William Priest set the paper down on the table and turned sideways, crossing his legs and placing his hands behind his raised knee in what Priest had learnt to recognise as ‘William’s thinking pose’. The same two male nurses shuffled their feet behind them again. They exchanged nervous glances; no doubt they had also learnt to be on high alert when Dr Priest crossed one leg over the other. No time to worry about them now, though.

‘This is just awful,’ William rasped.

‘That’s some statement coming from a serial killer.’

William waved his hand, dismissive. ‘No, no. Children aren’t fair game at all. I once killed a man with a cheese grater. He may have been twenty-three. I don’t know. But that’s my limit, and it was never sexual.’

Priest resisted the temptation to contradict him. It was never sexual in the conventional sense, you mean.

‘I’d say an account of quite awful childhood abuse,’ said William. ‘In the form of a pseudo-diary. But who is the author?’

‘You think it’s real?’

‘That was always your problem, Charles. You could never tell what was real and what wasn’t.’

He ignored the jibe. ‘It sounds like she’s being dressed up as a doll. You think that’s part of the . . . fun?’

‘As deplorable as it sounds, yes.’ One of the nurses coughed – he may have been genuinely trying to clear his throat but William took it as a challenge. Turning in his seat only marginally, he spat at the nurse, ‘And you needn’t laugh, Anton! If you find the concept of me, a known mutilator of men, seeing deplorability in indecent acts committed against children then you need to read my file more closely. You’ll see that most of my victims were paedophiles. I took my rage out, properly, on those that deserved it.’ Then he turned back and said to Priest under his breath, ‘And the occasional venture capitalist, wouldn’t you say, Charles?’

‘Concentrate, Wills.’

‘My apologies. Where was I?’

‘The doll,’ Priest reminded him.

‘Ah, yes.’ William relaxed in his seat. ‘I understand that there is a subculture of men who like to dress up as living dolls for various disturbing psychological reasons. I think they are called maskers. As for dressing a child as a doll for sexual pleasure, I dare say it is possible but I have never come across it.’

‘A perversion you’ve never heard of is one worth noting.’

‘Quite. But it is conceivable. A doll represents an unattainable attractiveness. They cannot find a real partner who is satisfactorily perfect so they dress up as a doll, which is. Here, the abuser creates something similarly perfect, so he can defile it. He’s filth, Charles. Filth.’

‘We’re agreed on that,’ said Priest, rubbing his temples. ‘Who do you think wrote it?’