Eye of the Raven by Ken McClure

already told the police and the prison authorities everything I know about that . . . man,’ said Lawson. ‘There is absolutely nothing more I can tell you or anyone else.’
    Steven wondered about the editing process that had left Lawson finally with “man”. He said, ‘I understand your frustration Rev Lawson but there are some more things I must ask you,’ he said.
    ‘ Would you like me to stay?’ asked Minch but Lawson said not with a resigned wave of his hand. ‘I’m fine, Angus,’ he assured him.
    Steven waited until the door had closed behind Minch. ‘I understand that Combe put you through quite an ordeal?’ he said sympathetically.
    A vulnerable look appeared on Lawson’s face and he paused as if choosing his words carefully. ‘I thought I understood people, Dr Dunbar: I believed I knew about the darker side of life, as people like to call it. Upgate isn’t exactly Songs of Praise territory . It’s an ugly rash on the landscape with a population more concerned with Orange Order marches than church socials – more social services than social diary, if you take my meaning. Continual poverty breeds its own kind of society over the years and believe me, it isn’t pretty. It’s life at the lowest common denominator. I’m telling you this because I don’t want you thinking that I’m some kind of middle class cleric who’s had an attack of the vapours because he suddenly came face to face with the real world. I was stupid enough to believe that I’d seen it all in my years at Upgate but I was wrong.’ His voice dropped to a whisper as he added, ‘Oh so wrong. Nothing prepared me for Hector Combe.’
    ‘ I think you can be excused for not having come across someone like Combe before,’ said Steven quietly. ‘That’s a ‘privilege’ afforded to only a very unlucky few.’
    Lawson smiled wryly. ‘Do you know,’ he said. ‘I went there feeling . . .’ Lawson searched unsuccessfully for the right expression, ‘in charge, if you like. It was my role to hear the confession of a dying man. I was the one with the power to offer comfort and reassurance. He was supposed to be the one on his best behaviour, the one displaying remorse and contrition, only Combe didn’t seem to see it that way. He had some understanding of the situation but it was a perverted one, if you know what I mean? Maybe you don’t; I’m not sure I do myself. He didn’t really seem to comprehend what sinning and forgiveness was all about.’
    ‘ The games people play,’ said Steven softly. ‘They’re a complete mystery to psychopaths but they’re clever; they observe; they emulate as best they can, but they can never feel the underlying emotions so sometimes it doesn’t quite come off. It’s hard to appear contrite when you don’t know what the word means.’
    ‘ Yes, that’s it exactly,’ said Lawson, pleased that someone appeared to understand what he was saying but then a darkness came over him.
    ‘ He insisted on telling me every little detail about what he’d done to that poor girl. Every evil, loathsome thing that he’d made her do and what he’d done to her . . . And you know, he seemed to enjoy telling me. I could see it was giving him a thrill all over again. He was . . .’ Lawson’s voice fell to a whisper, ‘touching himself under the blankets as we spoke . . . enjoying it as if he were reliving the experience.
    ‘ He didn’t really do these things,’ said Steven. ‘He was making the whole lot up. He was deliberately trying to shock you.’
    Lawson turned in his chair and looked at him without blinking. ‘Was he?’ he asked. ‘Was he really?’
    Steven found the doubt in Lawson’s eyes so compelling that he did not reply immediately. Instead, he brought a chair over to join him at the window and sat down. ‘Psychopaths feed off other people’s fear and revulsion,’ he said. ‘It’s like a drug to them. They see it as weakness, an affirmation of their own strength and