Page 32 of Little Children
‘Two million,’ Bryant whispered. ‘And I’m not kidding. I could not hate this guy more.’
Kim understood his point. Bryant didn’t hate him because he was a man with a Porsche. He hated him because he was a paedophile with a Porsche.
The front door opened once the gate had slid back to the locked position.
The man himself was a fair representation of the property in which he lived. She guessed him to be an inch or two shy of six feet, dressed in plain black trousers and a white shirt, open at the neck. His hair was a sandy colour, cut tidily.
He smiled and held out his hand. She ignored it and, on this occasion, so did Bryant.
‘Roderick Skidmore?’ she asked.
He retracted his hand with a look of acceptance.
Kim didn’t care how much money he had, it wasn’t enough for her to shake his hand.
‘I assume you’re here about Lewis and Noah,’ he said, stepping back so they could enter his home.
‘You know them?’ Kim asked, surprised at the familiarity.
‘Not really, no.’
‘So, you’ve been expecting a visit?’ she said, stepping into the hallway and wondering how the hell the Blackpool team could write him off without even a conversation.
The man shrugged as he closed the door.
Her gaze was drawn to the artwork on the wall. Nausea hit her immediately. Every piece was black and white, and every one was of a semi-naked prepubescent boy. It wasn’t the pictures themselves that made her want to vomit – it was the reason the man had them hanging in his hall.
‘Nice,’ Kim said sarcastically.
‘My house. I make no apology,’ he said with an easy shrug.
‘May we talk where your artwork is not so prominent?’ she asked.
‘Kitchen,’ he said, leading the way.
From the set of Bryant’s jaw, she could see he was struggling just as much as she was. She wasn’t sure she’d ever interviewed a paedophile quite like this one.
‘There’s a distinct lack of shame about your perversion, Mr Skidmore,’ Kim observed, unable to leave the subject untouched.
He didn’t even wince at the term she’d used.
‘I am free to decorate my own home as I like,’ he said, pointing to a small table with four chairs. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong that I haven’t already been punished for. I had images that I enjoyed. I was neither in the photos, nor did I take them, and I didn’t circulate them. I was caught and I was punished. You may not agree with the term I served, but that’s your problem, not mine. It’s your system.’ He paused. ‘Please take a seat.’
‘I’ll stand,’ Bryant said, while Kim sat down.
‘I won’t bother to offer you coffee,’ he said, leaning against the countertop. ‘You are here to ask about the boys?’
Yes, but she had a couple of other questions first.
‘Must be annoying to be the first port of call when a child goes missing?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. Completely understandable.’
‘Must bring the locals knocking at your door with pitchforks and torches?’
He shook his head. ‘The locals never bother me. I get the odd email or text message, but they never turn up here,’ he said as though the idea was preposterous.
‘Why is that?’
