“The window was closed!” Sarah-Anne interrupted, but Dakar did not look away from Jane even as he addressed Sarah-Anne.
“No, my sister. Jane closed it all the way. That is why she rushed over there first. She also carried out her part of the plan to create a distraction, allowing you to slip upstairs, by shouting that Charles and Russell were dead.”
Jane looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot, shoulders slumped, as if to say something, but then she looked back down at the mug again.
“And, as we have heard, Jane placed you upstairs with everyone else before everyone gathered in the main bedroom. But she was the only one.”
Dakar indicated the two crumpled police bags he had put on the kitchen bar. “And, the end of your plan that night, she helped you change out of her dress and put on a new, identical dress, before taking and disposing of the dress, gloves and apron you were wearing that evening.”
“No, Mr Dakar, that’s not possible. I was with Jane the entire evening. I would have remembered any time she was helping my mum change clothes.” Sandra spoke. Her voice was trembling, and her eyes moved back and forth between her mother and her adopted sister. She had to wipe away the beginning of tears in her eyes.
Pause. “Were you with them in the en suite, after the search failed to find Daniel’s body?”
“No, I wasn’t. But they were shouting at ea …” Sandra trailed off.
Dakar spoke. “The falling-out between your mother and your sister was always a pretence, concocted some time in advance of Daniel’s birthday party. It continued afterwards, with the fake argument in Glasgow. To try and ensure that no-one would have the two of them working in conjunction.”
Sandra looked at Dakar, then wildly around at Sarah-Anne and Jane. Sarah-Anne closed her eyes, while Jane just kept looking at her mug.
“In the en suite, your mother placed the bloodied dress, apron and gloves in a white bag and gave it to Jane. Jane then left the house as soon as possible, taking advantage of your thought of going to the pub to see if Daniel was there. Craig even told us that your mother gave Jane her bag and told her to get out. On the way there, Jane then dumped it in one of the bins.”
Stewart looked at Jane and Sarah-Anne. The former still sat with the mug in her hands, but now she was turning it, over and over, between her fingers. The latter had bowed her head, eyes still closed, her weight pressing forward onto fists on the breakfast bar.
“Mum, is this true? But why? Why do this?” Sandra voice broke as she spoke, the tears running away from her eyes down and over her cheeks.
Sarah-Anne’s eyes remained closed, but her face creased further, lines appearing on her forehead as if she was in physical pain. She was rocking gently, back and forth.
“I didn’t want you to see him that way.”
“What way?” Sandra cried.
“He had turned into something different, Sandra. He wasn’t Daniel anymore. He wasn’t your father.”
“What do you mean?”
Sarah-Anne remained silent for a few moments, but then another voice cut in. Jane’s voice trembled as she spoke.
“Sis … sis, he had been saying things to me for a while. Comments about how good I was looking, and about what I was wearing. While I was still working in the dentist’s surgery. At first I thought he was just joking, but he kept on. And it got worse.” Jane exhaled after she spoke.
She straightened her shoulders and sat up, finally placing the mug down, then turned to face Sandra.
“I’m sorry, sis. I thought after we left the surgery it would stop. But whenever he came to the flat, he would say things when you couldn’t hear, when you were out of the room. And then, two weeks ago, the time you saw him just leaving the flat, it was worse. He wanted …” She took a deep breath. “He said I should do things for him.” Her voice fell lower. “Sexual things.”
Sandra’s eyes were widening, her mouth gradually opening as if she was watching a horror film.
“And that night, the last time he was in the flat …” Another deep breath. “He said that if I wouldn’t do it for him, he would get you to do it for him. He thought that was hilarious. And so I …” Jane gestured in Sarah-Anne’s direction, “… I phoned mum for help.”
Sandra rocked back in her chair, a dazed look coming into her eyes. Russell pulled her tightly towards him. But she pushed his arm away and turned to look at her mother.
“When Daniel came home, I confronted him with what he had done, telling him it was unacceptable, that his behaviour over the last months had been unacceptable.” Sarah-Anne took up the narrative as Jane looked back down.
Sarah-Anne put one hand to her left shoulder, the tears now streaming down her face. “He hit me. Here. And that was the moment. The moment I knew what had to be done.”
She wiped away the tears, sniffed as she breathed in deeply. “I had been thinking about divorce before that, but at that point, I knew. The man I loved was in there. But so was a monster. I stayed with him so long because I knew Daniel – the Daniel I loved – would be fighting it. But at that moment … I knew he had lost. I had to kill the monster to save the man. Unfortunately the man couldn’t survive the process.”
Sarah-Anne took a deep breath, and turned to Sandra.
“I’m so sorry, Sandra. You’d already lost your biological father. I didn’t want you to know what Daniel had become. I wanted you to remember him as the man he was. The wonderful man. Even if I’d divorced him, he would still have been able to see you and who knows what he might have done? And so I thought if he was murdered in a way where no-one could have done it … You might never learn what he had become.”
Silence settled on the kitchen, broken only by the sobs of Sandra, stifled as she leaned into Russell’s shoulder.
“The change that began about a year ago … A fertility test?” Dakar asked gently.
Sarah-Anne nodded. “You guessed then. Yes, I think so. We had been trying to have another child. He wouldn’t tell me, like I said, but I’d had Sandra already, so I knew that it probably wasn’t me. And whenever I brought it up, he would get very angry. From then on, it was like he had a mid-life crisis but on steroids. The partying, drinking, snorting cocaine, buying all kinds of expensive nonsense.”
Sarah-Anne stopped for a moment, her expression hard, but then she smiled again.
“But he had his lucid moments, when the man I knew and loved reappeared. He told me about Charles, how he was blackmailing him, threatening to go to the police about the cocaine. And how he toyed with Eleanor, threatening to leave the business, and how he could command Dennis to do whatever he wanted. He was so ashamed of himself.”
Dakar nodded, but remained silent.
“But the monster would always reappear.” Sarah-Anne shook her head, her eyes drifting. “Always. And then, a few months ago, it became far worse. He began getting angry, shouting and screaming. His lucid moments disappeared. I don’t know why. I don’t know why it happened.”
Pause. “Daniel had a brain tumour.”
“A what?”
“A brain tumour. They found it post-mortem. It had been growing for a few months, they believe, coinciding with Daniel’s worsening behaviour. It was in his frontal lobe.”
She stood stock still as she stared at him, frozen in time. Even her tears seemed to hold on her cheeks.
“I am told these tumours can destroy a person’s sense of etiquette, and moral decision making. I believe it is that which explains the more extreme behaviour, towards the end. It was nothing you had done, and there was little Daniel could do. It was literally destroying his personality.”
She began blinking more quickly, her eyes roving around the room but not seeing it, instead part of whatever mental calculation she was making.
“So in a way, it wasn’t really Daniel at all …”
Dakar nodded once, and looked down at the ground, his hands clasped in front of him.
“Could he have been treated?” There was a tremble in her voice now, a portent of
the emotional reservoir held in check only by the shakiest of dams.
Pause. “They do not know, my sister. Even if it had been found, quite possibly not.”
“Possibly not …” she murmured, bloodshot eyes drifting away to the side, her thoughts trapped in her own private hell.
Silence enveloped the room, Stewart slowing down his scribbling on the pad to avoid making any sound. Dakar turned to Jane, Sarah-Anne looking like she was in her own private hell.
“Why did you decide to drug Charles and Russell?”
“When I told Daniel about the party, Daniel said he was going to invite Charles. Sarah-Anne had told me about Charles and Daniel doing drugs. I thought it would be good if someone was in the house when Daniel did the thing at the window, to try and confuse things a bit. And if he was drugged, I thought that would be fittingly ironic. So I took some of the Zopiclone that Sarah-Anne had, and used that. It seemed to fit the bill.” Jane turned to Russell. “You, you idiot, got it by accident. It was in his beer. Then you started drinking the same stuff for the drinking game. I told you not to.”
Russell managed a raising of the eyebrows in acknowledgement, looking like the rest of his energy had been sucked away.
Pause, nod. “And why was Daniel’s bandage taken off?”
“Curiosity.” Sarah-Anne smiled as she rejoined the conversation, but it was a gesture full of sorrow. “I hadn’t been upstairs, and had no idea about the blood show Daniel had put on. Suddenly he had this bandage across his wrist that he hadn’t had before. I ran down the stairs and cut it off quickly, just to see what had happened. Then I dropped the knife and headed upstairs. When I saw the blood, I realised what he had done.”
She looked gaunt, her cheeks pale, but somehow noble as well, drawing herself up to her full height, like a French aristocrat about to meet the guillotine.
“Always a price to pay, eh, Mr Dakar?”
Pause. “Indeed, my sister. There is always a price, and someone has to pay. And it cannot be Graham Donaldson.” Dakar spoke gently. He paused again, longer this time. “Not everyone needs to pay it, however.”
Sarah-Anne looked at him for a second, before the light of understanding came into her eyes. She leaned forward, deliberately and slowly. “You would do that?”
Pause. “I would.”
“What are you talking about?” Jane stood up, putting the mug firmly down on the table.
“Your mother murdered him, my sister, in the physical sense.”
Sarah-Anne turned to Jane. “Yes. Yes, I did. He was my husband. This is my responsibility.”
“Mum, we’ll …” Jane began, but stopped under her stern look. Sarah-Anne’s severity slowly melted away as she looked at her.
“You two will have to look after each other.”
Jane looked over at Sandra, who sat huddled into Russell. Her face was white, her nose and eyes competing for how much liquid they could produce.
“She helped kill my father.” Sandra sniffed as she pointed over at Jane.
Sarah-Anne lifted her hands and brought them down, face down, onto the surface. The thunderclap it produced made Stewart jolt in his seat.
“Your father was already dead, Sandra. He was already gone. I know it’s hard, and you’re getting all this at once, but that’s the way it was. I killed a monster. A monster who wanted you to give him sexual favours.” Sarah-Anne’s voice was uncompromising, but softened as she continued. “I know you’re upset, my darling. And we should have told you. Jane wanted to tell you, actually. It was my decision not to. I wanted you to remember Daniel as a good father. But everything Jane did, she did because I asked her to. And it’s only right that I should pay for that. But only me.”
Sandra looked at her in silence, her lips trembling.
“I need to know you will be there for your sister. Your sister, Sandra. The only one you’ve got. And you’re the only one she has.”
The tears were flowing now as Sandra looked around at Jane. Jane’s own expression was a wretched one, fully exposed between the rock and the hard place where she found herself. After a few moments, Sandra turned and buried her head back into Russell’s shoulder.
Sarah-Anne took a deep breath, then turned back to Dakar. He looked down at his watch, and Stewart did the same. Ten thirty-five. “A friend of mine will be here shortly. He will take down your confession.”
“And what do I tell him?”
Pause. “Your confession.”
Sarah-Anne hesitated. “But how was it done? Mechanically, I mean? If it was just me, how did I do it?”
Pause. Different though. No, hesitation. Dakar looked slightly confused, as if this thought had just occurred to him. “So long as you plead guilty, it won’t be challenged in court.”
“Yes, I understand that. But what do I tell your friend who is coming now?”
Hesitation again from Dakar. He put up one hand. “A moment, my sister.”
But the moment stretched out into ten seconds, then twenty seconds, then thirty seconds as all eyes rested on Dakar. His forehead was creased as he looked at the ground, mouth slightly open, teeth together.
“Eh …?” Stewart raised his hand.
Everyone turned to him.
“I got an idea.”
Chapter 51
The doorbell rang.
“My brother, could you go and let my friend in? He will undoubtedly be accompanied by some of his colleagues.”
Stewart, the excitement coursing through him after he’d explained his idea and how it would all work, felt infected by a sour feeling. He’d forgotten all about Frank. It seemed very, very wrong now, to have him come in and taint the place with his presence. And also, well, it was ten forty. Not a lot of time to get in touch with DI Thomas and stop him from announcing the charges against Donaldson.
Stewart sighed heavily as he turned and tramped towards the front door.
Well, Dakar had his own price to pay. And at least the story Frank would put out would only snare Sarah-Anne. Jane would get away. And maybe, in the end, it was the right thing to put Frank back on track. Maybe. But then, maybe not. Maybe Dakar was just afraid.
Colleagues. Well, that meant a TV camera, maybe some more reporters. He hoped Frank wouldn’t milk it. Just get his info, a shot or two, and then leave.
Stewart paused as he got to the front door, and took a deep breath. He had no idea what to do. Just Frank, smiling manically? A microphone shoved in his face with questions, a video camera behind it?
He had thought Dakar had got his Zen back today, that he’d found that peace he always seemed to have until Frank had appeared and upset it.
Guess you should never meet your heroes.
He yanked the front door open.
DI Thomas and DC Lemkin stood outside. Both of them looked furious, although DI Thomas’s face contorted into a twisted smile when he saw Stewart.
“Ah, Stewart Scott,” he said, his tone almost ironic in the face of Stewart’s astonishment. “I should have known. You’re under arrest for attempting to pervert the course of justice.”
Chapter 52
Stewart looked at DI Thomas stupidly. DC Lemkin reached out and took his unresisting hands, cuffing them to front. Stewart looked down at his hands with the same stupid expression, then back up.
“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do say can be used against you in a court of law.” DI Thomas continued laconically. “You have the right to a solicitor …” he paused, and made a show of looking around, “… although it looks like you’re the only one around here just now. And you have the right to have someone informed of your arrest. So we’ll be sure to tell your mother.”
Stewart continued to look at him blankly. It felt like his brain was juddering, like a CD player trying and failing to read a scratched CD.
“Where’s Dakar?”
Stewart’s brain eventually kicked back into gear. Saz floated into his mind. A drunken night out, and she’d kept telling him, no matter the situation, no matter h
ow friendly the police sounded, if they ever asked you a question, anything, the answer was always …
“No comment?”
DI Thomas lunged forward and grabbed Stewart’s shirt with one hand, pulling him close, the fury flowing out from him. Then he took a deep breath, let go, and put his hand on Stewart’s shoulder instead, patting the wrinkles he’d made back out.
“Look, I don’t have much time. Any time. I’m not here for you. These …” he tapped the handcuffs, “… are to make sure you don’t run off. Now, where the hell is Dakar?”
Stewart looked at the irritation on the faces of the cops, and then turned back towards the hall. He tried to raise one arm, and ended up raising both of them, to point towards the kitchen. The cops barged past him without a further word, marching down the corridor.
Stewart looked back outside, but couldn’t see anyone. He closed the door, and then headed back towards the kitchen, slowly, feeling each step as he did so. He cautiously tested the handcuffs. They were solid, all right. Real, proper handcuffs, bracelets of metal around his wrists.
Arrested. He’d been arrested. That was it, then. Done. He’d probably become homeless and end up begging on the streets. Or in prison, in one of those chain gangs. If they still existed.
Stewart stumbled into the kitchen just after DI Thomas and DC Lemkin.
“Good morning, Mrs Mannings. I’m sorry we’re bothering you,” DI Thomas said. “DC Lemkin, please arrest Dakar. Let’s make sure they’re finished with this investigation.”
Stewart had never seen anyone look as satisfied in their work as DC Lemkin as he walked over to Dakar.
“Sebastian Dakar, you are under arrest for attempting to pervert the course of justice. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to a solicitor, although …” Lemkin turned and looked at Stewart, a smile on his face, “… the only one present is also under arrest so it might take a while. And you have the right to have another person informed of your arrest.”
The Price to Pay Page 27
