‘What happened?’
David closed the door behind her and Alex was again reminded that, despite the renovations, the former nursing home still held the aura of God’s waiting room.
The door to the common room was closed and guarded by Barry, a subject she had considered for her project when choosing potential candidates four months earlier. Unfortunately his progress had been slow. They’d had many conversations about his hurt at his wife’s betrayal with his own brother but he’d been missing that last incentive to galvanise him into action. His hatred had not been deep enough, raw enough, to affect his long-term conscience. And ultimately that’s what she was interested in.
Yet another disappointment.
She caught his quick appraisal of her and held his gaze for just a second to show that she’d noticed. He looked away.
‘Shane is in there,’ David said urgently. ‘Malcolm is in the kitchen. We’re having to keep them apart at the moment. To cut a long story short, Shane didn’t make it up to bed. He fell asleep in the den in front of the television. Malcolm could hear the TV and came in to turn it off. He gently shook Shane awake to get him to go to bed.’
David paused, running his hand through his hair. Alex already knew where this was going.
‘Basically, Shane woke up then beat seven shades out of Malcolm. He’s in the kitchen; nothing broken, but he’s a bit of a mess. He’s shouting for the police and Shane is shouting for you.’
Alex felt rather than heard the presence of her ‘bodyguard’, Dougie, behind her. She reached into her bag and pulled out a writing book with a psychedelic design on the front cover. Dougie was severely autistic and rarely spoke, but he had a fascination for notebooks. To make herself look good she brought him a new one every time she came. He took it and held it close to his chest and took a step backwards.
He was six foot tall and gangly. His family had disowned him at twelve, yet somehow he’d survived on the streets until David caught him taking leftovers from the bins. He spent his days walking mile after mile along the Dudley canal routes. Dougie wasn’t an official resident of the foundation because he’d never been in prison, but David had stated that his room was for life.
Alex found him repulsive but she hid it well and tolerated him following her around like a lovesick puppy. One never knew when such adoration would be useful.
‘Let me see Shane first. I need to get him to calm down.’
David opened the door to the den. Two residents flanked Shane, who was leaning forward, rocking on his knees.
‘Thanks, guys,’ Alex said, dismissing the minders.
Dougie stood in the open doorway with his back to her. The rules stated no female could be in a closed room with any of the occupants. He would ensure that no one entered.
She took the seat opposite. ‘Hey, Shane.’
He didn’t look up but his bruised hands clenched each other tightly.
Alex knew Shane’s story well because she’d considered him for part of her study. He was a tall, skinny lad who looked younger than his twenty-three years. From the age of five he had been sexually abused by his uncle. When he was thirteen, and a foot taller than his abuser, he had beaten him to death with his bare hands.
Physical examinations had proven Shane’s accusations of abuse to be truthful but he had been imprisoned for eight and a half years anyway. He had been released to find that his parents had moved away and left no forwarding address.
Alex debated how to handle him. What she really wanted to do was shake Shane and tell him he’d fucked up big time but she couldn’t let her annoyance with him show. She drew on her store of manufactured compassion.
‘Shane, come on, it’s me, Alex. What happened?’
She was careful not to touch him. Shane recoiled from physical contact of any kind. He remained silent.
‘You can talk to me. I’m your friend.’
Shane shook his head and Alex wanted to hit him. Being dragged out of bed to deal with a bunch of fucking misfits was bad enough, but mute misfits was trying her limited patience just a little too much.
‘Shane, if you won’t talk to me, the police …’
‘Nightmare,’ he whispered. Alex leaned forward.
‘You were having a nightmare and Malcolm woke you and you thought he was your uncle?’
Shane looked at her for the first time. His face was pale and tears streamed down his cheeks. Oh, how manly, she mused.
‘So, when you woke, you thought he’d come back to rape you some more?’
She saw him wince at the word. Payback for getting her out of bed.
He nodded.
‘Was the light on?’
‘Yes.’
As she had suspected.
‘So, after the first punch you would have known it wasn’t your uncle. You would have seen it was Malcolm. Why did you carry on hitting him?’
She knew the answer and it was now in her best interest to ensure the police were not called. Shane was so stupid he would blurt it all out – her conversations with him, his confusion. Even the smallest finger of suspicion pointing her way would be unthinkable.
He shrugged. ‘I dunno. I was thinking about stuff you said about his nieces.’
Alex recalled their chat two weeks earlier when she’d tried to explain to him that not every middle-aged male was like his uncle. She had chosen her words carefully and she recalled them word for word. ‘Take Malcolm over there, he’s a perfectly nice man. There is no proof that he’s ever interfered with his nieces. And if he had, I’m sure the authorities would know.’
Her words had been designed to elicit this exact reaction, but when it hadn’t happened within a couple of days, she’d written Shane off as a candidate as he wasn’t predictable enough.
Although a part of Alex was secretly delighted that he’d finally done what she’d wanted, it didn’t change anything; she was pissed off it had taken this long. She didn’t have time for this.
‘But if you recall, Shane. I deliberately said that Malcolm had not done anything to those little girls, to demonstrate that he was nothing like your uncle and that nice men do exist.’
The tears stopped and his face creased in confusion. ‘But you said …’ Shane couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said. ‘I kept picturing those little girls and what he’d done to them and you said the authorities would know.’ He raised tortured eyes to hers. ‘But they never knew with me.’
Alex looked away. His neediness was distasteful.
‘But then you stopped talking to me.’ He sounded lost and alone. He was right, she had spent more time with Malcolm to try and prompt a violent outburst from Shane, which it had, but much too late to be of any use to her.
‘Do you know why I stopped talking to you, Shane?’ she asked, gently.
He shook his head.
‘It’s because you are a waste of my time. You are so damaged that you will never lead a remotely normal life. There is no hope for you. The nightmares will never go away and every balding middle-aged male will be your uncle. You will never be free of him or what he did to you. No one will ever love you because you are contaminated and the torment you go through will be with you forever.’
Every last ounce of colour drained from his face. She leaned in closer. ‘And if you bother me in any way from this point on, I will speak to the parole board and instruct them that you are a danger to others and you will be returned to prison.’ She stood, towering above the gibbering wreck. God, she hated disappointment. ‘And we all know there are plenty of middle-aged men in there, don’t we, Shane?’
His head dropped and his shoulders trembled. She took his silence as complete understanding. They were done. Permanently.
She brushed past Dougie and headed to the kitchen. Most of the occupants had gone back to bed now the excitement was over. Only David and Malcolm remained, with Dougie hovering somewhere behind her.
Alex couldn’t help but be impressed at the job Shane had done on the plump, harmless victim sitting at the table. Now all she had to worry about was damage limitation. It didn’t suit her for the police to be involved. This was her playpen.