Perfect Intentions: Sometimes justice is above the law by Leona Turner

the kill, but the psychology behind it that is being called into question.”
    “ What?” Holt was starting to feel annoyed. How was he supposed to catch this person if the goal posts were continually moving?
    “ I think the idea of escape isn’t to ridicule the victim as much as it’s ridiculing psychology in general. The killer’s not trying to help the victims; instead the killer is showing us that some people can’t—or more likely choose not to—be helped. Hold on.’
    Loretta got up and started rustling through papers on her desk.
    “Here it is.”
    Passing a crumpled piece of paper to Holt, she sat back down to give him time to read it.
    It was an article on paedophiles in the prison system. Holt scanned the page and looked back up at Loretta.
    “ It says here that ninety percent refuse counseling for their crimes when they go in. Is that true?”
    “ Near enough. The thing is they don’t recognise their actions are wrong, only that society deems them wrong. And how can you rehabilitate someone who refuses to acknowledge they were wrong to start?”
    “ You don’t, I suppose.”
    “ Exactly, so they sit in there and serve their time, all the while in the company of like-minded people, until their release date.”
    “ But at least they are registered, then.”
    “ Yes, but I imagine that’s cold comfort to the families who live near them.”
    “ So what you’re saying is that the victims may have been offered professional help at some point in their lives, more than likely due to unsavoury actions on their part.”
    “ Possibly, although it may just be an insult aimed at the justice system as a whole.”
    Holt looked deflated.
    "Look, have you eaten yet?”
    “No, I was just going to grab a sandwich on the way back to the station.”
    “Well that settles it, then, you can stay here. I’ve got a casserole in the oven, and it should be ready about now.”
    “I can’t, really, I’ve already annoyed Henson…” Holt paused and thought for a moment.
    “On second thought, the little snot deserves it. Yes, I’d love to stay, thank you.”
    Loretta smiled and went to the kitchen to sort out the food. Holt took the chance to reflect back on what Loretta had said. The country, as Holt had seen it, had been in the midst of a swing towards civil liberties for the last fifty years, and now it was time for the backlash. And the backlash here in his quiet little town was a maniac with a vendetta.
    When Loretta came in and started laying out food on the little dining table next to him, he barely registered her presence.
    “You look lost in thought.” Looking at her as if seeing her for the first time, he moved his elbows off the table to allow her to put the placemats down.
    “Oh, I hope you’re not going to extra trouble for me.”
    “Trouble? No, no trouble, I always eat at the dinner table.” She finished laying out the serviettes and walked back into the kitchen. Holt watched as Loretta brought a casserole dish in and placed it on the table. Since the divorce he had lived alone, surviving on little more than take-aways and foodstuffs that came in a can. If he sat down to eat the meal, it would be a miracle if it were served on a plate, let alone accompanied with placemats and serviettes.
    “How much would you like?” Loretta’s voice drifted through into his consciousness.
    “Sorry?”
    “Casserole—how hungry are you?”
    “How it comes would be fine, thank you.”
    Loretta plated the food up carefully and wiped the edge of his plate with a clean napkin when she’d finished, placing his plate in front of him. Looking down, he noticed he’d left the photo of the late Tom Reynolds in full view on the table. Quickly he scooped it up and put it back in his briefcase, but luckily Loretta didn’t appear to have noticed. She continued to plate up her own meal and Holt waited until she had finished before he started his own food. He did not want to appear uncouth to Loretta; she already