He lunged towards Dexter, who spun the shotgun in his grasp, bit down hard on the barrels he'd stuck in his mouth and pulled the other trigger.
The top of his head erupted like a bloody volcano as the blast carried most of his skull away.
He fell backwards, sprawled across the legs of his daughter, the Purdey falling with a thump.
'Oh Jesus,' Finn murmured, holding one hand to his mouth, gazing at each body in turn. The air smelt of death.
The DS picked up the doll the girl had dropped.
Girl? Woman? God alone knew how old she was. And God had long ago tired of watching over this particular wretch.
Finn held the doll in his hands, looking into its cold eyes, then dropped it.
As it hit the floor he heard a whirring sound followed by one word, a metallic whine:
'Daddy.'
He turned and walked away, heading for the stairs, for the phone.
The word echoed in his ears. In his mind.
'Daddy.'
He who considers more deeply knows that, whatever his acts and judgements may be, he is always wrong…
-Nietzsche
You can't win. You can't break even and you can't even get out of the game.
-Ginsberg's Law