called vores.’ I can hear the grin in Vasquez’s voice. ‘You haven’t heard of that?’

I shake my head, too entranced to speak.