ASBO: A Novel of Extreme Terror

Andrew looked up to see a pair of familiar faces. He smiled at them as best he could. “Officers, what are you doing here?”


“What do you think?” said Dalton. “We’ve had reports of multiple stabbings. A man, his daughter, and wife.”

“We were really hoping it wasn’t you,” said Wardsley, shaking his head solemnly, “but we had a bad feeling.”

Andrew huffed with exasperation; it came out more like a hiss. “Looks like your feeling was right.”

The two officers took a seat on the bench either side of Andrew and leant forward so they could both see his face. For the first time since Andrew had met them, neither was taking notes. They weren’t here to take a statement; at least not right now.

“Was this all down to Frankie?” Dalton asked.

Andrew ran a hand across his forehead and rubbed at his tired eyes; they felt fuzzy and had started to itch. It must have been getting close to dawn by now. He nodded wearily. “Frankie and his mates, yes.”

“You have names for any of them?”

“I got their first names but no surnames. One of the kids was Frankie’s younger brother, though. I know because I admitted the lad here at the hospital last night after I hit him with my car.”

Wardsley was wide-eyed. “You ran him over?”

Andrew shook his head. “Not on purpose. It was an accident. A coincidence if you can believe that? I rushed the boy here straight away and gave him a lift home afterwards. Frankie found out about it.”

“He probably thought you did it intentionally,” Dalton suggested.

Andrew nodded. “Pretty likely. Didn’t matter that his little brother tried telling him the truth; Frankie wanted his fun. Now my girls are in surgery, maybe dying…maybe dead already.”

“We’ll get him for this, Mr Goodman,” Dalton assured him.

“You think so? I mean, honestly, do you think you’ll put him away and keep him there? What if he has twenty people giving him an alibi?”

The look on the officer’s faces told Andrew all he needed to know. “Don’t worry about it,” he told them with a wave of his hand. “I know it’s not your fault.”

Wardsley sighed. “If it were up to us then the little scumbag would never have gotten out in the first place. Criminals like Frankie are beyond redemption.”

“But what made him this way?” Andrew asked them, unable to fathom the answer alone. “Lots of kids grow up with a bad upbringing, but it’s more than that with this kid. He’s rotten to the core or something. There’s nothing where his heart should be.”

Dalton shook her head. “I wish there were an answer that made some sense, but there’s not. We made some calls to the borstal that he was kept at. One of the guards there told us that during Frankie’s first year he was bullied severely by the other residents – maybe that has something to do with it. He certainly changed during those following years.”

“What do you mean?”

Wardsley took over from his partner. “This guard told us that by the time Frankie, he was running the show. Top dog. A complete turnaround. He also told us…well, I shouldn’t really say.”

“What?” Andrew demanded. “Shouldn’t say what?”


“Well,” Wardsley continued, “all of the youth offenders who had bullied Frankie in his first year were murdered – one by one throughout the course of a few months. Every one of them was…impaled. There were four in total.”

“Impaled?”

Wardsley nodded. “At the time of death they were violated by a blunt object – typically pool cues from the Rec Room.”

Andrew grimaced. “Jesus Christ.”

“We think that perhaps these other residents of the offender’s home abused Frankie during his first year and he took a fitting revenge on them all. To say it left him with some severe emotional problems is an understatement to say the least.”

“That’s horrible,” said Andrew, “but it doesn’t make what he’s done okay. He’s still a monster, whatever he’s been through.”

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