Pack slammed his fists down on the table and there was finally something in his eyes. He looked like a man ready to kill. And Robin knew he’d made a mistake. “Proof is superficial. I know what happened. I can feel it. This memory loss thing he’s pulling is bullshit. He knew what he was doing from the instant he got in there to the second he got out. Thank God for people like Roger Claypath who are prepared to do the things that have to be done.”

Robin was confused. “What do you mean?”

Pack stopped himself. “I just mean that kid has to be held accountable. Everyone here loved them. My Pru. Tim, Rachel, Edmund, even that awkward Robert kid—they were good people. They made Marsden a better place. They reminded us of being kids ourselves. Running around, getting into trouble, having adventures. They were the good of the world, and that...viper...had to turn them into the bad.”

“Did you ever meet Matthew personally?” Robin said.

Pack recoiled, even at the name. “Yeah. So what? That was before. He just seemed like a normal kid. A bit quiet, a bit clingy—now I know why. He was a little psychopath, just waiting to happen. You know, even when he was fine, I always thought something was wrong about him. Looking at him, it was always like looking at a puzzle. What was he thinking about? What was behind his eyes? Everyone knew he was the outlier of that group, even us parents. Every other one was someone, every other person added something, but he...he was just a blank slate. I guess he finally found out who he was. A psychopathic mass murderer.”

Robin just listened. Pack was almost shouting now, and he was glad the pub was empty. Pack lowered his voice—leaned over the table and whispered, “They all know it. We all know it. But the messed-up thing is, I don’t really care how many years he gets, or how many more hearts he breaks. I just want to know where my little girl is.” He slammed his hand down again, but this time spread his palm out on the table. “It’s sick, in its own way. You get that, right?”

“Yeah,” Robin said, “of course.”

And as fast as lightning, Pack grabbed Robin’s wrist and gripped hard. “Could you kill someone? Could you kill the person who took your loved one away?” Pack’s face stretched into a grin. “Sometimes I think I could.”

Pack’s grip was ferocious, unyielding. Robin watched as his hand started to go white, his wrist throbbing under the drunk man’s locked hand.

“Ethan,” the barman shouted as he came over.

At the sound, Pack’s grip loosened—Robin’s hand immediately erupting into pins and needles. But he didn’t let go, not completely. “My daughter...” Pack snarled.