Before She Knew Him(87)

“Matthew, I don’t want to interrupt, and I eventually want to hear all about Dustin Miller, but right now I’d like to hear more about Lloyd.”

“I didn’t mean to kill him—not that I don’t think he probably deserved it, in some way—but I didn’t mean to do it. He attacked me, and I defended myself.”

Matthew thought of the sound of the billy club as it hit the side of Lloyd’s head, then the way he had dropped to the floor, his legs giving way as though their tendons had been sliced.

“Why was he in your house?” Detective Martinez asked.

“He was probably trying to win Hen back, trying to find something on me. I don’t think he was planning on attacking me, because he was hiding. I found him because I heard him upstairs. He came out of one of the spare room closets and just attacked me. I hit him in the shoulder, and I thought that might be it, but he kept coming. So I hit him in the head.”

“Why did you wrap him up the way you did with the duct tape?”

Matthew was quiet, looked at the ceiling.

“You with us, Matthew?”

“I am. There was a lot of blood coming from his head, where I hit him, so that’s why I used the duct tape. At first it was just around his face, but then I figured why not cover his whole body? It looked better that way.”

“And after you did this you went directly to Henrietta Mazur’s art studio and threatened her?”

“That wasn’t me. That was Richard.”

“Richard’s your brother?”

“Right.”

“Do you want to know why I came out here to Dartford, Matthew, today? Hen called me, and one of the things she told me was that you’d mentioned a brother and that you were worried about him, and I think it kind of freaked her out. So I looked into it. There were police reports on both of your parents’ deaths, and both of those reports only mentioned you, Matthew. Neither mentioned a brother. Neither mentioned any siblings. I called the detective who investigated your father’s death—he’s retired now—and he remembered the case, only because he said he suspected that you had something to do with it, even though he could never prove it. I asked him if you were the only child, and he said that you were, that there had been a brother called Richard, but that Richard had died in infancy. It was a crib death, he said, sudden infant death syndrome. Is that the same Richard that you’re referring to, Matthew?”

“He didn’t die,” Matthew said, his chin closer to his chest.

“He didn’t die when he was an infant?”

Matthew didn’t immediately say anything.

Detective Shaheen said, “Tell Detective Martinez what you told me about Richard earlier, how he was responsible for Michelle Brine’s death.”

Matthew sighed. “Richard killed Michelle, and Richard went to Hen’s studio because he wanted to kill her, too. That’s all I can tell you about him. I wasn’t there.”

“I’m confused, Matthew,” Detective Martinez said. “If Richard went to Hen’s studio, then how was it that you ended up in there?”

“I don’t remember how I got there because that was all Richard. Then he went to sleep. I haven’t even talked to him. I don’t want to talk with him, frankly. I’d be perfectly happy if I never talked with him again.”

“Matthew, are you and Richard the same person?”

“No. I mean, we’re brothers, so we both survived our parents, and that means we have something in common. We’re survivors. But Richard takes after our dad. He thinks like our dad, and he thinks that Mom . . . that she had something to do with the way Dad acted. I don’t think that myself. Not at all.”

There was a quick knock on the door and it swung open. Both detectives turned their heads as an older man in a pin-striped suit entered, taking one step into the room but holding the door open behind him. “Maggie, Iggy, a moment?” he said.

They left the room, and Matthew was alone again. He had finished his water and was now squeezing the plastic bottle so that it made a crinkly sound. He was very tired all of a sudden, tired of talking and explaining. He knew that an endless stream of people was going to want to talk with him now. It was inevitable. So much was inevitable now. Police detectives and psychiatrists and lawyers. There would be no trial. He would make sure that there never was a trial. He’d confess to everything. He knew that confessing wouldn’t keep the stories out of the papers, though. He was going to be all over the news. “Popular History Teacher at Private School Convicted of String of Murders.” No, it would be worse than that. “Private School Teacher Hid His Insanity from the World.” That was the part that bothered him, that no one would really understand that he had no control over what Richard did. They’d think he was pretending, or that he knew, or that he could have stopped him. He would never really be able to explain it to them.

Richard spoke to him, then, for the first time since he’d been in the studio: I’ll explain it to them. I’ll give them what they want.

Matthew said nothing back. He didn’t want to get into a conversation with Richard, not right now.

Take a break, big bro. I can tell you’re exhausted. It would be nice to catch a little nap, wouldn’t it?

“I don’t want to talk with you anymore,” Matthew said, and when he realized he’d said it out loud he threw up all over the table.