Page 52 of Dissection of a Murder
“Coke?” Davina frowns, looking confused.
“Cola,” I clarify quickly. “In the kitchen, on the floor?”
My eyes dart around the small kitchenette and I mentally place Jack and Anton in the space.
“That’s why he isn’t saying anything.”
“Why?”
“If there was a struggle between Jack and Anton in the kitchen, Jack wouldn’t have had time to run to the bedroom, get the kettlebell, and whack him over the head with it.”
“He might have done if he felt threatened, for whatever reason.”
“They were in the kitchen. We know Anton picked up a knife at one point because his prints are on it. Even if Jack did run to get the kettlebell, it would have given Anton enough time to get out of the flat—the front door is right next to the kitchen. He was caught completely off guard. Literally didn’t know what hit him.”
She looks at me, waiting for the light bulb, the eureka moment, the breakthrough.
“So, what are you saying?”
I smile at her. “There was someone else here when Anton died. I don’t think Jack did it.”
24
Witness X
Rule #6
Never Lose Your Cool
Kids at schoolused to say they were scared of their fathers when they roared in their faces for doing something wrong. I was the opposite. My dad never, ever shouted at me. Showing anger would be showing weakness.
He was most frightening when he was quiet and calm. When he stared at you with those dark gray eyes and said nothing, because you knew what was coming. You always knew.
“Always be calm, even in the face of intense stress, and don’t ever raise your voice. You must never surrender to anger, as it demonstrates a lack of control and allows others to think they’ve got the upper hand.”
Respond, don’t react.
It was in the first wave of the coronavirus lockdown that things started to go sideways, and I was reminded ofRule #6. I had seen flashes of the darker side of my husband previously, but had ignored them, pushed those moments aside in the hope they would go away, much as I did when I was a little girl around my dad.
The state-forced imprisonment within my own home with thisperson—my husband—meant I had no choice but to face that malevolence every single day.
But just as I’d been taught, I never lost my cool. Even though, on occasions, I allowed him to think I did, because that’s what he needed to believe.
My husband only knows the version of me I’ve allowed him to see. The one I’ve created. It bears no resemblance to who I actually am. He doesn’t know what’s coming.
I had been looking for my escape for a while, and almost had it before that night. It’s funny, really, because before Anton died, I was the absolute happiest I’d been for a very long time. In fact, I’m going to say it’s the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. The seven months before he was killed were the only time I’ve felt real, proper love. Ironically, that’s why it didn’t go to plan. Why I made mistakes.
For the first time in my life, I’d stopped following the rules. Now Anton is dead, and I’m counting on Jack Millman to keep everyone in this sordid story safe.
25
Leila
40 days before trial
The first thingI do after arriving back at chambers from the site visit is look at the photographs taken by the scenes-of-crime officer the night of the murder. True enough, the kettlebell that caused the fatal blow to Anton Smythe’s head is holding the door to the bedroom open as a doorstop. The jury will have full access to these photographs as exhibits in the case and will find the reinstatement of the weight back to its original position following the assault as peculiar.Why not hide it? Why put it back in full view of the police?
After a few hours running errands in the city center, I swing by Sainsbury’s on the way home to pick up ingredients for chicken risotto, one of Julian’s favorite dinners. By the time he arrives home, he’s knackered and walks straight to the fridge for a glass of wine. Loosening his tie, he exhales loudly before taking a drink.
