Part 29 (2/2)

'Didn't the victim steal something of yours?'

'Who told you that?'

He opens his notebook. 'The landlady, Mrs Bowman, made a statement to the police.'

'He took my clock but then he gave it back. I didn't want to get revenge or anything like that, if that's what you mean.'

I won't mention the ball peen hammer.

'What was the cause of death?' I say.

'We don't have a coroner's report yet,' he says, 'that'll take a few weeks.'

'Is that all you can tell me?'

The jackhammer fires up, and he raises his voice, moves his face in close to mine and I can feel the heat of his breath.

'The preliminary report suggests that the cause of death was internal haemorrhaging caused by blunt impact. It appears that the time of death was about 4 a.m. That's all I can say at this stage.'

The jackhammer stops.

'I didn't hit him very hard,' I say.

He makes a note, then puts his notebook in his jacket pocket.

'That's what you keep saying,' he says. 'But I need a clearer picture of what you actually intended. I need to know your state of mind.'

'I wanted to wake him up.'

'Can you be a little more specific?'

I held the wrench in my right hand and struck a blow. I know that. Welkin slept, deep and drunk, and maybe I wanted to get at him while he couldn't move or talk or strike back.

I went to my room and he was still sleeping. I don't think I slept. I think I went straight down to Bridget.

I didn't want him dead.

'I'm not sure if I remember,' I say.

'All right. So, you hit him with a wrench, which you'd taken from your toolkit? When did you get the wrench?'

'I don't know.'

'Did you get it an hour before? Two hours before? Try to remember.'

'I told you. I can't remember.'

He crosses and uncrosses his legs. 'Okay. Did you have the wrench when you went into his room?'

'I think I went back out to get it, but I'm not sure.'

He makes another note.

'Why did he die if I only hit him once?' I say.

'Some heads burst open like grapes,' he says.

He smiles, shows me his big white teeth, straight and neat like white bricks.

I look at him but, as soon as we make eye-contact, he looks away.

'Do you want to tell this story in your formal statement, or do you want to exercise your right to silence? Perhaps wait until your memory begins to serve you a little better?'

He looks at his watch.

'Can I do that?'

'Yes.'

'Silence,' I say. 'I think I'll be silent.'

'Then we're agreed.'

He gets up, goes to the cell door, bangs on the hatch, two times with the side of one fist, twice with the other, and not too hard. He's done this plenty of times before and he'll not risk hurting his hands.

He leaves.

15.

Somebody out in the station's eating fish and chips and the smell of vinegar's making me hungry.

Davies comes back. 'The interview room's not ready yet. There's going to be a delay.'

'How long?'

'Don't know.'

'But my solicitor's here.'

'He'll wait in the office.'

Davies sits on the stool and flicks through his pocket book and yawns with his mouth closed. His eyes water and his nostrils flare.

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