She was short, but to Stewart seemingly perfectly formed. She had a beautiful face, a small, cute nose accompanied by two large brown eyes. Her skin was darker than Stewart’s, clearly Pakistani or Indian ancestry a couple of generations back. Dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail.
She was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt. Stewart found his eyes drawn to the open collar. Somewhere in the back of his head it struck him as a bit off for a dental receptionist to be dressed that way – normally they had the white coat on, didn’t they? – but the thought came and went.
She put the documents to one side, and cocked her head as she looked at them. “Are you here to see a dentist?”
Even her voice seemed lovely, the words flowing into Stewart’s ears and lighting up his brain.
“Yes. Mrs Lawson. We have an appointment.” Dakar was studying the woman, his eyes narrowed.
“Are you patients?”
Dakar shook his head.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“We’re investigating a crime. And we think Mrs Lawson can help us.”
The woman smiled at them, a small smile full of secrets.
“But the police investigate crimes. And you’re not the police, are you?”
Dakar smiled in turn, the smile an adult gives when a child thinks they’re being clever. “No, my sister. We’re not the police.”
She waited for further information, but Dakar just looked back at her, the two staring at each other. Eventually she broke the silence.
“What did you say your names were? And I’ll go and have a word with my colleagues.”
“I didn’t. But this is Stewart Scott. I’m Sebastian Dakar.”
Stewart smiled at her as well, but the woman’s eyes had opened wide when Dakar said his name.
“You’re Sebastian Dakar?” Dakar nodded once. He didn’t seem surprised by this reaction.
“Let me go and speak with my colleagues. In the other room. Would you mind taking a seat here? I won’t be more than five minutes.” She sounded excited, and Stewart’s smile drooped away. He was already a bit-player in this particular story.
Dakar nodded, took a seat. Stewart did the same, walking slowly over to a chair and lowering himself into it with a sigh.
People forgetting his name and feeling invisible around attractive women whenever they found out who Dakar was … Another day in the life.
The woman disappeared through a room behind the reception door. Stewart cast around the waiting room, looking at the bright glossy magazines that littered the tables, although none of them seemed appealing. Then he looked up at Dakar. The guy had lost the intense look he’d had in the car, his shoulders back. He was even leaning back a little into the seat.
“Eh, Dakar?”
“Yes?”
“Eh, I was wondering, if you didn’t mind of course, but well, I had a wee look at the Billy Crudup thing …”
Silence. Dakar put one hand on top of the other together, then moved one over the other, the wringing action Stewart had seen him do when they’d been talking to Sandra, Jane and Russell.
“Well, I was just wondering … It all looked above board to me, you know. I read about it online. Didn’t look like there were any loose ends or big shakes the defence had at trial, anything that even sniffed of something fishy. So, eh, what was Frank talking about? About someone doing something bad?”
Silence. But it was a silence where Dakar was thinking what to say, not the one where he had nothing to say. He spoke after a few seconds.
“After the conviction, I went out with some people to celebrate. Frank was there as well, and it ended up just him and me. I told him, after a lot of drinking, that some of the evidence that had been found in Billy Crudup’s house, evidence tying him directly to the scene of the crime, hadn’t been there before the police arrived.”
Stewart nodded automatically. Then he stopped nodding as he realised what Dakar was saying.
“The cops planted something?”
“That’s what I told him.” Dakar’s voice was flat, conveying unpleasant but necessary news.
“Christ. Right.”
There was a silence in the room, a heavy one as Stewart looked at Dakar. The man put one hand to his forehead, and began rubbing it.
“If an accusation were to be made, that evidence had been planted, it would lead to a review of the case, of course. And if that accusation were to be found to be true, then Billy Crudup would almost undoubtedly be set free.”
“Right.”
“And, of course, the police officer who allegedly moved the evidence would also most likely be put in jail.”
Stewart nodded, his eyes staring at the floor in a mirror image of Dakar. Christ, this bag of shite was just getting heavier and heavier.
“Who was the officer?”
“Me.”
Stewart sat back, his head hitting the tall seat as if he’d been punched. He gazed at Dakar, silence falling like thick snow and weighing everything down for a minute or two. Dakar kept on looking at the floor. He’d stopped rubbing his forehead. Now he was just holding it.
“And who are Jamie and Sam? Frank said to remember Jamie and Sam, that they’d have revenge too. Are they gangster friends of this guy Crudup? Or from another case?” Stewart leaned forward.
Dakar put his hands together in his lap as he looked at Stewart. He sat very still. “Jamie and Sam are my daughters. Frank was reminding me that Billy Crudup went to jail not because he’d killed the person he hated directly, but rather their child.”
Stewart fell back again, his head smacking the back of the tall seat once more.
“And, eh, well … What you told Frank. About planting the evidence. Is it true?”
Dakar leaned back now, and exhaled deeply. He opened his mouth.
“Well, gentlemen, sorry that took me so long. I’ve just had a little chat with my colleagues, and we’d all like to speak with you together.”
Stewart looked round. The woman had reappeared at the doorway.
Dakar stood up, Stewart hurriedly following suit. The torture in Dakar’s eyes was gone, the narrow, focused determination retaking its place.
“I take it your colleagues don’t want to speak with us here?”
The woman smiled, her eyes glinting in the light. “Oh, you are a sharp one, after all. I wasn’t sure to believe it, in spite of the stories.”
Stewart looked between the woman and Dakar, his eyebrows pulling together as he frowned. He slid his notepad out of his bag. He didn’t know what was happening, but he should at least write it down.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
The woman smiled, or at least the ends of her mouth turned up.
“No, they don’t want to speak to you here. They want to speak to you over at Torphichen.”
Stewart stuck his tongue out as he wrote it all down. He’d never heard of Torphichen.
“Eh sorry, how do you spell that?” Stewart broke in. “Is it another location for the dental practice?”
“No. That would be the police station.”
Stewart looked back up again, his pen freezing mid-word. The woman put her head to one side as she looked back, eyebrows raised in what might have passed for sympathy.
“The police station?”
“Yes.”
Dakar turned to Stewart. “She’s a police officer. CID, I’d guess, given what she’s wearing and that the Daniel Mannings investigation is a murder one. From after my time, though, so I’m presuming just a DC.”
The upturned ends of the mouth again. “DC Safdar. Pleased to meet you both.”
Stewart gaped at her.
“Why are they at the police station? Witness statements must have already been taken from both of them.” Dakar’s hands came up in front of him, open, long fingers outstretched. His face wore a confused expression.
The woman smiled in triumph, waved a finger at Dakar. “No, no, Mr Dakar. I’m not to answer your questions.”
Dakar smiled, and dropped his hands. “This colleague of yours, the one giving the orders. DI Thomas?”
“The very same.”
“We’re under arrest then?”
Stewart rotated his gaping expression towards Dakar.
But the woman shook her head, her lips pouting in mock-sadness. “First thing I asked. But apparently not. I’ve to make it very clear you are not under arrest.”
Stewart managed to get his mouth shut, feeling his heart pounding.
“Then why should we come?”
The woman shrugged as Stewart looked at Dakar with an appalled expression anew. “It’s your choice. DI Thomas told me that it would be to your benefit. You might even get a chance to chat to the dentist and her kept man if you’re very lucky.”
Dakar was nodding until the last words, when he frowned. “Kept man? Dennis? He worked here as the secretary, didn’t he?”
She nodded as she went to gather the documents on the desk. “The usual story with the successful professional employing their young pretty other half, but with the genders flipped. And taking out the young and pretty part.”
Dakar snorted, a smile on his face. “Daniel couldn’t have been a happy bunny over that.”
“No, I gather he wasn’t. And as he was doing the lion’s share of the work, well …” She shrugged again.
“So actually Daniel was keeping Dennis, not Eleanor.”
The woman nodded, amused look on her face as she gathered up the documents. “It’s no wonder he was a bit pissed off.”
“I can’t believe Eleanor wasn’t making enough to keep her own man. As a full-time dentist, surely she could?”
“No, they could only do it because Daniel was bringing in so much. If …” The woman finished putting the documents in the file and trailed off. She whipped round to Dakar, fire burning bright in her eyes.
Stewart looked at Dakar, who stood looking back at her with large eyes, his hands and arms out in front of him in a gesture of innocence. It reminded Stewart of football players who had just crunched into someone, taking both legs and entirely missing the ball, then standing up with protestations of innocence as the referee stormed over.
‘I hardly touched him, ref’. Aye right.
“No more info.” The woman spoke curtly as she snatched up the documents and put them under one arm. She marched past them, towards the exit.
“My apologies. I forgot you weren’t allowed to share.”
Stewart hadn’t thought the woman could look angrier, but somehow she managed.
“I’m also reconsidering my instructions not to arrest you. Let’s go.”
Chapter 33
The police station at Torphichen wasn’t what Stewart had been expecting. He’d never seen the inside of a police station, but he’d imagined a place with hustle and bustle, cops continually bringing in cynical, wearied-looking criminals in cuffs to a soundtrack of anguished howls from those already inside and the rattle of prison bars.
Instead it was a quiet place, like any other public sector office, the only difference being the preponderance of police information posters around the place. In an odd way, the placid, soulless atmosphere was worse than the hectic scene he’d imagined, like a hell being run by bureaucrats.
They’d followed DC Safdar in Dakar’s car, the cop and her male partner leading the way. He was a youngish guy, an eagerness in his eyes that betrayed his inexperience, and all too evident compared to the hooded eyes of DC Safdar. Stewart hadn’t caught his name, not that he’d tried very hard. They had driven into the parking lot, left the car and walked up a ramp to a back door.
They followed DC Safdar down a couple of corridors before she turned into a room, Dakar and Stewart following her in. The male cop had headed off somewhere else with the bag of documents seized from the dentist place, clutching it as if it were precious booty.
The room they entered was small and bare, concrete walls with blue and white lines running around them. The only distinguishing feature was a large piece of blackened glass. DC Safdar and Dakar took up a position in front of it, Stewart hurriedly joining them.
Through the glass, Stewart could see the back of two heads, one blond and one slightly darker. He recognised them immediately as belonging to DC Lemkin and DI Thomas, two cops who he would forever remember after they’d threatened to arrest him for tampering with evidence at Hanover House. DC Lemkin was leaning over a bit of paper, scribbling notes down.
Opposite them sat Eleanor, the same awkwardness about in her real life that he’d seen in the photograph. She truly was a bear of a woman. Her lips were slim, though, pressed together, and she had oddly skinny fingers splayed out on the table in front of her. She reminded Stewart of many of the teachers he’d had in primary school, giant women who had towered above him.
Her face was twisted into a position of outrage as she looked at some sheets of paper in front of her.
DC Safdar leaned over. “They only took them in about ten minutes before you two turned up, so we shouldn’t have …” she began, but then they all heard Eleanor’s voice.
“Are you accusing me?” The words came through loud and clear in their spying place.
“Certainly not, Mrs Lawson. You’re not a suspect. I haven’t even asked any questions about Daniel’s murder yet. I’m just wondering if we’ve somehow misinterpreted these emails.” DI Thomas responded, his voice sounding blasé, bored even. His hand gestured out to the sheets of paper between them.
“Daniel had become a difficult person to work with.”
“We know, Eleanor. We know. You’re not the first person to tell us about Daniel’s personality. We believe you. But you understand, of course, DI Thomas, he has to follow up all lines of enquiry. It’s his job.” DC Lemkin’s tone came through now as he stopped writing for a second, leaning out across the table, one hand outstretched as if he were going to take Eleanor’s hand in his.
Mrs Lawson settled back a little in her seat. “Well, then. I mean, yes. These emails are genuine, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Mrs Lawson, Daniel brought in about two-thirds of your business, didn’t he?” DI Thomas again, his voice straightforward, reasonable.
Mrs Lawson shrugged, her thin lips thinner than before. “Yes. That’s in the accounts. I never tried to hide that.” DC Lemkin began scribbling again.
“In fact, if Daniel were to leave, then you might struggle to stay afloat, financially speaking. That’s what the accounts show as well. All those outgoings, Dennis’s wages, renting those nice rooms in Morningside—”
“We would have been fine.”
“Sure? Because that’s what Daniel was threatening to do, wasn’t it? He was threatening to leave the practice, taking his clients with him.”
“Like I said, Daniel had become difficult to work with.”
“And like I said, there’s no other interpretation of these emails, is there?”
“Should I have my solicitor here?”
DI Thomas sucked in his cheeks with an intake of breath. “That’s a big step, Mrs Lawson. Getting a solicitor. How long can we hold someone before we have to charge them, DC Lemkin?”
“Twelve hours, sir.” DC Lemkin spoke in a resigned voice. “But there’s really no need for that, Eleanor. I think DI Thomas just has a few more questions, and then you can go home.”
She looked at him, slightly suspiciously, then back at DI Thomas. “Just a few more,” the other policeman echoed, holding his hands up in a surrendering motion, but he had a smile on his face.
Stewart suddenly caught a sound, and looked around in his own room. Dakar was whispering to DC Safdar, an appalled expression growing on her face as the words continued.
“No, I won’t!” she replied, also whispering, but fiercely enough to carry across to Stewart.
Dakar whispered something again, and DC Safdar took a deep breath. “Fine!” she whispered again, angrily. She took some paper from Dakar’s hand, glared at him, glared at Stewart, and then turned and marched ou
t of the room.
Stewart watched her go, a miserable expression on his face. Why was it that when women loved Dakar, it was like he was invisible, but as soon as Dakar got into shite, it splattered all over him as well? Stewart looked accusingly over at Dakar, but the man was looking back through the window. He looked like he was enjoying himself.
They heard the tap on the door, and saw DC Safdar go in. She gave DI Thomas two pieces of paper.
“Sorry, sir. I’m told it is very urgent. It’s from the one I radioed in about.”
Stewart could now see DI Thomas’s face in profile, and his expression was very still. He turned and studied the glass, before he turned back to DC Safdar. “Thank you, DC Safdar.”
The woman turned and left. DI Thomas looked at one piece of paper, a square, then placed it face down on the table. Then he read whatever Dakar had written on the second piece of paper. He turned again to the darkened glass, an unreadable expression on his face, and scrunched up the bit of paper and let it fall to the ground. Then he turned back to Mrs Lawson.
DC Safdar had arrived back just in time for the scrunching and dropping of paper. She turned unsympathetically to Dakar.
“Told you.”
Dakar gave her a knowing smile.
“Why didn’t you volunteer these emails, Mrs Lawson?”
“They weren’t relevant.”
“Your business partner, who brings in the majority of the money to your practice, threatens to leave, then turns up dead, and you think it’s not relevant?”
“That’s right.” The conviction in Eleanor’s tone wavered as she replied.
“You argued with Daniel in the lounge, is that right?”
“We had a discussion, yes. I told you. I was trying to convince Daniel to promise to stay, to stop these childish threats of leaving. I also asked him again to stop bullying Dennis at work. Honestly, he was awful to poor Dennis.”
“Did you talk about the prescription sheets that had gone missing?”
Eleanor’s face drew a blank. “The prescription sheets?”
“The ones you claimed were being stolen?”
“Yes, yes, I remember them. But no, we didn’t talk about them. No more have gone missing, not since those children left.”
The Price to Pay Page 18
