Chapters (117)
The beginning of the end.
If only we could freeze that fragment of time when things begin to unspool, we might catch the end of the thread between our fingers, wind it back onto the reel and tie it off with a knot.
I could not begin to say when I realized that the comfortable shape of my life was drawing to a close. Perhaps it was that third time I took a life that did not belong to me. Or Adam Stanton’s death. Or the day that the Lockwoods moved in. Perhaps it was Mr. Lovell’s discovery, his subsequent phone calls.
But if I had to choose, I believe it was in the uncertain light of the dawn when the ambulance came to The Avenue, and Evan Lockwood opened more than a can of worms.
89
89
Wednesday 1st August 2018, 3:46 A.M.
Interview room, Rayleigh police station
Trefor Lovell’s eyes were dark holes in his face, and there were bristles on his chin. He smelled of sweat and dirty clothes.
A cup of coffee was on the table in front of him, but he did not touch it. When Wildeve entered the interview suite, he smiled up at her.
DCI Sampson was not usually present for interviews, but he had opted to sit in on this one. In truth, he was dubious about the sergeant’s ability to conduct herself, but if this was the only way that Lovell would talk, he was prepared to take a gamble.
He had given her an up-to-date briefing on the phone. Tests had confirmed that the “makeup” on the victims was a specialist kind of doll paint. His attitude was evident in the way he held himself, the aggressive forward slant of his body. He had seen what Lovell had done to DC French and he was certain the old man was guilty.
The harsh light blanched all lines from the faces in the room. It was not a large space. A table. Two chairs on either side of it. A machine to record their conversation.
Wildeve introduced herself, gestured at DCI Sampson and Trefor Lovell to do the same, recorded the time and date, and read the suspect his rights. She was ready to begin.
“You’re entitled to legal representation, Mr. Lovell. You may find it useful.”
He shook his head. “I don’t need it. The only thing I’ve done wrong is hurt that officer of yours, and I’m prepared to take responsibility for that, even though he provoked me.”
“There was a dead body in your house, Mr. Lovell? Who was it?”
“Annie, my wife—”
“She’d been dead for a long time.”
His eyes filled with tears. “Yes.” He cleared his throat. “She had bone cancer and it spread. I didn’t want to let her go.” His voice broke. “I couldn’t.”