‘Why?’ I asked, playing the fool.
Cecilia shot me a glance that did make me feel slightly idiotic. In all honesty, I don’t think she meant it as such, but I decided I would add this to my ever-growing list of why I disliked her. Part of me felt a tiny prick of doubt after what she’d said. Had Gareth been involved in the investigation earlier on, but not told me? Surely, he wouldn’t have kept that from me?
‘Here we are,’ Cecilia said, gesturing me to the wooden door adorned with a long piece of masking tape covering up a broken sign that presumably readInterview Room B.
‘Cool, thanks, see you around,’ I said, plonking myself down on one of the small benches outside the room. Cecilia gave a wry laugh as she pushed open the door and motioned for me to enter whilst holding on to the handle.
‘We’re ready for you,’ she said playfully.
God, was this meant to be another of her power plays? I couldn’t tell. What she’d done wasn’t particularly mean or cruel, but there was just something about the way she did it. I pushed myself off the bench, trying to appear unfazed as I walked in, ignoring that stupid smile of hers that I could see out of the corner of my eye. Steve was already there, awkwardly munching on a chocolate bar, his expression fixed like he had just been caught in the act of some secret vice.
‘Sorry,’ he tried to say, spraying small chocolate flakes everywhere in the process. I twisted my head to avoid having to witness the unflattering sight.
Cecilia took a seat next to him, opposite me, with a longer-than-average desk between us. She offered me a glass of water and I politely declined, as Steve was scrambling frantically to get the recorder working. He repeatedly pushed a button, but I could see a small logo flashing on the opposite side of the device.
I didn’t want Cecilia to think I was scared, so I just continued to half-heartedly smile in her general direction. Lord, I’dforgotten how much I disliked her. Everything about her reeked of a Machiavellian character. Even on the dreadful board game night Gareth and I had attempted with her and her partner at the time a few years ago, everything from her comments on the food to the way she’d won at Risk had felt cunning and duplicitous. But just covert enough for her actions to come across as genuine. She was someone I could never really get my finger on.
‘How’s Mep?’ Cecilia asked, sensing that my mind was elsewhere.
‘Oh, Mep? The cat. His consistent screeching makes every day an absolute delight,’ I remarked, avoiding her gaze as I kept my eyes fixed on the lone window in the interrogation room.
‘I’ve always meant to ask: what does Mep mean, as a name?’
‘It’s a nickname,’ I said, not willing to expand.
‘Of?’
‘Mephistopheles.’
‘The demon?’
‘Yeah.’
‘FromDoctor Faustus?’
‘Well, he was from German folklore first.’
‘Yeah, but you know, he’s more generally known fromDoctor Faustus.’
‘Ah, well, tell a German that,’ I fired back. Who did she think she was, trying to tell me who I’d named my cat after? I mean, itwasafter the demon fromDoctor Faustus, but she shouldn’t make those kinds of assumptions.
‘It’s working!’ Steve said proudly, holding his trophy aloft before quietly placing it back down on the table.
They gave me the spiel that Gareth had already briefed me on. That I wasn’t here as a suspect; I was here as a person of interest. There was no evidence against me that would implicate me as a potential suspect, and that I would need to sign some form at the end that may be used in court. Just when I thoughtCecilia was done talking, she then went on to tell me I could walk out and leave at any time, and I didn’thaveto answer any questions, and they just wanted for it to be a friendly chat to find out a bit more about the case.
‘So, Fran,’ Cecilia said after they had finished the preamble. ‘Why don’t you tell us the events of Saturday the tenth, as accurately as you can.’
Listen. I am not a psychopath, sociopath or any other kind of crazy murderer freak. This is something I feel I’ve been quite transparent about. That being said, I know what I am about to explain to you is very much full psycho-killer, so please bear me with on this.
‘Sure, of course. It was a few weeks ago now, so I apologise if I get anything wrong. But we had only moved in for about a month or so at that point, and I had met Gordon a few times. He’s a quiet and reserved man.’
I made sure to refer to him in the present tense, to cover all my bases. I let my voice quiver just a little bit. I’d leave the tears for now; last time, it had worked a treat, but I had to work my audience. I interlaced my hands the same way Cecilia had and made sure to count five seconds of eye contact in my head for each person before switching to the other.
‘Then that Saturday, I was doing some bits in the kitchen, and I saw him get out of the taxi he’d taken to the supermarket, and I could see from my window he was struggling with his shopping. So, I offered to help. Thought it might be a gesture of goodwill, you know? He said something that sounded like a yes when I went out to ask him, so I did. I carried the bags in, we took a few bags upstairs, left a few in the kitchen. Then we had a chat that seemed to go on forever about the price of semi-skimmed milk, and then I took his rubbish out for him as I left.’
In between that, I also drove a knife through his eye socket and cut his body up into pieces and disposed of itin the rubbish.
My mouth twitched. Like someone had just farted at a funeral.Don’t smile, Fran. For the love of God, don’t fucking smile.
