Alfie Twitch rubs his wrists, sore from the plastic ties that had him strapped to the chair. He watches as Jess eyes the painting above his desk. With flick-knife still in hand, she approaches the scene of London at night and cuts a St Paul’s-shaped hole out of the canvas.
For once, the dog keeps quiet. The one time Percy is duty-bound to raise hell and he bottles it. Instead he sits, feet in perfect ballerina’s second position, next to the old woman’s cracked skull as it leaks blood onto the pavement.
‘Truman, you can’t expect a crushed child on your watch to go without consequences.’
Derek Granger gulps down his Coke and burps.
‘People pay a lot of money to leave their kids here. It is supposed to be a safe environment, away from the Horde.