“I too am interested in ancient cultures. I believe they have a lot to teach us.”
Sarah-Anne relaxed a little as she nodded her assent.
Pause. “Before we begin to speak about what happened that night, can we please see the cellar where the body was found?”
“If you want. It’s down there.”
Sarah-Anne headed back out through the kitchen door, Dakar and Stewart getting up to follow her. She walked a few paces to a small door in the hallway cut into the wood, nestled under the staircase. She opened it, revealing a landing that turned ninety degrees down a flight of steps into darkness. The air that came out had a musty, cold quality to it.
She reached inside and pulled a cord, illuminating a few bald bulbs at the side of the stairs and then a couple in the cellar itself. The light cast was harsh, almost electric.
She took a deep breath. “Daniel’s body was found at the bottom of the stairs.”
Dakar looked towards the bottom of the stairs. “Do you mind, my sister, if we go down?”
“You’re on your own. I haven’t been back down there since that night.”
Dakar nodded, then walked down without any seeming concern, his normal stroll.
Stewart could feel his heart begin to beat faster as he looked at the cold, shadowy steps down to where Daniel’s body had been found, brutally murdered. He didn’t believe in ghosts. At least not in the full light of day. Stewart gulped, and headed down after Dakar, trying to emulate his laidback style.
The other man had reached the bottom and was looking around. The cellar was not large, and the already small space was cut down further by the wooden wine holders around each wall, the bottles quiet and still in their ranks, as if paying homage to the dead.
Dakar crouched down by the foot of the stairs, where the wood was stained red in patches. Stewart stood beside him, staring at the large stain Dakar was crouching beside. There were other, smaller patches here and there. Dakar reached his hand out, almost brushing them, one after another.
Pause. “The knife he was stabbed with. Where was it?”
“Lying beside him.” Sarah-Anne’s tone mirrored the light in the cellar, devoid of warmth or energy. In spite of the small space, there were still shadows everywhere amongst the cold, grey concrete, deepened rather than dispersed by the unforgiving light.
Pause. “And he was stabbed more than once?”
There was hesitation from the top of the stairs, flowing down towards them. Stewart felt himself tense. “Well, yes. The police said he was stabbed in the chest and stomach. But I suppose Tom didn’t tell you it all.”
Dakar and Stewart turned to look up at her.
“One of his wrists had been slit.”
Chapter 13
“A wrist had been slit, my sister?”
They were back at the kitchen table, Stewart gripping the warm mug of tea with both hands. All the little fears and doubts that had sprouted in the bleakness of the cellar had been driven off by the warmth of the kitchen. The tick-tock of the clock felt positively welcoming now.
Sarah-Anne nodded. “Slit and bandaged. But when they found the body, the bandage had been taken off.”
Pause, a long pause. Stewart could see Dakar turning it over in his mind. “So at some point that night someone slit Daniel’s wrist, and then bandaged it, and then the bandage was taken off?”
Sarah-Anne nodded. “Yes. And all of it after dinner. I would have noticed if he’d had the injury or the bandage before that.”
Pause. “Where was the bandage found?”
“Beside the slit wrist. Someone had just cut it off.”
Pause. “And you have no idea why, or where, or when this happened?”
She shook her head.
Pause, nod. “Perhaps we can now see the bedroom where he was attacked?”
She hesitated, staring at Dakar for a few seconds. Then she took a mobile phone out, and made a call. She spoke tersely after a few seconds.
“Hi, Tom. Did you … Oh, you did. What are their names? Yes, Dakar. And you can’t remember the other one, but he’s young and is a trainee at your office. Okay. I …” She paused, then took the phone away from her ear and looked at it, exhaling loudly through her nose. “Oh yes, lovely talking to you too.”
Sarah-Anne slid the phone into a pocket, and looked back at Dakar and Stewart. Stewart smiled shortly, his face sliding back into a grimace.
He’d seen him that morning. That bloody morning! How bloody hard was it to remember someone’s na—
“Daniel’s bedroom. Yes, I’ll show you.” Sarah-Anne spoke abruptly, interrupting Stewart’s thoughts. She stood and, without looking back, headed out of the kitchen to the stairs. Stewart scrambled up to follow her, Dakar arising more slowly.
They walked up the stairs in silence, leading onto a small landing with five doors. They were a uniform varnished brown, in contrast to the white walls and creamy carpet. As Sarah-Anne walked over to one of the doors, she pointed to others. “Spare room,” she said, pointing to the one furthest from the steps, “bathroom, guest bedroom and,” she pointed to a smaller door nearest to the top of the stairs, “closet.” She arrived at the door she had not yet introduced. “This was Daniel’s bedroom. I haven’t been in since the police left.”
Pause. “You have not entered since the police left that night?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been in the en suite, but cleaning that was enough for me. I’ve moved into that bedroom, our guest room. Funnily enough, once someone’s been murdered in a house, you get a lot fewer visitors.” Sarah-Anne’s expression remained grim even at these last words.
Pause. “The police have carried out all their tests in the master bedroom?”
“They told me that they were finished with it and I could go back in if I wanted to.”
Pause, nod. Stewart’s mind whirred in the Dakar pause. Why she was still in the house at all … Dakar asked the question almost as Stewart thought of it.
“You are not moving out?”
“I want to move out of here as soon as possible. But when I spoke to the estate agent she said we’d have to knock fifty thousand off the asking price because of what happened. Apparently people get spooked by these kinds of things. Ridiculous.”
Pause. “You do not believe in ghosts or spirits, my sister?”
Stewart saw Sarah-Anne’s jaw muscles tense. “Just because I believe ancient cultures have something to teach us, Mr Dakar, doesn’t mean I believe in all the spiritual nonsense they contain.”
Pause. Dakar either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the tension. “We heard Russell and Charles were put to bed early. Were they in the guest bedroom?”
Sarah-Anne nodded.
Pause. “May we see that after we have finished in this bedroom?”
“No, Mr Dakar, you cannot.”
Stewart, having already begun to walk towards the master bedroom, faltered in his step. He turned back to Sarah-Anne. She’d crossed her arms and widened her feet, her face set in a scowl.
“I think I’m being accommodating enough. My husband was murdered, the police seem completely unable to find out who did it, I’ve had journalists at my door and now a couple of amateur detectives. You can see Daniel’s bedroom, yes. But the guest bedroom is my bedroom, and you can’t just waltz in.” She was breathing deeply by the time she’d finished.
A long pause from Dakar. Then he nodded. “Of course, my sister. I am grateful you are entertaining us at all. I don’t believe we will be long in Daniel’s bedroom.”
She stared at him for a second longer, then turned and disappeared down the stairs. Dakar opened the door to the bedroom. Stewart was immediately hit by a metallic taste in the stale air.
Dakar walked in, careful to step around the few red discolouration spots that stood out against the carpet, which was the same cream colour as the landing. He put on a pair of transparent gloves as he moved, bending to examine the faded blood splatters.
Stewart walked in after him, l
ooking around the spacious room. The double bed to his left was an ornate wooden structure, with a towering wardrobe just beyond it. Another solid bit of a wood, in the shape of a make-up desk, was directly in front of him. Opposite the door there was a large window. It was in two halves, the top fixed but the bottom part able to slide up and down.
The room felt grim to him. Investigating a murder had sounded exciting. He’d seen those American cop shows, where for some unexplained reason the crime scene technicians investigated the crime rather than the detectives. Those guys had flashbacks and theories all exploding in their heads as soon as they looked at a crime scene.
Stewart didn’t. They just looked like stains to him. He’d have thought it was red wine if he hadn’t known better.
After examining the stains for a minute or so, Dakar stood and walked over to the window. Stewart reluctantly walked over to join him, avoiding the red patches.
The view was over the large garden. It was the typical suburban style, a stone wall separating it from gardens on each sides. It was mainly grass, although various flowers and shrubs were growing around the boundary, sheltered behind the wall. Near to the house the garden met patio, two metres of white paving slabs that ran along the back of the house.
Stewart had had a very similar garden growing up back in Glasgow, minus the plants around the edge. Or maybe there had been plants, but once he and his pals began using the garden as a football pitch and the walls as goals, the plants died off pretty quickly.
Dakar slid the window up with some difficulty and stuck his head out. He put a hand up, beckoning, and Stewart obligingly stuck his head out. The wall had decorative brickwork, bricks slightly sticking out in uniform places, every half metre or so, from the window down to the ground.
Stewart’s grandparent’s house had had something similar. As a child, he’d loved climbing up and down it. As an adult, he felt it was an invitation to burglary.
After a few moments, Dakar pulled his head back inside and looked over the rest of the room. He examined the desk, the bed and the wardrobe, first from the outside and then opened the drawers. Stewart didn’t see what was in them, but apparently Dakar was satisfied.
The man turned and strolled over to the en suite door. The lock was broken, the wood around it splintered. Dakar pushed it and it opened. It contained a shower, sink and toilet, all a sparkling white. There was another door which led directly to the corridor.
Dakar took off his gloves, and put them back in his pocket.
“Shall we go back downstairs and speak with Sarah-Anne, my brother?”
Stewart looked at him, then looked around the en suite one more time. He hadn’t seen much more than he’d been expecting, but then again, maybe that was normal. He nodded.
They left the room, but Dakar paused on the landing, examining the floor. Stewart did the same, although he didn’t know what he was looking for. It was all the same creamy white carpet they’d had in the bedroom, unbroken by any other colour.
“Eh, Dakar, are you looking at anything in particular right now?”
Pause, shake of the head. “I’m checking to see if something isn’t here, my brother.”
Stewart re-ran that sentence in his head, then looked around. There didn’t seem to be anything obviously missing.
“Eh, something that isn’t here?”
Pause. “Yes. Bloodstains.”
Chapter 14
“How long had you and Daniel been sleeping in different rooms?”
“Excuse me?” Sarah-Anne pulled away from Dakar, pulling herself upright, eyebrows raised.
They were back in the kitchen. Stewart once again had a warm mug of tea, Sarah-Anne having filled it up for him. He’d have to watch out, otherwise he’d be in the toilet all day.
He and Dakar sat on one side of the kitchen bar, while Sarah-Anne stood on the other. With the warm tea, it felt more like a chat rather than an interview about a murder. But Stewart had his notebook out, pen at the ready.
Pause. “I asked—”
“Who says we were sleeping in different beds?”
Pause. “You referred to the room as Daniel’s bedroom, my sister. And if you haven’t gone back in since the night he died, when the police finished, then the things you need to live must have already been in another room.”
She waited for a few seconds, then shrugged. “Yes. Well. We had been sleeping apart for a few months.” She sighed, looking down and twisting her wedding ring around her finger.
Pause. “How long had you and Daniel been married?” Dakar spoke gently.
“It would have been ten years in a few months.”
Pause. “How did you meet?”
“In Glasgow. On a march against nuclear subs on the Clyde.” A smile crept onto her face as she spoke.
Pause. “You have a daughter called Sandra?”
The smile seemed to harden now, as her eyes narrowed. “Yes. But that was before I met Daniel. Sandra’s father is an American guy called Chad. Was. He’s dead now.” Her eyes drifted for a second as she spoke. “I was very young at the time, only eighteen. We carried on for about half a year, then I broke it off. Six months later Sandra came along. Chad never met her. Too afraid to, the stupid oaf.”
Pause. “How did Chad die?”
“In a street scuffle with fascists, over in the US. About eight years ago.” She smiled ruefully. “You live by the sword, you die by the sword. Although he was shot.” She took off her glasses and began rubbing them with the scarf which trailed down her neck.
Pause, nod. “I am sorry for any pain you carry, my sister.”
She looked at him, eyes narrowing in a reaction Stewart had seen Dakar get many times when people were trying to work out if he was being genuine.
“You do not get on well with Tom?”
The glasses were replaced, the eyes remaining narrow. “He always disliked me. He felt that Daniel married down. To be fair to Tom, if you care about those kinds of things, then he did. A well-educated private school boy marrying a daft young hippy. But Daniel didn’t think like Tom.”
Pause. “How did Daniel think?”
The skin on her forehead became taut as she frowned, the eyebrows pulling it down as they furrowed together. “He used to know what was important in life. But since he changed …” She drifted off.
“Changed?”
“Oh yes. Daniel ended up quite far away from the man I married, in the end.”
Pause. “What do you mean?”
She waited for a few moments, looking up at the ceiling, before eventually speaking.
“I don’t know. It began about a year ago. At first, I thought it was just a mid-life crisis. He became more morose, quieter. He wouldn’t talk to me. He bought stupid, expensive things, like a Jaguar classic car. I mean, the thing broke down all the time because it was so old, and spare parts were astronomical in price. He would take it out at weekends partying, like he was eighteen or something.” She shook her head. “Recently, it became a lot worse.”
She took off her glasses, rubbing them subconsciously as she thought. She put them back on before she spoke.
“The moroseness and irritation suddenly changed to anger. He became much needier as well, constantly craving attention and showing off, all these kinds of things.”
Pause. “And you have no idea what caused this change, or why it got worse?”
“I have my suspicions as to how it began. But he refused to talk about it.”
Pause. “What do you suspect?”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “My suspicions, Mr Dakar, are my suspicions. I haven’t told them to anyone else. The man I married didn’t deserve speculation when he was alive, and he still doesn’t now he’s dead.”
Pause. “They may be relevant as to why he was murdered, my sister.”
“They’re not.” The answer was brusque.
Pause, nod. Stewart shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but the expression on Dakar’s face remained amiable. “How old was Dani
el?”
“Thirty-four.”
Pause. “And you, my sister?”
“Thirty-six.”
A long pause. Dakar seemed to be calculating, looking off into a corner of the room. At length he spoke again. “How often did Daniel go out at the weekends?”
“Maybe about once a month when it all started. He tried to hide it at first. But over the last few months it happened more and more, and he didn’t seem to care that I knew. At first I asked him about it, where he was, but he just told me to stop nagging him. So eventually I did. Then sometimes, from nothing, he would boast about the crazy things he had been doing, like snorting cocaine and all sorts. Just trying to get attention, of course.”
Pause. “But this only occurred at the weekends?
“Yes. Well, normally. During the last month or so, he headed out at night during the week a couple of times. That was different. I didn’t smell any drink from him, for one. I was in bed by the time he got back, but I think it was about midnight.”
Pause. “Which nights did he head out?”
She hesitated. “I don’t remember the first time exactly. It was a few weeks ago. The second time though …” She took a deep breath. “It was three days before his birthday.”
Pause, nod. “And you had no idea where he went?”
“None. By that point we weren’t sharing much.”
Pause. “My sister, is there any possibility Daniel was having an affair?”
Stewart, scribbling away, held his breath as he looked up at the woman.
She took off her glasses, and rubbed the lenses for a second or two, before putting them back on and giving a smile full of sorrow. “The thought had occurred to me. And he’d certainly begun paying a lot of attention to other woman over the last year. Maybe he was, I don’t know.”
Pause, nod. “How did Tom react to Daniel’s change?”
She sighed. “Tom loved it, of course. He’s not a bad man, Mr Dakar. Daniel abandoned him, or at least that’s how he saw it, and then his wife died. But then Daniel, the one he’d lost to the daft hippy woman, became just like him, practically overnight. Oh yes, Tom loved Daniel after the change. He thought he had got his son back.”
The Price to Pay Page 6
