“And why would I answer any questions of yours?” Craig closed the laptop case, the music abruptly stopping. Any lingering uncertainty in his tone had been replaced by a muscular hostility.
The silence was louder than any drumbeat as Dakar paused. “We are trying to find out who murdered Daniel Mannings.”
“Bucky for you, mate.”
Pause. “You are not interested in a murder that took place in a house when you were there?”
“No.”
Pause. “You did not like Daniel Mannings?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Pause. “My brother …”
“I’m not your bloody brother.” The words fired directly at Dakar as Craig stood up, his head coming down into the hunting position once again.
Pause. Dakar didn’t turn a hair, or at least that’s the way it seemed to Stewart. “You saw Daniel banging on the window?”
“I told the police.”
Pause. “I should like to hear it as well.”
Craig threw his stocky shoulders back. “I could just throw you out. Both of you.” His eyes swept around to encompass Stewart, his paper shield useless in the face of such powerful enmity.
Stewart eyed the door. It was a few feet away. Slamming it in Craig’s face would give them a few extra seconds to escape, of course. Except it wouldn’t, because real life didn’t work like it did in Hollywood.
Bloody Hollywood.
Pause. “My brother, your father is the only one without an alibi at the moment Daniel was killed.”
Craig only hesitated for a split-second, but it was there nevertheless. “So that means he did it?”
Pause. “I don’t know.”
“He didn’t.”
“Then help me find who did.”
Craig rocked backwards at Dakar’s words, a firmness to them that was far harder than Craig’s aggression. Craig managed a glare back, but after a second or two he sat back down on the bed.
“Yeah, I saw the guy banging on the window. He was just hitting it randomly with his fist, looking at something inside the room.”
Pause. “Did you see his face?”
Craig shook his head. “Nut.”
Pause. “How many times did he bang the window?”
“Twice, maybe. Then he disappeared. Everyone went upstairs, so I jogged up after them.”
Pause. “What happened when you ran upstairs?”
“Mum and Jane were there, but there was a bit of queue outside. There was something up with the door, or something. Jane had managed to get inside just as I got there. Mum squeezed through after her, and then got the door open. We had to close it again, to let her get the doorstop out the way. Anyway, after that, mum kind of froze, ’cause there was a knife and blood on the carpet. Jane was going mental looking for Daniel, and pretty soon everyone was going mental. And then it turned out to be some kind of joke. Daniel had told Jane that he was going to give her a special surprise later, or something. So everyone gave up.”
Pause. “You broke down the door to the en suite?”
“Yeah. We all got up there, and people began looking around for Daniel. Mum was just staring at the blood and Jane … Jane was going crazy. Proper loco. She was at the door to the en suite, screaming about how it was locked. She was trying to knock it down herself, and then began shouting at me. So I went over and knocked it down for her.”
Pause. “But no Daniel?”
“Nut. Plenty of blood though. Much more than in the bedroom.”
Pause. “Did you go to the room where Charles and Russell were sleeping?”
“Yeah. Jane ran through there, after the en suite, and began shouting they were dead, so I went through as well. We all did, pretty much. They were fine though. Just totally out of it. Mum did that nail thing to them, and she said they were definitely out of it.”
Pause. “And after the search, you went to the pub?”
“Yeah. Sandra suggested it. She said we’d go and have a look for Daniel, but I think she figured out that Jane wasn’t exactly the flavour of the month with her mum. They had a wee chat, her mum and Jane, and Jane wasn’t too happy when they came back downstairs.”
Pause. “How was Sandra’s mum looking?”
“Like she was going to kill Jane. I stuck by Jane once she came downstairs. Just in case anyone went for her. Well, if Sandra’s mum went for her. Then we headed down the local sharpish.”
Pause. “Jane did not leave your sight after that?”
He shook his head. “Nut. I’ve seen a couple of catfights before, and they’re vicious. Female of the species, and all that.”
Pause. “Did Jane talk to anyone else?”
“Nah. We left pretty much straight off. Well, Sarah-Anne came over to her and gave her her bag, and told her to get out. And that was that.”
Pause. “She did not pick up anything else outside?”
Craig’s eyebrows knitted together. “Outside? Nut.”
Pause. “Did you see anyone pick up anything from the front garden?”
“The front garden?” Craig’s head withdrew slightly, his gaze lingering on Dakar as if Dakar wasn’t quite right in the head. “Nut.”
Pause. “Who all went to the pub?”
“Me, Sandra and Jane. Russell and that nob of a legal guy were both totally out of it.”
Stewart wrote ‘nob of a legal guy [Charles Robbin]’ especially carefully. Something to quote in the report, that one. In spite of Craig’s hostility, Stewart felt himself warming to him a little.
Pause. “What happened when you went to the pub?”
Craig shrugged. “We had some drinks. Water for me. I had an early start the next day. Or at least I thought I did. Nice overtime work, but it got cancelled the next morning. We’d only been there half an hour when Sandra got a phone call from her mum to say they’d found Daniel. We went back, and the police show was in town. My mum had gone off to the hospital by the time we got back, so I cadged a lift back here with the police.”
Pause. “How did you get to the local?”
“We walked. It’s only five minutes.”
Pause. “And when you were outside during the fireworks show, did you notice if anyone went inside the house?”
Craig shook his head. “Nut. I was watching the fireworks. Quite impressive really. The old boy had done a good job. He lost it when Jane let off a couple of bangers though. Thought he was going to go for her, but then everyone was looking over at the window where Daniel was.”
Pause. “Did you see anyone go downstairs or come upstairs while you were looking for Daniel?”
He shook his head. “I was too busy watching Jane go mental, then breaking down doors for her.”
Pause. “Do you remember who was in the main bedroom when you went to break down the door to the en suite?”
Craig looked dubious for a second, then shook his head. “Too busy watching Jane.”
Pause, nod. “Where did you get your tattoo?”
Craig’s eyebrows pulled together, forehead furrowed at this sudden change in subject. He glanced involuntarily down at his arm, where Stewart had seen the half-tattoo earlier. Craig’s sleeve had ridden up now, and Stewart could see the whole thing. It looked like an ‘A’, surrounded by a circle which the ends of the ‘A’ pushed through.
Stewart studied it. He’d seen it before, somewhere. A poster for a film, maybe? The one with Natalie Portman with a shaved head and the guy who’d been Agent Smith in The Matrix.
“Why do you care?” Craig interrupted Stewart’s thoughts, although his words were aimed at Dakar. His tone reassumed the hostility it had had when he’d first encountered Stewart and Dakar. He tugged his sleeve back down.
Pause. “I support what it stands for.”
Craig’s eyes narrowed, but eventually he nodded again. “Local chapter, here in Edinburgh.”
Pause, nod. “You believe your mother was having an affair with Daniel Mannings?”
Craig’s eyebrows pulled together once again. “
Of course she was. Secret little meetings. In this house. This bloody house! Dad’s barely left the bed, and she’s already getting someone else in.” Stewart watched as Craig’s fists curled tight again, his expression becoming uglier.
Stewart looked over at the door. So near, and yet so far.
Pause. “You never saw anything explicit?”
“She’s too bloody smart for that. I caught them once though, here. Came home early from work. They were chatting away happily together, oh yes. Very friendly with each other.”
Pause. “Was that the day you followed Daniel from here?”
Craig drew himself up, throwing his shoulders back. “Yeah, I followed him. I had a nice wee chat with him. He tried to act the hard man, but he was shiteing himself. You can always tell with these bawbag types.” A proud tone appeared in his voice. “Anyhow, I told him to stay away from my mum.”
Pause. “Did he agree?”
Craig laughed, a low, throaty unpleasant sound. “He told me he was going to phone the police. Ha. Arsehole.”
Pause. “Your father was outside the night Daniel died. Do you have any idea why?”
“He’s been trying to show mum how much he loves her. Same thing that night.”
Pause. “He has done similar things previously?”
“Aye. Quite often, to be honest. He’s really trying. But mum’s being a complete cow to him.”
Pause. “Did you know your father was outside?”
“Nut. Otherwise I’d have told him to come down the pub!”
Pause. Stewart caught it, was ready when Dakar looked at him. He went to shake his head, but hesitated. Maybe he should ask something, after all. Show that he was part of the team with Dakar, not just trailing around as a note-taker. That would show Green. Although of course he’d never hear about it. Still, the principle of the thing.
“Eh, Craig,” Stewart studied his notes. The panic welled up in his mind as he realised that he had now started and couldn’t not finish. “Did you, eh, well. Yes. Eh. Actually, did you speak to Daniel at all that evening?”
There. That was a proper question. Right grammar and everything.
The guy looked back at him, with no little hostility, but eventually shook his head. “No. Mum asked me not to. I knew that if I went to have a word, I’d end up having plenty of words. No need to have a square-go.” Craig hesitated. “But I heard him talk all right. Such a …” He trailed off, a dark look on his face.
Stewart looked at Craig, then over at Dakar. Dakar nodded at him.
Stewart turned back to Craig. “Eh, what do you mean that you heard him talk?”
“Daniel was talking to that legal guy, just after dinner. Both of them were killing themselves laughing about how good-looking some women were. And do you know which women Daniel was talking about? Jane, and Sandra. I mean … I can understand Jane. She was giving him the eye all night. But his own step-daughter! I mean, Christ’s sake.” Craig muttered the last words, shaking his head.
Stewart nodded, slowly, and wrote that down. He looked over at Dakar again, but the guy didn’t look like he was going to intervene anytime soon, instead sitting with the gentle smile on his face.
“Right, aye. And did you hear him say anything else?”
Craig shook his head. “Nut. I just caught that part. I didn’t want to listen to any more. Russell began talking to the legal guy, and they ended up having a drinking game, so I went to have a look. They both needed carrying upstairs. The girls took Russell. I carried nobhead. Might have bumped his head a couple of times on the way up. Pure accident, of course.” Craig snorted with satisfaction.
“Okay, thanks for that.” Stewart began making his notes.
“My brother, when you carried Charles and Russell upstairs, did they seem drunk to you?”
“Oh aye. Both of them were totally out of it. They were practically both asleep already. Couldn’t walk or nothing.”
Pause. “One last thing. What were you wearing that night?”
Craig frowned again. “Eh, jeans and a t-shirt. And I had my puffer jacket with me.” He pointed over at a jacket hanging on the back of the door, a dark blue colour.
Nod, pause. “What colour were your jeans and t-shirt?”
“Why the f—” He began, but stopped. “Blue jeans. A black t-shirt. And white Nike trainers, while we’re at it.”
Pause. “Thank you for your time, my brother.” Dakar stood up.
“My paw didn’t do this.”
Dakar looked at Craig steadily for a second, put his hand on his heart, gave his head nod and turned and left. Stewart looked at Craig, who looked back at him. He tried to give a smile, but it came out as a grimace.
When the door finally closed behind him, he realised he was sweating. He wiped it away. They hadn’t been assaulted, that was the main thing.
As they trailed down the steps, Stewart looked at his notes. Only one question mark.
“Eh, Dakar?”
“My brother?”
“Eh, what was that thing about the tattoo?”
Dakar looked at Stewart for a second. “The tattoo is an anarchist one. It seems Craig is a member of the local chapter here.”
Anarchist! Images loomed in Stewart’s mind. Masked people, shouting and screaming, throwing Molotov cocktails and the like at riot police. Protesting at big economic events. And the ‘A’, of course, was the symbol of anarchism.
Stewart nodded. Violence and Craig. Made sense.
They reached the bottom of the stairs, but instead of heading out, Dakar turned and walked back to the kitchen. Stewart followed him automatically.
Martina was still sitting at the table, staring in front of her. She looked up as they came in, and smiled weakly.
“You survived. Congratulations.”
Pause. “Thank you, my sister. I have one more question for you. Did you know your husband was outside the night that Daniel died?”
Martina hesitated, looking torn. “Yes, I did. He phoned me to tell me, and sent me a couple of messages. Telling me he would give me a lift home. He always tried to make it sound normal, like we were still together.” She sighed.
Pause. “Can we see your phone?”
“The police took it. To see the messages for themselves.”
Pause. “But you had no intention of going home with him?”
Martina shook her head vigorously.
Pause. “Did you tell him that? During the phone call, or in a reply to a message?”
Martina looked at Dakar steadily for a second, then shook her head. “I just ignored him. Isn’t that the best way?”
Pause. “Thank you, my sister. I hope we meet again soon.”
Martina nodded, uncertainly, and stood up, showing them to the door. But Stewart stopped on the threshold, and turned to her.
“Eh, Martina?”
She raised her eyebrows, her head turning slightly to the side. “Yes?”
“How do you know that stuff about nails and eyes, to see if people are awake?”
She pulled her scarf around herself. “It is quite incredible, the things we learn, when we go out and experience life.”
Stewart nodded, thanked her and then turned away. He and Dakar walked towards the car, the darkness wrapping itself around them after the door closed behind them. Stewart shivered, and not solely due to the cold.
They got into the car, Stewart noting they’d left the house at seven thirty. Their destination was … He realised he didn’t know. He turned to Dakar, but then stopped before he spoke, his brain working it out. He spoke with a sinking feeling.
“Dakar?”
Dakar turned again, still smiling. “My brother?”
“We’re going to try and find Graham Donaldson, aren’t we?” His tone was resigned.
Pause, smile. “I think he would be the most logical person to interview next.”
Stewart updated his notes fatalistically.
“Do you think he’s as mental as his son?”
Pause. “He will be a
s he is. Guessing in advance won’t change him one way or the other.”
Stewart nodded, and sat back. What Dakar had said was true, of course. But when you had just squeaked away from the son of Satan, and someone said you were off to see their dad, not worrying about it was easier said than done.
Chapter 23
They drove over to the Loanhead address. It was a short drive, no more than 20 minutes along the bypass, the lights of Dakar’s car piercing the darkness. Stewart knew the hilltops of the Pentland Hills dominated the horizon to the south-west, the darkness hiding them at the moment, but that was about it. While he knew inner Edinburgh quite well, around The Meadows, the Old Town, and down into parts of the New Town, out here was terra incognita for him.
The house they stopped in front of was a little cottage, set back from the road. It stood sadly, paint flecking off windows with dirty glass. For some reason it reminded Stewart of an abandoned puppy. A small path led to a blue door through a garden abandoned to nature, the long grass threatening to take back what was once its own. Dakar pressed the bell, producing a buzzing noise. No response. Dakar buzzed again, three or four times.
After a lack of further response, he turned to Stewart. “I doubt Graham will be at his work at this time. I suggest we end here for the evening.”
Stewart nodded again as he checked his watch. It was eight now, and his stomach was reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the sandwich just after he’d got changed. He pulled his coat tighter around him as the wind blew, whatever heat the earth had managed to get during the day whisked away by the jealous air.
The final thing he had to do was write up his report, and fire it off to Sudgeon and Green, then he could put his feet up. He looked at Dakar. He should probably include his thoughts. To show the thoroughness of his work.
“Eh, so, I wouldn’t mind picking your brain on how we’re going so far. What we’ve learned today, that kind of thing.” They headed back out of garden, Stewart trying not to get the sheaves of grass on his long coat.
Dakar stopped outside the car in spite of the air being absolutely Baltic, standing in his creamy white coat. As Stewart waited in the silence, his stomach rumbled so loudly that he automatically clutched it. He looked at Dakar, his face going red. The man smiled.
The Price to Pay Page 12
