‘The teacher goes away and thinks about it. He realises that the delinquent has much to be sad and angry about: a very sick mother, a bad-tempered father who hits him, no money, not much hope for the future. The next time he speaks to the delinquent, the teacher says, “I don’t blame you for what you did,” and he really means it. “You don’t have to admit it was you, and you won’t be punished,” he tells the boy. “But please come to me if there’s ever anything I can do to help you.” At once, the boy feels so grateful to the teacher that he confesses to throwing the desk through the window. He isn’t punished, and, with the teacher’s help, the boy learns to behave better. From then on, he doesn’t get into any more trouble at school.’

Charlie groaned. ‘Imagine how that story would make you feel if you’d just had your window smashed.’

‘We do it all the time, don’t we?’

‘Do what?’

‘Tell scrotes we understand how they feel, how hard it must be for them. Anything to get them to admit what they’ve done, so we can lock them up.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re the police, not their therapists.’

‘What about preventing future crimes? All the windows that boy’s not going to smash from now on because one person demonstrated that they cared about him, one teacher said, “I understand your pain.”’

‘I see you’ve become fluent in claptrap while I’ve been away,’ said Charlie.

Simon flinched. ‘I don’t think the usual fake sympathy’s going to work with Billy, that’s all,’ he said. ‘To get the confession I need, I might have to mean it.’

Chapter 22

22

from Origami by Kim Tribbeck

Wednesday, 21 January 2015

My phone is ringing in my head. That can’t be right. I don’t have a phone in my head.

I lurch into a sitting position, eyes still closed, and pat the duvet in search of the source of the noise. By the time I find it (under the covers, along with an empty beer bottle, because I’m so house-proud and wholesome), it’s stopped ringing.

I don’t recognise the number.

7.45 a.m. Jesus Christ.

The ringing starts again. Same number.

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Kim?’ It’s a woman.

‘Yes. And if you know who you’re ringing, you’ll know I’m a stand-up comedian. Stand-up comedians typically aren’t awake at quarter to eight in the morning. Who are you? A vindictive postman? A milkman with a grudge?’

‘I’m sorry if I woke you.’

‘You did.’

‘It’s Isobel Sturridge. Liam’s sister.’