Dakar paused, nodded. “They’ll hold Graham the twelve hours, and then charge him. We must act before he gets charged. Otherwise Malcolm will be in trouble.”
“Malcolm?”
Pause. “DI Thomas. Malky.”
Stewart nodded. Three names for the same person, but they all conjured up radically different images.
“Why would he be in trouble?”
Pause. “When you are in charge of a murder investigation with this much media attention, charging someone with all the fanfare of a press conference only for it all to fall apart can be fatal for your prospects. Particularly if you don’t have any other suspects, but the murderer can only be one of a small number of people.”
“Really? Okay. Hang on though. This is a guy who was threatening to put you in Bar-L – both of us, actually – if you kept on investigating. Why do you care if he messes up?”
Dakar exhaled a deep breath, softly. “He is my brother. And I owe him a great deal.”
“So how long have we got?”
Pause. “Graham was arrested just after 11pm last night. I was informed about it immediately after it happened.”
“DI Thomas told you that?”
Pause. Dakar gently shook his head. “They have scheduled a press conference for eleven to discuss what they are calling a major new development in the case. That gives us … one hour and thirty minutes.”
“And what will we do if we bump into the police and they … talk to us?”
Pause. “We will talk back to them.”
Stewart snorted. But Dakar just looked back at him with the simple look, like he wasn’t joking.
Well, if Dakar was sure, then Stewart could be sure as well. Or at least he could plead ignorance. The judge would probably show him mercy, for being a total muppet. Probably.
“Okay. Where are we off to?”
Pause. “We have to speak with Charles.”
“Charles? Right, okay. Yeah. I saw him last night, actually. He’s still worried about what’s happening.”
As they walked back into the office in silence, the thought which had been trying to get Stewart’s attention hit him between the eyes.
“I still don’t see how convincing DI Thomas to give up on Donaldson is going to help him. I mean, he’ll be left without a suspect then, won’t he?”
Dakar paused, the two of them at the lift, and pushed the button. “I believe I already know who murdered Daniel Mannings.”
Chapter 45
They stood in the lift. Stewart looked at Dakar in shocked silence. The guy just looked ahead, at the inside of the lift doors, neutral expression.
“You know who the murderer is?”
Pause. “I believe so.”
“So you know how Daniel’s body got downstairs?”
Pause. Dakar turned to Stewart. “That part was straightforward. It was much more difficult to work out who slit Daniel’s wrist.”
Dakar broke off as the lift doors opened, and two lawyers stood facing them, chatting away. Stewart knew them a little bit, but not much. One senior associate, one junior. They looked a little oddly at Dakar. The junior associate nodded slightly, to be fair, as the groups passed each other.
Dakar strode along the corridor, his usual stroll replaced under the pressures of time. Stewart waited for him to continue from where he’d stopped, but the man didn’t say anything as they came to Charles’s office. The door was slightly open. Dakar knocked on it.
“Come!” Charles’s voice.
Dakar and Stewart stepped inside. Charles glanced at them, his eyes widening as he saw who it was. Gerald, his officemate, looked at them with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
“Who are you?” Gerald asked.
“Gerald, take a walk.” Charles snapped it at him, but his eyes didn’t leave Dakar and Stewart.
“What? Charles, this is my bloody office as—”
“Now, Gerald!” Charles turned on him with a snarl.
Gerald slowly got up, his eyes like slits as they slid from Dakar and Stewart to Charles. He grabbed his coat and scarf. “I’m going to grab a coffee. I’d ask you if you want something to eat, but it looks like you’ve got plenty of things on your plate at the moment.” He spoke tartly, and slammed the door behind him.
Charles spoke as soon as the door was closed.
“I would appreciate a little warning next time you plan to visit.” He glared at Stewart as he spoke. Stewart just looked back at him blandly, his emotional responses all worn out.
“I feel sorrow for your reaction, my brother.” Dakar said it gently enough, but if he was feeling sorrowful, it didn’t sound like there was a lot there.
Charles’s lip curled up as he looked at the man. “What do you want, anyway?”
Pause. “To ask you some more questions about that evening.”
“I already told you everything.”
Pause. “I have some further questions for you.”
“Look, I really don’t have time.” Charles indicated the paperwork in front of him.
“Neither do we, so I will come to the point. You brought the cocaine that you and Daniel later snorted that evening, didn’t you? You were always the one who brought it?” Dakar’s tone and expression never wavered.
Charles’s expression froze for a second, his eyes bulging, and then a sickly, goblin smile spread across his face. He stood up, the smile expression fixed on his face like a Halloween mask.
“Ah, I see. Yes. Well, that changes matters. Please, sit down, sit down. Take a seat, yes.” Charles walked rather quickly over to the door, opening it and glancing out into the corridor. Then he came back inside, closing the door firmly once again.
“Do any of the partners know?” He spoke urgently, all business.
Pause. “I have not told anyone. If they have learned from any other source, I do not know.”
“Who else would have told them?” Charles rounded on Stewart. “Scott! I swear to God, if you’ve said anything, I mean anything—”
“I haven’t told anyone.” Stewart was surprised by how short his tone was in the face of Charles’ outrage.
“The police may have informed them, my brother.”
Charles looked at Dakar for a second, then he cast his eyes to the side, calculating. “The police. That’s how you know about the cocaine?”
Dakar inclined his head.
“I see. I can’t imagine the police will care all that much. They’re looking for a murderer, after all. I’ll give the officer a call though.”
Pause. “You brought the cocaine, didn’t you?”
Charles shrugged. “What makes you say that?”
Pause. Stewart surreptitiously took out his notepad and pen and began writing.
“My brother, I do not have a lot of time. In just over an hour, an innocent man will be charged with the murder of Daniel Mannings, and a friend of mine will make a career-ending mistake. You brought it, did you not?” Dakar’s tone remained reasonable.
“What makes you think I brought it?”
Pause. A small sigh. “My brother, I am sorry to cause you such fear, but I have no time.” He turned to Stewart. “Do you have Mr Sudgeon’s office number? And I will inform Mr Mannings later about how Charles was supplying his son with cocaine.”
Charles almost leapt out of his seat, his knuckles white as he gripped the arms of the chair. “Jesus Christ! Yes, yes, I brought it, every time. My god.”
Dakar turned back to him. “He was blackmailing you, my brother? Threatening to tell his father that you snorted cocaine, unless you kept on supplying him with more.”
Charles’ eyes went back and forth between Stewart and Dakar, but eventually stopped on Dakar. “I should never have let him have some of my snow that first night.” Charles’ misery burst out of him after having been bottled up for so long.
Pause. “What time in the evening did you take it?”
“During dinner. Daniel gave me the sign, and we both went to the upstairs bathroom. A quick line l
ater and we were both bouncing off the walls. Made the party miles better.”
Dakar sat back at that, quiet for a second, nodding his head. He looked at Charles again. “Daniel spoke to you about Jane and Sandra that night, didn’t he?”
“Yes. He was telling me how good they looked, and that if he wasn’t Sandra’s stepfather, he might … try it on.”
“You disapproved?”
Charles drew back, his eyes wide. “Of course! The girl Jane I understand. She even seemed to be receptive to the idea, to be honest. But there is a line, for God’s sake. Your own stepdaughter!”
“Did you say anything to Daniel, voice your disapproval?”
“Well, no. No. I mean, how could I? His house, and all that. No. I was very polite.”
Long pause. Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Dakar smiled. “Thank you, my brother. I wish you well.”
The sickly smile came back. “Same to you, I’m sure. Will I, ah, be hearing from you again?”
Pause. “Not from me personally, I don’t believe.” Dakar paused again. “From others, I could not say.”
They walked out of his office, down to the lobby and went outside. The storm had not only blown itself out, but in its fury had ripped the sky free of clouds. It remained chilly, but in the sun, where they stood, it was almost warm.
“Dakar?”
Pause. “My brother?”
“Had you finished what you were going to say about Daniel’s wrist?”
Pause. They approached the car. “Asking the wrong question is often the issue with mysteries. Like moths and candles. Everyone asked why moths wanted to fly into a fire and seemingly commit suicide. The wrong question. The right question was how moths navigated. Once it was realised that the moths mistook the flame for the moon, we realised the moths thought they were flying in a straight line by keeping their sun on one side. In fact they flew in a tighter and tighter circle, until they fell into the flame.”
Stewart waited for more to come, but Dakar seemed to have finished speaking.
“And that relates to Mannings’ murder how?”
“The key question, I find, concerns the slitting of Daniel’s wrist. Once you know who slit his wrist, the rest falls into place.”
They arrived at a car. It looked like Dakar’s old one, still shaped like a trainer, but it was black rather than grey.
“New motor?”
Dakar smiled, nodded. “Yes.”
“Something wrong with the old one, was there?”
Pause. “It had become tainted.”
Stewart hesitated himself as Dakar slid into the car. Tainted. Ominous word. Dakar started the car, and pulled away from the kerb.
Stewart frowned as he thought about Daniel’s slit wrist. It was important, no doubt, an aggravating piece of the puzzle. But the major one? The thread that unravelled everything? He stared out the windows as they headed up towards Princes Street, the Lothian Road end. The buildings flashed past, reflections of sunlight lighting up the Edinburgh streets.
He’d promised himself he’d do more than trail around behind Dakar this time. Now was the time. Who slit Daniel’s wrist? Donaldson, of course. Although there didn’t seem to be any reason. And Dakar was convinced it wasn’t Donaldson. So forget him, for now. But no-one else could have done it. They were either outside or comatose. And if that was the case …
“Dakar! Dakar, I know who slit Daniel’s wrist! The only person who could have done it!”
Pause, a smile on Dakar’s face. “Very good, my brother.”
Stewart sat back, satisfied with himself. Nothing else was falling into place, true, but at least he had the first part. And he had the rest of the journey to think about it.
“So where are we off to now?” He checked his watch. Nine forty-five.
“The last post. And then we will see if we can’t stop DI Thomas from bringing his career to an unfortunate end.”
Chapter 46
They drove along in silence, heading back out towards the bypass, in the same direction they had driven over the last couple of days. Stewart looked out the window, running through all the things they’d learned. Nothing occurred to him.
Eventually, looking around, his eyes fell on Dakar’s backpack sitting innocuously on the back seat, the only object in the otherwise tidy car.
“What’s in the bag?”
Pause. “I had to do some shopping this morning, before I came to your firm.”
Stewart nodded, waiting for more, but nothing came.
He wouldn’t take the bait this time though. Instead, another question came to his mind. “Eh, Dakar, Sudgeon told me that Hamish offered to help you on this one, but you turned him down and asked for me. Is that right?”
Pause, long pause. “Yes, my brother.”
“Why?”
“I’m not certain. Perhaps …” Dakar looked over at him for a second. “Perhaps I see myself in you, when I was younger. And I’m interested, then, in how we work together.”
Stewart looked back at him, at this odd Zen guy with his crazy dress sense, and nodded once. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.
Stewart began to recognise the route they were taking, down past Morningside and out towards the bypass again. The sunshine made this part of Edinburgh doubly attractive, the green spaces enjoying a last dose of sunshine before the long winter months. In no time at all they pulled up outside Sarah-Anne Mannings’ house in Colinton.
The car stopped, and Dakar pulled out his phone. He began sending a text. Stewart couldn’t help but see the words and the recipient. It was being sent to one Frank McPherson.
‘My brother, you will find what you are searching for…’
Stewart stared in shock, but suddenly felt his own phone began to ring. He looked away guiltily, and fumbled it out of his pocket. He didn’t recognise the number itself, but he recognised the type of number. His office.
“Stewart Scott.”
“Stewart, my boy, it’s Brian here.”
“Hello, Mr Sudgeon.” Sudgeon’s booming tone, jovial on the surface, had an undercurrent of irritation, a nasty riptide.
“We’ve just had word from Tom. Apparently the police have arrested someone.”
“Oh. Yes. Yes, that’s right, Mr Sudgeon.”
“Stewart, my boy, you don’t sound very surprised to hear that.”
“Eh, well, no, Mr Sudgeon. Dakar told me last night.”
“Last night? Before the party?”
“Oh no, eh, no, Mr Sudgeon. After the party. And, eh—”
“But regardless, you knew this morning that someone had been arrested?”
“Eh, well, yes, Mr Sudgeon.”
“And you didn’t feel the need to mention it when we saw you?”
“Well, sir, we aren’t sure that they’ve got the right person.”
“Stewart! Come now, my boy! Even in this day and age, I presume they still have to have some form of evidence before they arrest someone?”
“Well, yes, sir, that’s true, I suppose, yes. But it’s maybe not quite as simple—”
“Stewart!” Sudgeon roared his name. “It seems perfectly simply. Someone was murdered. The police have made an arrest. Due process will follow.”
“Yes, sir, Mr Sudgeon. I suppose you’re right.”
“Yes, I am. So we can expect you back at the office imminently?”
“Eh, well. Well …” Stewart paused. Dakar had finished with his phone, and now sat and looked at him in silence.
Sudgeon, and Green, and Hamish, and Charles, and then Dakar the night before, and leaving him, and Dakar now, this morning. And Sudgeon’s eyes again, always calculating. And ties. And suits.
“Stewart?”
“Yes, Mr Sudgeon, hello. I lost connection there for a moment. I understand what you’re saying, sir. We just have a few loose ends to clean up, and then I will immediately return to the office. It should be before twelve. I hope that conforms to your expectations.”
“Lo
ose ends? Twelve? That’s …” There was a pause … “almost two hours away! And the police have arrested someone! What possible—”
“Yes, sir. We’ve arrived at our destination. I will have my report ready for you, a final report, as soon as possible.”
“Stewart, I—”
“Goodbye Mr Sudgeon, and thank you.”
Stewart hung up the phone. He was sweating, the beads poking out his forehead.
He’d just hung up on Sudgeon. He’d just hung up on a partner in his firm. A partner. Sudgeon.
He was dead.
Sudgeon would kill him.
His phone jerked again in his hand, vibrating. The same office number again.
“Ready, my brother?”
Stewart’s eyes were torn up and away from his phone, to look into Dakar’s eyes. They were simple, yes, unmoving, but in that depth there was strength. A lot of strength.
Stewart looked down at this phone again. He took a deep breath, wiped his head free of sweat, then pressed the cancel button on the phone firmly. Then he put it on silent, just for good measure, and put it away.
“Ready.”
Chapter 47
They stood in silence outside the door for about thirty seconds, waiting for a response to Dakar’s knock. Stewart’s legs began jogging as his mind screamed, running on pure adrenaline, replaying the moment over and over, each word Stewart had said, imagining Sudgeon’s cold fury at a trainee brushing him off, the revenge he would take.
The door opened, interrupting his thoughts. Sarah-Anne Mannings stood in front of them, her normal clothes overlaid by an apron with the words ‘Best Mum in the World’ scrawled on it.
Her eyebrows rose as she looked at them. “Mr Dakar, Mr Scott. How can I help you?”
“My sister, Graham Donaldson has been arrested for the murder of your husband, Daniel.”
“Graham’s been arrested? Impossible. He couldn’t have killed him.”
“The police are convinced he did it. May we come in, my sister?”
She hesitated. “I’ve got guests right now …”
Pause. Dakar checked his watch. Stewart looked at his as well. Ten ten. Fifty minutes to go before the press conference.
The Price to Pay Page 25
