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.
Matthew wasn’t interviewed again that evening. He was officially charged by Detective Shaheen, told he could have a lawyer again; then he was allowed to clean up under supervision in the station bathroom. They took his clothes and gave him a green prison uniform that smelled of bleach, a pair of clean socks, and a used pair of sneakers without laces. In his holding cell in the basement level of the precinct, they brought him dinner—a microwaved hamburger with a side of mixed vegetables. He didn’t feel hungry, but after he took one bite of the rubbery burger, he found himself devouring the rest, almost like a dog bolting down its food. Afterward he felt nauseated and decided to lie down on the thin cot. He kicked his sneakers off and fell asleep without having to tell himself any stories.
After breakfast the following morning, a uniformed officer told him he had a visitor. He recognized Mira’s footsteps, the clack of her nice shoes, as she was brought down the short linoleum hallway. She turned and looked at him, her eyes puffy from crying, and the police officer took two steps backward but stayed in the hall.
“Oh, Bear,” she said, stepping toward the bars.
And then he was Bear, and he was crying.
Chapter 42
After two weeks at her parents’, and then three quick days back in Boston for Lloyd’s memorial service, then another two weeks at her best friend Charlotte’s house in Burlington, Vermont, Hen returned to West Dartford for the first time since Lloyd had been killed by Matthew Dolamore.