Page 51 of A Slow Fire Burning

Miriam slipped the dog tag into her pocket and headed out, walking west toward Myerson’s house. If she were to confess anything, it would be to that, the shameful incident with the dog, and if she were to confess it to anyone, then surely it should be to Myerson.He might report her to the police, of course, but something told her he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t want to admit to them how this thing had started. He wouldn’t want to go into detail; it would hurt his pride.

She had convinced herself of all this, reassured herself, certain now that telling him about the dog would be the right thing to do forher—it would have the twin benefits of punishing Myerson while at the same time easing her burden. So, fists determinedly clenched at her side, jaw set firm, she marched up to the steps from the towpath and around the corner to Noel Road, where she came to an abrupt halt.

There he was, at the top of the steps outside his front door, looking furtively this way and that, scanning the pavements anxiously, his eyes meeting hers and widening in sudden astonishment before, flanked by two uniformed police officers, he began to make his way down the steps and into a waiting car.

Off they went. Miriam, her heart beating fit to burst, could scarcely believe her eyes. Had she won? Had some justice been done, at last?

She stood there, so astounded for a moment by what she had witnessed that she almost forgot to feel elated, but then that moment passed, and she felt her confusion giving way to happiness, a smile spreading over her face, and she raised both hands to her mouth and started to laugh. She laughed and laughed, a strange sound even to her own ears.

When she recovered, she noticed that someone was watching her, a man across the street, a little farther down the road. An older man, in a wheelchair, with a shock of white hair on his head. Then he wheeled himself down off the pavement and looked up and down the road as though he were about to cross; Miriam thought for a moment that he was going to come over and talk to her, but a carpulled up, one of those large taxis, and the driver got out and helped the man into the back of the car. The taxi swung out into the road, performing a wide U-turn.

As the car drove past, Miriam’s eyes met those of the man in the car, and all the hair stood up on the back of her neck.

THIRTY-FOUR

Everything is material. And comedy equals tragedy plus time. Isn’t that how it goes? Sitting in a stuffy room faced by two detectives, Theo wondered bitterly just how much time would need to pass before what had happened to him—the death of his child, the subsequent disintegration of his marriage—would become funny. It had been fifteen years since his son died, after all—shouldn’t it be just a little bit funny by now?

Bullshit.

As for everything being material, he was finding it hard to make mental notes of his surroundings, all of his observations turning out to be banal: the room was gray, boxy, it smelled like an office—bad coffee, new furniture. The only sound he could hear was an insidious white-noise hum overlaid with the rather nasal breathing of Detective Chalmers opposite.

In front of him, on the table between him, Chalmers, and Detective Barker, was a knife in a plastic bag. A small knife, with a black wooden handle and a dark substance staining the blade. A smallchef’s knife.Hissmall chef’s knife, not lost in the chaos of the cutlery drawer after all.

When they placed the knife on the table in front of him, Theo’s heart sank with the realization that this was not going to bematerial. This wasn’t going to be a funny story he told later on. It was going to be a very, very long time indeed before this became comedy.

“Do you recognize this, Mr. Myerson?” Detective Chalmers asked him. Theo peered at the knife. Many thoughts came into his head, all of them stupid. He heard himself making a smallhmmmnoise, which was also stupid. No one looked at an object and said, hmmm. They said yes, I recognize that or no, I don’t recognize that, but in this case, the latter course of action was not open to him, because he was well aware that if the police were presenting this knife to him at this moment, they must know he recognized it.

Think fast think fast think fast, Theo thought, which was irritating, because it stopped him from thinking anything other than the wordfast.Think something other than fast, for God’s sake.

The knife was his, and they knew it—they had not connected it to him by accident. So, that was that, wasn’t it? This, Theo thought, is the end. The end of the world as he knew it. And as the song goes, he felt fine. The odd thing was, he actuallydidfeel fine. Well, perhapsfinewas a stretch, but he didn’t feel as bad as he’d expected to feel. Perhaps it was true, what they say—whoever they are—that it’s the hope that kills you. Now that there was no longer any hope, he felt better. Something to do with suspense, he supposed. Suspense is the agonizing thing, isn’t it? Hitchcock knew that. Now the suspense was over, now he knew what was going to happen, he felt shocked and sad, but he also felt relieved.

“It’s mine,” Theo said quietly, still looking at the knife, rather than the detectives. “It belongs to me.”

“Right,” Barker said. “And can you tell us when you last saw this knife?”

Theo took a deep breath. For a moment, he saw himself back in his living room with Irene Barnes, he saw the pictures that Daniel had drawn, the vulgar images of his beautiful wife, the graphic depiction of his little boy’s death, he saw himself rending the pages from the book before throwing them into the fire. He exhaled, slowly. Here we go. “Well,” he said, “it would have been the morning of the tenth.”

“The tenth of March?” Detective Barker gave his colleague the briefest of glances. He leaned forward in his chair. “That would be the morning Daniel Sutherland died?”

Theo rubbed his head with his forefinger. “That’s correct. I threw it away. The knife. Uh... I was going to throw it into the canal, but then I... I saw someone. I thought I saw someone coming along the path, and I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I just threw it into the bushes on the side of the path instead.”

The detectives exchanged another look, longer this time. Detective Barker cocked his head to one side, his lips pressed together. “You threw the knife into the bushes? On the morning of the tenth? So, you’re saying, Mr. Myerson, you’re saying...”

“That I went to Daniel’s boat early that morning, while my wife was still asleep. I... stabbed him. There was blood, of course, a great deal of blood.... I washed it off myself in the boat. Then I left, and I threw the knife into the bushes on the way home. As soon as I got home, I showered. Carla was sleeping. I made coffee for both of us, then I took it to her in bed.”

Detective Barker’s mouth fell open for a moment. He closed it. “Okay.” He looked at his colleague again and Theo thought, though it was quite possible he was imagining things at this point, that he saw Chalmers shake her head, very slightly. “Mr. Myerson, you said earlier that you did not wish to have legal representation herefor this interview, but at this point I’m going to ask you again if you’d like to change your mind? If there is someone you would like us to call, we can do that, or alternatively we can arrange for the duty solicitor here at the station to come in.”

Theo shook his head. The last thing he wanted was a lawyer, someone trying to mitigate outcomes, someone overcomplicating what in the end was a simple thing. “I’m quite all right on my own, thank you.”

Barker read the caution then. He pointed out that Theo had come in willingly, that he had refused legal representation, but that in light of what he had just said, it was clear that a formal caution was needed.

“Mr. Myerson.” Detective Barker was struggling to keep his tone even, Theo could tell—this must, after all, be an exciting moment for a detective. “Just to clarify, you are confessing to the killing of Daniel Sutherland, is that right?”

“That’s correct,” Theo said. “That is correct.” He took a sip of water. Took another deep breath. Here we go again. “My sister-in-law,” Theo said, and then stopped speaking. This was the difficult part, the part he was going to struggle with, the part he didn’t want to say out loud.

“Your sister-in-law?” Chalmers prompted, her face an open book now; she was astonished by what she was hearing. “Angela Sutherland? What about Angela Sutherland?”

“Angela told me, before she died, that my wife, my... Carla, and Daniel were having a relationship.”

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