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‘You’ve just contradicted yourself. First you imply she was involved in Cindy Bowman’s death. Now you’re saying she didn’t have the guts to follow through on her fantasies. You can’t have it both ways, Matty.’
‘I never said she killed the kid.’
I push the hair off my face, exhale deeply.
‘Well, then.’
Matty’s eyes are hawkish.
‘She didn’t kill her, but she did watch her die. That’s what gave her the taste. She showed up on Cindy’s parents’ doorstep the day of her funeral.
‘“Can I see her?” she said.
‘The girl’s father explained gently that Cindy was dead, in heaven now with the angels.
‘“I know she’s dead,” your mother answered, as if the guy was a potato short of a pie. “I want to see what she looks like in her coffin.”’
‘I don’t have to listen to this,’ I say, but something keeps me in my chair.
‘Amelia was the one with the big dreams. I was the one who carried them out. Life’s a game, the only limit our imagination, she said. The victims too, of course. We had to limit ourselves there, that was her rule.
‘They couldn’t have any personal connection to us. Pickups in bars or clubs were off the table given the obvious risk of witnesses. And they had to come from all walks of life and not just one particular area.
‘Harder for the cops that way, she said. They’ll never know where you’re going to strike next.
‘I had to stick to North London though. She figured it might raise suspicions if my car was pulled over south of the river.’ He smiles to himself. ‘I wouldn’t have thought of that, but she was smart your mam, and with twenty boroughs to choose from, there were plenty of rich pickings.’
I’m rendered mute, and then I spot the hole.
‘All those times you were off killing, she had no idea where you were. If what you say is true—’
‘Ah, that’s what made it fun. She never knew when it was coming. The murders were rituals, marriage ceremonies binding us together. Proof of my devotion, that we were meant to be together. It’s why I selected victims that looked like her. They were an homage, you see? Gifts I tied with a bow.’
I remember how she’d laid into Matty when he’d found it funny that Gemma Nicholls’ body had been mistaken for a mannequin. The disgust on her face.
I say this to him, dare him to respond. He does so without missing a beat.
‘She was always careful in front of you. Kids repeat things, she used to say. Just look at Nazi Germany, all those brats dobbing their parents in to the Gestapo. You never know who they’re going to talk to. What they might say.’
I shake my head.
‘You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you?’
‘That’s because I’m telling the truth.’
‘You wouldn’t know the truth if it kneed you in the balls.’
I say it so forcefully a speck of saliva hits the glass.
He smirks.
‘That violent streak, you really are a chip off the old block.’ Then before I can respond, ‘Go on, ask me anything you like. I’ve nothing left to hide.’
I should ask about the other victims, of course. The ones who have never been found. Later I’ll kick myself for not doing that. But right now, all I can think of is my mother, what he’s accusing her of.
‘I’ll never forget how upset she was after the Brownstone murder. She could hardly talk to you that day in the café, was convinced you were involved. You have no idea how it tore her up. Hardly fits with everything you’ve said, does it?’
Matty chuckles softly.
