The Hobby Goat

The boy sat, despondent, on a threadbare sofa under the harsh lights at the back of the police interview room. His father and mother sat at the table in the centre, talking and crying. The officer was trying to write everything down, a pained expression hovering somewhere between irritation and sympathy on his sweaty face. The second officer, a slim woman with red hair, watched them silently. Her face gave nothing away. Occasionally her eyes would flick to the boy, calculating. Eventually, he...