Human Remains

knock at the door came, I was half-inclined not to open it. On a Sunday? It was likely to be some sort of evangelist, or, worse, someone trying to get me to change my energy supplier. I framed my face into a polite but assertive smile, ready to get rid of whoever it was quickly.
    And of course the smile died on my face when I opened the door.
    ‘Colin Friedland? My name is DC Keith Topping; this is my colleague DC Simon Lewis. Can we come in, please?’
    ‘It’s not convenient,’ I said, eyeing them up and down. The younger one – Lewis? – was taller than me and twice as wide – a rugby player if ever I’d seen one. I wanted to ask him if he was front row or back but thought better of it.
    ‘Oh?’ said Lewis. ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘I was just preparing dinner,’ I said.
    ‘I’m afraid it’s rather urgent,’ Topping said.
    What a name. Keith Topping? I’ll bet he was bullied at school; what would they have called him? Dream Topping? Tip-Top?
    After a brief discussion in the house they arrested me and took me out to the police car that was parked just out of sight at the end of the drive. It’s funny that my first thought on their introduction was not that something must have happened to my mother, in her nursing home – I knew immediately why they were there. And it felt like the start of an exciting new chapter. A new game for me to play, with new rules. In the back of the car, my hands uncomfortably cuffed behind me, I was smiling with a delicious anticipation of what was going to happen next.
     
     
    Dumb and dumber, these two. The same two who arrested me. The skinny one now sitting on a comfy chair in the corner and the one built like a prop sitting on a plastic chair, too small for his fat arse, across the table from where I’m sitting, awaiting the best they can do.
    ‘Colin Friedland, you’re aware that you are still under arrest for the murders of Rachelle Hudson, Robin Downley, Shelley Burton, Edward Langton, Dana Viliscevina and Eileen Forbes. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
    I say nothing.
    ‘You have the right to legal representation, as I mentioned before. You’ve said you don’t want a solicitor to be present but I just want to remind you here that you can change your mind about that at any stage. Do you understand?’
    ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I don’t need a solicitor.’
    ‘This interview is being recorded on DVD, Colin. Do you understand everything I’ve said to you so far?’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ I say.
    ‘Right, then. Let’s make a start, shall we? Can you tell me when you first met Rachelle Hudson?’
    I genuinely have to think about that one. They think I’m going to be difficult, I can tell. They’re settled in for the long haul, braced for it like fishermen heading for the North Atlantic. ‘I think it was just after the beginning of February. I don’t recall the exact date.’
    I was expecting them to exchange glances; I can almost feel the surprise like an electric shock between them. They didn’t think it was going to be this easy, did they? And yet they still have no idea of any of it, not really.
    ‘How did you meet?’
    ‘In the country park in Baysbury. She was running. No, actually, she was sitting on a bench – but she had been running. We fell into conversation.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘I could tell she was unhappy. I was trying to make her feel better about herself.’
    ‘Did you ever visit Rachelle Hudson’s home?’
    ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘She invited me in.’
    ‘Just that time, or did you go back there again?’
    ‘I visited her once she had died.’
    There is a brief silence broken only by the electric hum of the DVD recorder. Both of them are staring at me.
    ‘Colin, did you kill Rachelle Hudson?’
    I smile at them. ‘No, of course not. She did that all by herself. I was just there to comfort her, to ensure that she was happy with the decisions she made.’
    There’s another pause while they digest this information and clearly thrash about in their collective tiny minds for a new type of interview strategy, since the direction this one is taking evidently wasn’t in their plan.
    ‘Did you help her to take her own life?’
    ‘No,’ I say.
    ‘Did you touch her in any way?’
    I think about this for a moment, trying to remember. ‘No, I don’t think so. I might have touched her