Page 87

‘Do you? Or do you just want to torture her? “Tell her she deserves every fucking thing she gets.” Do you still believe that?’
‘I want totalkto her.’
‘Twice now you’ve asked about Fin. Did you kill him the same way as Billie?’
The solicitor starts to protest. Locke waves away the interruption. ‘How long are you going to hold me here?’
‘Who did you kill first, Daniel?’
‘Answer my question.’
‘You’re going to court first thing tomorrow morning. Then you’re heading to prison until a trial date is set.’
‘And then I can see her.’
‘If she agrees. Let’s talk about what happened on Friday.’
‘Fuck this,’ Daniel says. ‘We’re finished here.’
3
Monday afternoon, Abraham holds another press conference. In it, he explains that the body discovered on PenleithBeach was Billie Locke’s. When asked about Fin, he confirms that the boy is still missing. They don’t expect to find him alive.
Lucy Locke, he knows, is about to learn the fickle nature of public opinion. Three days ago, she was the tragic mother of two missing children. Since then, she’s become the wife of a self-confessed child-killer. All too often, in cases like these, the partner attracts more vitriol than the perpetrator. The usual questions will be asked: How could she have lived with him all that time without understanding his true nature? How could she have entrusted her children into his care? On social media, in newspaper gossip columns, in bars and coffee shops and school playgrounds, details don’t matter. Those who attack hardest are rewarded with the greatest exposure. Lucy Locke might be in hell right now, but just give this story a few more days to percolate.
The front page of this morning’sSun–MONSTER JUMPED US AS WE SLEPT: pair breaks silence over brutal attack launched by tragic kids’ dad –is a warning of what’s to come. The story features an interview with Gethan Grierson and Adam Crowther, Daniel Locke’s victims at the Glenthorne Hostel for Boys.
If Lucy Locke didn’t know about her husband’s past before, she knows about it by now. Increasingly, Abraham finds himself wondering what else she might know. Ten minutes later he’s back in the interview room.
4
Bee Tavistock stares through him rather than at him, as if her focus is the wall behind his head.
‘I want to thank you for coming in,’ Abraham says. ‘This is a difficult time. For everyone.’
Tavistock nods, listless. Her gaze drifts to the recording equipment. ‘I was never in a police station before.’
‘You’re not in any trouble. But you can imagine, I hope, that we’re trying desperately hard to figure out what happened. You work for Lucy Locke?’
‘She’s my friend.’
‘How would you describe her?’
‘Lucy’s flame burns brightly,’ she says. ‘It warms everyone it touches. That’s not some hippie shit I came up with because we’re close. You ask anyone – they’ll tell you the same thing.’
Abraham thinks of Zacarías Echevarria, from the commune in Spain’s Tabernas Desert. Doubtful the man would agree. ‘Can you walk me through your day on Friday?’ he asks.
Tavistock rubs her bare arms. ‘It started like any other. I arrived at the quay around four thirty a.m.’
‘Why so early?’
‘To survive in a place like Skentel, the Drift Net’s got to be lots of different things to lots of different people. We open around five, depending on the tide. There’s decent business to be had doing coffee and cooked breakfasts for the trawler boys.
‘Harbour was busy Friday. Lot of crews going out earlyto fill their nets or collect their pots one last time before the storm hit. First I knew something was up was when a customer said a yacht had been found drifting. Then people started saying it was theLazy Susan. I couldn’t get Luce on the phone, so I hopped on my scooter and rode up to the house.’
‘What time was this?’
‘We were coming to the end of the lunch rush, so … around two, I guess.’