There was so much blood at the end, running off the rim of the chair. He held on to him by the hair, letting him down slowly to the floor, dropping him quietly. Angus had stepped into the hallway, clicked the door shut behind him and, in a single fluid movement, grabbed Douglas by the hair and pulled him down, kneeing him sharply on the chin, knocking him off his feet. He'd whispered angrily to Angus, asking him what he wanted, what was he doing there. His most searing sensual memory was a light lemony aftershave billowing out towards him as Douglas opened the front door of Maureen O'Donnell's flat. It had been so dark outside the window that night. He had deodorant on, an acrid, hollow smell. Henry shifted his weight forward, straining the bench from the wall. The minor amendments caught his attention every time, making him speculate about the behavior being deterred. It wasn't until he became a patient that he began to appreciate the psychic impact of static furniture, of lukewarm food and blunt knives. Angus had understood the rationale of institutional vigilance during his career as a psychologist. The wooden bench was bolted to the wall, the mysterious point of attachment plastered over so that no one could wrench it off and use it as a weapon. Henry, the burly nurse sitting next to him, shifted his legs out of splatter range. He sat forward suddenly, hanging his head between his knees. The sour smell of disinfectant was making Angus's battered sinuses ache again he was sure he had a fragment of bone stuck in there. A guard at the far end watched them lethargically, standing on one leg.

They didn't have any good witnesses for the rapes. He guessed the murders and not the rapes. Angus didn't know what they were going to charge him with yet. They were waiting in the corridor-in-between for the door to be opened to the visitors' block. HIGH SUMMER SHONE THROUGH the consecutive windows, lighting the lazy dust window bars cast chilly shadows onto cracked plaster.

Denise mina trilogy