TWENTY-FIVE
PRISONER
A pall of oppression weighed heavily on Jack Reid’s shoulders. The stygian gloom of the room in which he sat combined with the awful and terrifying evidence he held in his hands served to add to the terrible sense of guilt that now gripped the young man’s heart. The camera never lies, so they say and Jack couldn’t fail to be convinced by the sight of his own image captured as it was at the scenes of the two murders, the blood of the young victims on his hands, the knife clearly held by no-one else but he. The beam of light from the floodlight positioned behind his tormentor served only to accentuate the darkness around him and despite its highly intense beam it failed to add illumination to the feeling of terror that held him glued to his seat. Jack couldn’t have mov
