DI Thomas shook his head. “Apparently these things aren’t caught unless someone notices that he’s been acting strangely and they get someone in to have a look.”
“How long had it been there?”
“The pathologist guessed it might have started growing a couple of months ago. So whoever our murderer is, they probably didn’t have to go to the trouble. Daniel was on his way out.” DI Thomas tapped the photographs as he spoke.
Dakar sat for a few seconds, then nodded to himself. He turned his attention back to the photographs in front of him.
“Was there much blood on the cellar floor?”
“There were some pools there, yes. Our pathologists think Daniel might still have been alive, even if only barely, when the murderer got him into the cellar. Or it could be because our murderer saw fit to slit Daniel’s wrist as well.”
“Yes,” Dakar said, still looking at the photos. “Then bandage it, then cut it off again. Do we have any ideas about that?”
“You’re not a copper anymore.” DC Lemkin’s words were like a missile, shot directly at Dakar. Stewart’d almost forgotten DC Lemkin was there.
Dakar looked at DC Lemkin, who looked steadily back. There was a few seconds of silence, before DI Thomas spoke. “Boy makes a good point, Seb. No more ‘we’.”
Dakar turned back to DI Thomas, but nodded himself after a few seconds, almost sadly. He turned his attention back to the photographs.
“And there was a knife found down in the cellar as well?”
“Yup. Same thing. A pretty bog standard kitchen knife, wiped clean of prints. There’s a block of them, standing in plain view in the kitchen. Would have taken a second to swipe one for upstairs or downstairs. Or both.”
Dakar nodded, and sat back again. DC Lemkin began sweeping the photographs away.
“I can tell you about the bloodwork as well. We did some on the boys sleeping it off in the guestroom. Russell Fletcher and Charles Robbin. Both of them were pretty adamant in their statements that they’d had blackouts that night, and worse-than-normal hangovers.”
DI Thomas paused, his eyebrows raised as he waited for the guess to come.
“Drugged?”
DI Thomas pointed one finger out at Dakar with one hand, while a finger from the other hand went to his nose. “Oh, that’s a bingo! They both had roughly the same amount. Zopiclone. When mixed with alcohol, it puts you into a deep sleep within an hour. Enough to knock them both out. It’s no wonder they both had a tough morning.”
Dakar nodded, a long pause following. His expression was that of someone having a nice walk who had just found an ugly brick wall in their path.
“Dennis?”
“Nice trick with that.” DI Thomas said it grudgingly. “Looks like it might have been Mr Eleanor who was swiping the prescription forms after all.”
“Someone’s got to have something heavy on you to make you come like a dog when whistled and play as your personal waiter. Daniel must have caught him red-handed one day and kept the thing to blackmail him.”
DI Thomas nodded. “Could be. But he wasn’t the only one with access. Both Martina Donaldson and Sarah-Anne Mannings had been prescribed a drug containing Zopiclone for stress, a few months back. And, of course, Eleanor Lawson can prescribe whatever she wants. Although, at the end of the day, you can get this stuff on the streets.”
Pause, nod. Stewart realised these weren’t the Dakar pauses. These were a policeman’s pauses.
“Oh, one more thing from the bloodwork. Daniel Mannings had cocaine in his system. And, it turns out, so did Charles Robbin.”
Chapter 36
“Charles and Daniel had cocaine in their systems?”
“Aye.”
“Daniel picked up during the dinner, a few folk said.”
DI Thomas nodded again. “Probably off to the toilet for a quick line, make everything more fun.”
Dakar nodded, leaned back. He looked like he was seeing infinity in a random bit of wall, his expression one where the brain is working so hard it’s stopped processing external stimulations. The hands came over and slowly, slowly, slipped over one another. Stewart’s mind raced as soon as he heard Charles mentioned. An associate doing cocaine wasn’t necessarily the biggest news story in the world, but the cops having evidence of it jumped it up the gossip chain significantly. Plus doing it with a partner’s son …
Dakar was back in the present. “When you looked in the guest room … Did you find any booze in there or drugs in there, anything like that?”
DI Thomas shook his head. “Nada. And we asked all the guests as well. The girls swore they didn’t have any booze or drugs with them. Plus Sarah-Anne Mannings said that the guest bedroom wasn’t exactly the place she’d keep the spare drinks and drugs cabinet.”
“That one verbatim?”
“You should have heard the tone she said it in.”
Pause, a calculating expression on Dakar’s face. “And the boys didn’t have any on them when they went upstairs?”
“Sandra actually checked the boys’ pockets before they went in to make sure they didn’t. She said that she’d once put Russell to bed when he seemed pretty far gone, only to find that he’d woken up and got stuck back in a few hours later. So she wanted to make sure.”
A glint of light had appeared on Dakar’s face. “Dennis heading downstairs …”
“Aye. Dennis. He might have been ransacking the place and met Daniel when the guy was trying to slip out, I suppose. A quick fight, a stabbing. But it would have had to have been very quick. He was back upstairs within a couple of minutes. Plenty of folk put him in the guest bedroom. And no blood on him.”
Dakar paused, looking up to the sky, his hands coming up and doing the hand-washing gesture for a second or two. “Yes. But Dennis followed Daniel inside the house when he first went in …?”
DI Thomas looked at him sourly. Dakar met his look evenly.
“Look, you can tell me his explanation, or I can go and ask him. And when he asks why I’m there bothering him, I’ll be sure to let him know the exact reason so he can complain to the chief.”
The sour look turned sourer, but it was accompanied by a grudging shrug. “He first claimed he wanted to talk to him about his threats to leave the business, but I’d guess he really went in to see about that form. Says he went in, couldn’t find him in the kitchen, waited a minute or two to see if he was in the bathroom, and when he didn’t come back, went back outside.”
“What about Daniel’s face? Did he see it at the window?”
DI Thomas shook his head.
Dakar leaned back. “Do we believe him?”
“No more ‘we’, Seb.” The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment. “Anyway, that’s where we are just now. So if Tom Mannings asks, you can tell him we’ve cooperated fully with you and shared everything we’re allowed to.”
Dakar held out a hand across the table, palm down as DI Thomas and DC Lemkin went to get up. Both men stopped.
“There’s something else you have, Malky. Something you’re not telling me. You weren’t all that excited about Dennis. You’ve got someone else in the frame.”
“There’s plenty else, Seb. All I have to give you is the autopsy stuff, and bloodwork. Nothing more. I’ve already helped you out by telling you what Dennis told us.”
Dakar paused, a pregnant pause, his head cocked to the side. DI Thomas turned his head, so he was looking at them almost sideways, his eyes on Dakar. “And there’s something you’re not telling me.”
“We can always trade.”
“You’ve got to be bloody joking.”
“We found some photos at Mannings’s house that your boys and girls missed.”
DI Thomas looked down at him, and Stewart could see the anger in his eyes. Eventually he sat back down, Lemkin beside him, both leaning forward onto the wooden table, which creaked ominously under their combined weight.
“This had better be worth it.”
Dakar turned and began rooting ar
ound in his own bag. DI Thomas’s eyes turned to Stewart, his jaw clenched tight. Stewart put his hands up, and shot his eyes towards Dakar. DI Thomas grudgingly slid his look back over to Dakar.
Dakar pulled out the brown envelope. He pulled out the photographs and laid them across the table. DI Thomas and DC Lemkin studied them.
“Donaldson,” DC Lemkin said, his finger landing on the image of Graham Donaldson standing on the steps of the hotel.
“Outside Hotel Black, if I make no mistake,” DI Thomas agreed. He looked back up at Dakar. “What’s this all about?”
“The desk in Mannings’ garage slides out. That’s where these were, and the prescription pad. And there was a piece of paper with dates and initials on it.” Dakar pulled out the sheet of paper with the writing on it.
DI Thomas glared at Dakar for a second, while DC Lemkin devoured the information on the last sheet Dakar had produced. He looked down at the photo again.
“That blonde isn’t his wife.”
Dakar nodded.
“An affair, then?”
“That is the way it seems.”
“So …” DI Thomas sat back. He spoke slowly, eyes distant, but his face cleared and, of all things, a smile appeared. “Donaldson is playing away from home, on at least a few occasions according to these photographs. Daniel somehow gets wind of it …” His eyes narrowed as he said these last words.
“Martina asked Daniel to follow Graham, and to take photographs.”
DI Thomas slammed his hand down on the table, the thunderclap of noise making Stewart jump. “I knew it! We’ve bloody got him! He finds out Daniel has been following him, getting evidence of the affair. She divorces him, and is going to use the photos in court. And so bye-bye Daniel. I knew it. I bloody knew it was Donaldson!” DI Thomas had turned to DC Lemkin, fist clenched in triumph.
Dakar leaned forward now. “What else have you got, Malky? We both know him being found outside on the night isn’t enough. Even with motive.”
DI Thomas looked at him, slight smile. “He’s also the only one not accounted for when Daniel gets attacked in the house. And he’s got form for these kinds of things. He’s been done for minor assault and BoPs plenty of times.” DI Thomas turned to Stewart. “That’s a breach of the peace to you.” He turned back to Dakar. “Assault to severe injury landed him inside.”
“A long time back though.”
“Leopards don’t change their spots, Dakar. What was it you always said? ‘Past behaviour is the best predictor of future performance’, something like that?”
“Still nowhere near enough. Not even for the fiscal, much less a jury.”
DI Thomas leaned in. “If only you knew, Seb. It’s bloody well the answer.” His smile was one of vicious pleasure as Dakar looked blankly back.
DC Lemkin shifted in his seat. “Malky, didn’t you say you weren’t going to—”
DI Thomas cut him off with one raised hand, but he kept looking at Dakar. “In the spirit of giving, Tommy boy. And schooling our famous Zen boy here. Donaldson was found with a burner phone on him. Only one message, capital letters, sent that night: ‘Front door open. Everyone at fireworks.’ A second burner phone had been dumped in the kitchen bin.”
Stewart’s eyes opened wide as DI Thomas spoke, the man’s glee evident. Dakar still had on his poker face.
“Traces on the second one?”
DI Thomas shook his head, a dismissive look on his face. “None, but it doesn’t matter. We know who it was. Probably can’t nail him, unless one of them spills, but we’ve got a clear path for Donaldson into the house, and therefore to Daniel. And while we don’t have any of Dennis’s fingerprints in the study—”
Dakar’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t have one from Donaldson?”
DI Thomas just smiled. “More than one. He was inside that house, Seb. That very night.”
Chapter 37
DI Thomas let the pause linger, a smile on his lips.
“How do you know they’re from that night?” Dakar asked it guardedly, like a boxer behind his gloves as the blows rained down.
“Sarah-Anne cleaned the whole place before the party, including the study. So it couldn’t have been before. And we got some nice clear ones from all those nice clean surfaces.”
Dakar looked back into the face of DI Thomas’ smile, with nothing left to say.
“You can find out with the rest at the press conference. Lemkin, get the nearest uniforms to go and arrest Donaldson.”
The younger detective nodded and slid quickly out of the booth. DI Thomas sat back, satisfied, then looked down at the table. His smile slowly slipped from his face.
“When did you find these photographs?” His eyes shot between them.
“Yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday morning?” DI Thomas leaned forward, burly forearms on the table. “For Christ’s sake, Dakar, there’s a whole murder room set up! As soon as you found these, you should have been on the blower to me.”
“I wanted to ask Donaldson about them myself.”
“That’s bloody well obstructing the course of justice! You should have brought them straight to us!”
“We both know not giving information to the police is not a crime.”
“You always said it ought to be.”
“I’ve changed.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” DI Thomas spat the last words at him.
DC Lemkin slid back in, his eyes locked on Stewart and Dakar as he heard DI Thomas’ irate tone.
“They’ve had these photos since yesterday morning.”
“Yesterday morning?” DC Lemkin’s outrage imitated that of DI Thomas.
Stewart looked down. He knew they should have given them to the police earlier. Knew it.
“I wanted to speak to Graham Donaldson about them.” Dakar sounded calm in the face of the outrage.
“You were going to show the prime suspect some of the main evidence against him before we’d even had a chance to see it?” DI Thomas shook his head, while DC Lemkin’s face mutated into an expression of disgust. “You’re not a bloody copper anymore, Dakar. Stop acting like one.”
If the blow hit, Dakar didn’t show it. “We found them. If we hadn’t got involved, they’d still be sitting in that garage.”
“Don’t give us it, Dakar. You might have found them this time, but we’d have got them eventually. Once Martina told us that Daniel had been taking pictures for her, we’d have found them.” DI Thomas turned to DC Lemkin. “Lemkin, we’ll want to be speaking to Martina again, find out why she didn’t tell us she’d employed Daniel to follow her husband.”
Lemkin nodded, and pulled out his notebook.
DI Thomas put the photographs away, back in the brown envelope, and gave them over to Lemkin. “We’ll be needing your statements again. Full chain of custody reporting for these. Bloody hell, Seb.”
There was the sound of a phone ringing, and DI Thomas pulled out his mobile.
“Yes, DC Safdar?”
The image of DC Safdar came into Stewart’s mind as there was some speaking on the other end. He felt a little bit happier.
“What? And no-one has any idea where?” DI Thomas’ urgent tone pulled Stewart out of his daydream. “And his house?” A few short words, a clearly annoyed tone. “Yes, all right. I know you’re not an idiot. Post a couple of uniforms on both locations, and make sure everyone is on the lookout. Right. Bye.”
DI Thomas hung up. “One more thing to tick off against Donaldson. The boy’s done a runner. Left work, didn’t say where he was going, just took off. No-one at his house, either. What do you think now, Zen man?”
Dakar just shook his head, but his lips were pulled back in a grimace.
“Ha!” DI Thomas slapped the table again. “So things are now going against the great Dakar, eh? Well, I always said—”
But someone interrupted him, a man approaching the table. A man sporting a worn-out suit, with a ridiculous hat on his head. In the hat was a small, old, notepad. And
on his face was a manic grin.
“So, this is where you’re all hiding!”
Chapter 38
Stewart stared at Frank McPherson for what seemed an eternity, his mouth open. He snapped back into the land of the conscious when DI Thomas’ words cut across him.
“What the hell are you doing here?” DI Thomas’ tone was pure irritation, but Frank’s grin didn’t waver.
“Nice to see you too, Malky! Been a long time. I’m with Dakar now. I had a chat with him the other night. If he gives me stories, I’ll keep schtum about all the terrible shite I know about him.”
DI Thomas and DC Lemkin stared at Frank for a second longer, then swept down to Dakar in an almost synchronised manner. But Dakar was still staring at Frank, his expression once again disbelieving.
“Is that true?” DI Thomas’s tone sounded dangerous to Stewart, his nostrils flared like a wolf about to leap.
Dakar shook his head mutely, his eyes never leaving Frank. He looked like he was seeing the impossible, like Frank was some kind of ghost.
“Come, come, Sebbie my old sweetfruit. You brought me here. From Glasgow, over to the dentist’s place, and then to the police station. Then I came here. I’ve been watching from the bar the entire time.” Frank’s voice struggled to contain his glee.
“What the hell are you playing at, Dakar? Christ, you don’t just bring in any old journalist, you bring in Frank bloody McPherson …” DI Thomas spoke in a low, harsh tone, but even he looked taken aback when Dakar turned and shot him a venomous look in turn.
“I didn’t bring him!” Dakar’s hissed whisper cut across the room.
Frank looked pleased with himself. He took his notepad out of the band running around his hat and opened it, a pencil in his other hand at the ready. “So, Detective Inspector, any comment on how the Mannings’ murder inquiry is going? How about a look at some of those photographs you’ve all been gaping at? That post-mortem set looked interesting and—”
“You’re not making any friends here, Frank.” DI Thomas cut him off.
“Friends? Friends?” The journalist practically spat the word when he said it the second time, notepad and pencil falling to his side. “I know all about friends, Malky. And I know all about leaving people to burn. So. Give me a nice comment, and I’ll leave you alone.” A smile reappeared. “For now.”
The Price to Pay Page 20
