“Jules? Shit, Jules, answer me!” Clarke scrambled out of the car into the downpour of rain, still clutching the dead monitor in his hand. “Reynolds,” he yelled into his mic, “get in there, right now. He’s got her.” His heart was thumping in his chest as he ran towards the block of flats, his clothes already soaked through.
“Wait, Sarge, I’ve got something.”
“I don’t care, just get her out.”
“Sarge, listen!”
Clarke glanced down at the monitor, now covered in raindrops and slowed down as the picture came back. He wiped the screen with his hand, smearing the rain over it. He could barely see anything. He ran over to the bus stop, where Rebecca was still positioned for cover. He wiped the screen again and stared, desperate to know if Jules was safe.
Monty was holding the camera in his hand now, purposefully showing them a thick leather-bound journal. The title was The Findings of the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health, 2015: Toronto, Canada.
Clarke realised the audio feed was back up as he heard Monty’s voice. But he was no longer speaking to Jules. He was addressing them directly.
“You’d be interested in this, Sergeant. The centre is very progressive; they do a lot of research into people like me.”
“Where’s Jules?” Clarke yelled down the mic, hoping Monty could hear him over the battering of the rain on the roof off the bus shelter. “Send her out to us right now, or I’ll–”
“Oh, she’s fine,” Monty flashed the camera round to a stunned-looking Jules, standing in the doorway of the study. “How many times do I have to tell you, Sergeant? I’m not a dangerous man. I’m also not quite as gullible as you seem to think. I mean, really?”
“Let her out, right now.”
Monty rolled his eyes at the camera, then turned it back round to Jules. “Your boss wants you to go outside so that he knows you’re safe.” Jules stared at him for a moment before backing out the doorway out of sight of the camera. “She’ll be with you shortly,” Monty said as he turned the camera back around. “Now, time for you to listen, Sergeant.”
Clarke stood motionless in the bus shelter, his eyes fixed on the entrance to the flats, waiting for Jules to emerge. Moments later, she ran out into the rain, somehow looking even more vulnerable than before. Her confidence had gone in the wake of being caught. Clarke gestured towards Rebecca. “Go check that she’s okay, and get her in the car.”
“So, Sergeant, are you listening?” Monty cleared his throat theatrically and started to read from the journal article. “Paedophilia is a sexual orientation, something we are born with. Researcher Dr Cantor suggests that the brains of paedophiles are wired differently than the brains of non-paedophiles. Through his research, he concludes that there is effectively a ‘cross-wiring’ of the brain.”
Clarke jumped as another flash of lightning lit up the sky. He stared at the monitor, waiting for Monty’s speech to continue.
“I suppose you could say that the wrong button gets pushed. Most people experience a nurturing sensation when in the presence of a child, a need to protect and love them. For us paedophiles, it’s as if the wrong trigger is set off, so instead we experience a sexual reaction. It’s sad, really, that I was put together incorrectly in this way. Because I’m an intelligent man, Sergeant Clarke, and I could go far in this world. But all because of this little cross-wiring issue, I’m in constant fear of breaking society’s rules, of being brandished a villain for something I cannot help.” He focussed the camera closer on his face, his eyes boing into the monitor. “Of being set up and blamed for crimes I didn’t commit.”
“Look, you’ve made your point–”
“It makes for a very interesting read, this. You must read it, if you get the time. It says that, similarly to height and which hand you’ll write with, paedophilia is something that could be determined as early as the very first trimester of pregnancy. Imagine that, a tiny baby, not even in this world yet, already branded a monster.” Monty spoke slowly, a serious tone with his voice. “Tell me, if you could run a test for paedophilia in early pregnancy, do you think people would be instructed to abort their child? To spare the world from this evil?”
Clarke was lost for words. Their plan had gone to pot, and now he was being pulled into some philosophical debate on bloody predeterminism. He let his head fall back as he sighed, noticing that the rain was starting to slow down.
“They say it’s perhaps caused by maternal stress during the pregnancy or malnourishment. It’s interesting for me, because I happen to know my own dear mother was suffering with anorexia when she fell pregnant with me. But we do always like to find a way to blame our parents, don’t we?” Monty smirked at the camera. “Sergeant Clarke, if you’re still listening, I have a tip for you.”
He frowned, hating the fact that Monty had ended up with so much power. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent. I watched the TV Today show again today, the one where Suzanne Walker was promoting her charity, and I think you’ve missed something. You mentioned some doll with an eerie message about befriending paedophiles in your interview with me, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, they were almost the exact words that were used on the show. Suzanne talked about a befriending service as part of the Walker Foundation — a fantastic idea, I must say — and the other woman flipped her words and started talking nonsense about her paying people to be friends with paedophiles, or some substandard nonsense like that.”
Clarke found himself nodding along, despite Monty not being able to see him. He hated to admit it, but Monty was right.
“So,” Monty continued, “instead of sending fresh-faced young women after me, perhaps you should be focussing on who might have been offended by Suzanne’s notion of a befriending service. I can personally assure you that a lot of people wouldn’t have taken well to the idea.” Monty brought the tiny camera even closer to his face, so that only his eyes were in view. “I know you want to pin this on me, Sergeant. I am, after all, the easy option. But in this instance, I am a monster by definition only, not by action.”