was making Theo’s breakfast is consistent with phone tower data showing that her mobile remained in the house until she left for work as usual at around 8:18.
Police also questioned Mr. Lambert’s wife, Lucy, but again found nothing that would indicate a motive to harm her husband. Footage from the Lamberts’ nannycams places Mrs. Lambert in her house drinking coffee until after the arrival of the emergency services at the scene at 7:14. She told investigating officers that she was unaware her husband lay dying outside their front door until she was alerted by the police at approximately 7:25.
Perhaps most important, forensic scrutiny of both the Lamberts’ BMW and the Volkswagen Golf owned by Peter Riley yielded no signs that either had been involved in an incident of this nature, and nothing of direct relevance was found in the search histories of any of the electronic devices seized and examined by police.
In short, there appears to be no reasonable chance of a conviction in this matter, and I therefore conclude that no further action be taken.
Catherine Jackson
Senior Crown Prosecutor
112
MADDIE
TREVOSE HEAD IS JUST as beautiful as Miles promised—a huge house right on the beach, with only the coast path and the sand dunes between us and the sea. Miles was right, too, in his prediction that Theo would love it. We’ve bought him a tiny little wet suit to run into the sea in, while Pete, also looking quite cute in his matching shortie, stands sentinel to protect him from the treacherous currents. Even David, it turns out, loves to sit in a rock pool and splash, so most mornings Lucy and I sit with him, our feet in the cool water, chatting.
We rarely talk about Miles. Sometimes Lucy feels the need to say something, and then I simply listen while whatever’s on her mind spills out in a rush. Then, just as suddenly, she’ll stop, shake her head as if clearing it of the memory, and talk about something else.
But I can see her confidence growing day by day. It’ll take years, I imagine. But already she’s a different person than the nervous, jumpy creature we sat opposite in the café almost a year ago.
I suspect she would never have helped us on her own account, though. It took Pete telling her what Miles was threatening to do to the children to do that. She let out a cry, and her hand flew to her mouth. Some of the other mothers in the café glanced at her briefly, then went on with their chatting.
From that moment, her resolve never wavered. It was her who tracked down the address of the storage unit, her who stole the key from Miles’s desk. When we went to look, it was just as she’d said—an old Volkswagen station wagon, the tax many years out of date. There were dents on the bonnet, and a crack in the windscreen where it might have been hit by a flying, tumbling skull.
But it was me, not her or Pete, who drove it to Haydon Gardens the next morning. In my mind, there was never any question about that. Pete had been shocked when I first told him what I was planning. Then he said that, if it had to be done, it should be him. But I knew something like that would have eaten away at him afterward. For me, it’s different.
It was when I was researching Miles’s personality that I began to realize something about myself, something important. Psychopathy is a spectrum, Annette told me: These are traits most people have none of, a few have in abundance, but some have a scattering of—just enough to make them fearless, or lacking in squeamishness, or clearheaded in a crisis. Just enough to make them ruthless, too. When I found the psychopath test online I filled it in out of curiosity, but even before I calculated my score I knew I’d be on a very different part of that spectrum from Pete.
I drove up behind Miles as he got home from his run. The sound, or perhaps some sixth sense, must have alerted him, because he half turned and glimpsed me over his shoulder. For a moment, he kept going—speeded up, in fact, as if he meant to try to outrun me. Then he’d slowed and turned. Facing me. Staring me down, as if his gaze alone might be enough to make me stop.