by Reah, Danuta
She ushered him in, and steered him into a huge, airy living room with off-white walls and a white floor that extended through into the kitchen. Chairs and a sofa made splashes of red, floor lamps and table lamps threw pools of light.
He sat back in one of the chairs that managed to be both elegant and exquisitely comfortable. She poured him a glass of wine and sat down opposite him. She raised her glass. ‘To… What shall we toast?’
‘Progress?’
‘To progress.’ They drank. ‘How did you get on with Ian Cathcart?’
‘I think I just made his life more complicated. He needed the information, but he wasn’t pleased.’
In fact, Cathcart had sworn vilely when Will gave him the news. ‘You’re sure?’
‘The expert witness is sure.’
‘So you’re telling me that the sound file on the Haynes video was a fake all along. Why didn’t… Why didn’t FLS spot it?’
He’d avoided saying Ania’s name, avoided direct criticism of her. ‘She got too close to it, I think,’ Will said.
‘Fuck. This is… OK. Thanks for letting me know.’
Sarah circled her finger round the base of her glass. ‘There are implications for Nadifa as well.’
‘Yes.’ The bleak satisfaction of knowing her child’s killer had been brought to account was taken away by this news. Will could see the problems Cathcart was facing. There had been no trace of another killer at the time, and after all these months, any trail that might have been there would be long gone. It was unlikely the case would be solved now, unless the killer struck again.
She changed the subject. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No. I…’ He was never hungry these days. He ate to keep himself alive. ‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Me neither. Wait.’ She went into the kitchen and came back with a dish of small meatballs, lentils and flatbreads. ‘I think we’ve earned something.’
He had been indifferent to food for the past couple of weeks, barely aware of what it was he was putting in his mouth but the spicy, exotic fragrance made him realise how hungry he was and he found himself eating with something like enthusiasm. ‘These are very good,’ he said, when they’d finished.
‘I like to cook. I learned a lot when I was travelling in Asia, and in Africa.’ She cleared the plates away then came back and poured him some more wine. He wasn’t used to being looked after. Elžbieta used to do it sometimes – when she knew he had been working hard, she would encourage him to sit down and put his feet up, then she would bring him a glass of whisky and sit with him while they talked about the day. She would keep the twins with their clamour and their boundless enthusiasms at bay for half an hour until he’d had a chance to relax, then…
He realised he was staring blankly at Sarah, lost in thought. She tilted her head in query. ‘What?’
‘I was thinking you look lovely.’ She was wearing a grey silk blouse and a full black skirt. Her hair was hanging loose.
She smiled as if she knew he wasn’t telling her everything. ‘You don’t have to fight all the time,’ she said. ‘You can put it aside sometimes, just for a while. It doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten.’
He shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he could.
She came across and sat next to him on the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs under her. ‘We missed an opportunity in Scotland,’ she said softly. ‘We could make up for that now.’ She leant forward and her lips brushed lightly across his mouth. ‘You can stay, if you want.’
She was a beautiful woman. There was no reason to walk away. He put his hand behind her head and kissed her.
They drew apart, and she took his hand. As she led him through another door into the hallway, he looked back and saw her shoe lying on the floor, an insubstantial object with a web of fine straps.
Not a shoe for running in.
He would find out what he needed. He would find Ania’s killer. He realised he didn’t care how he did it, and felt a sudden sense of liberation. With Ania’s death, with his work gone, he had nothing left to lose. He could do what he liked.
And then…? He could feel the wheel of his boat under his hands and see the waves foaming as the bow cut through them. He would turn the boat north and sail as far as he could in the spring storms. If he shut down the radar and left no route, then no one would endanger themselves by coming to look for him.
Something dark threatened at the edges of his mind. He pushed it away and turned to Sarah. All he wanted now was this moment of oblivion.
Chapter 65
Dariusz left the cafe. He stopped at the small supermarket on the corner, and used most of his remaining cash to buy a quarter bottle of vodka, then he walked to the university. It was still busy, with groups of students streaming in and out so he walked round the corner to a coffee bar and ordered an espresso. He needed to be alert tonight. What he was planning could be dangerous. He picked up his phone and after a moment’s hesitation, keyed in his father’s number.
‘It’s Dariusz. How are you?’
‘Dariusz! Why haven’t you called before?’ His father sounded anxious.
‘I could ask why you haven’t called me.’ He had to get this out into the open between them. ‘Ania died. You know that.’
His father was silent for a long time. ‘You cared very much about her?’
‘You know I did. We were getting married.’
‘Beata said it would all…’ His father made a sound of self-deprecation. ‘I should know better. You should have brought her to see me, then.’
‘I know.’ He should have. He’d put it off, discouraged by Beata’s hostility and his father’s indifference. He’d allowed the rift between them to grow.
‘There’s something… I….’
‘What is it?’ The uncharacteristic hesitation alarmed him. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I did something I… I should have told you but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.’
‘For God’s sake, Dad, what are you talking about?’
‘She made me feel like a foolish old man,’ his father said with a return to his usual asperity. ‘She left you a message. That night.’
Oh, Jesus. A message from Ania, one he’d never got. ‘Why didn’t you give it me? Why didn’t you tell me? What did she say?’
‘I couldn’t understand her. She kept saying it – accuse, she kept saying tell him it is to accuse someone. It made no sense. I couldn’t…’
The old man had been ill and running a fever. He let his breathing steady. ‘Try and remember, Dad. It could be important.’
‘Beata doesn’t want me to…’
‘I don’t want to know about Beata. I want to know what Ania said.’
‘She said someone was to be accused… I don’t know. I told you, it made no sense. I thought… He’ll talk to her. I can’t understand. I said you would be back in thirty minutes, and she said, Tell him, and then she put the phone down. Like I was a stupid old man. I couldn’t understand her accent. She just said something was to be accused and I was to tell you. And to call her. I told you that.’
His father might have been confused and upset, but he’d kept it to himself all this time. Dariusz could imagine Beata encouraging him: it’s too late now, don’t worry about it, it isn’t important. ‘I can’t talk about it now. I’ll call you – I don’t know. Sometime.’ He cut the call off on his father’s Dareczek… and sat in the dim corner of the coffee bar, oblivious to the people around him, remembering.
If his father had told him, he would have called her back at once. Those few minutes… Would it have made a difference? He’d never know. And Beata, making trouble, stirring things up. He remembered his last phone call with his sister – she’d talked about their father being worried. She must have encouraged the old man to keep quiet, hoping Dariusz would never find out, would forget… He couldn’t forgive her. He couldn’t forgive either of them.
Something is accused? What had she meant? That she was accused? She wouldn
’t have told his father that, wouldn’t have left that message. It must have been something else, something his father had misheard. It had to have been something urgent, something important that couldn’t wait… accused… What could she have said?
He checked his watch. He didn’t have time to puzzle this out now. He needed to go. He walked back through the cold night air to the university where it was quieter now. He went in and made his way to the library. He’d waited here often enough for Ania when she was working late and they had plans to go out in town. He stopped at the drinks dispenser to get a cup of coffee, then found himself a desk at the far side of the room. Here, he could observe people coming in and leaving, but no one could approach him unseen. He was safe here until nine o’clock.
He had come equipped. In one pocket he had the small bottle of vodka he’d just bought. In the other, he had the lock knife he’d carried with him since that night in the cemetery, and he had Ania’s keys, the ones that had been left in his flat. He had keys to all the rooms in this building where she had worked.
He pushed the conversation with his father out of his mind. That was for later. He had to concentrate now.
He went to the shelves where the law books were stacked and found a dictionary and a thesaurus. He could work at the problem here. He also found a journal article on laws relating to downloaded internet material. He put that on the desk beside him with the title visible.
He was pretty sure his stalker was watching him. If he wanted Dariusz out of the way, here was his chance. It’s going to get better, Dariusz promised, as he tipped a generous measure from the vodka bottle into his cup. The fumes reached his nose and he saw a fellow reader glance round in irritation.
He concealed the bottle in his pocket and skimmed down the dictionary entries for ‘accused’. Whatever it was Ania had said seemed to be lost in the maze of his father’s confused mind. He closed the book in frustration and let his gaze wander round the room, drinking the vodka-laced coffee. He couldn’t see anyone watching him, or anyone who turned away or tried to conceal themselves behind a book or periodical, but he was certain the man from the cemetery was there.
There were no familiar faces that he could see, but some of the tables were in shadow and some of the readers had their backs to him. Then shortly after eight, he saw someone he knew. Konstantin Jankowski came into the library, scanned the room without apparently noticing Dariusz, took a book off the shelves and left after getting it stamped out.
Jankowski? Why would it be Jankowski? Dariusz hesitated, but couldn’t decide. Jankowski had a legitimate reason to be here.
He waited until quarter to nine when a man in security uniform came in at the start of his rounds. He recognised Jerzy Pawlak who spotted him and gave him a puzzled look. Dariusz swore under his breath. He didn’t want anything to deter his stalker tonight. He drained the coffee cup and stacked the books on the table in front of him. He pulled on his coat, staggering a bit as he did it. The bleating of the goat attracts the tiger. The man who had observed him earlier saw this and looked disgusted.
He was among the last people to leave the library, walking with the conspicuous care of the drunk. The building was almost deserted now. There were still one or two people drifting along the corridors, but the place was shutting down for the night. The air felt cold as though the heating had been switched off. A cleaner passed him, rattling a trolley with a bucket and an array of brushes.
When he got to the entrance hall, the stairs were empty. As he’d hoped, the caretaker’s booth was deserted. Pawlak would be doing his rounds now, seeing the last stragglers off the premises and locking up. Dariusz took his chance. He ran up the first two flights quickly, relaxing once he was out of sight of the main lobby. He didn’t want to get thrown out by security, but he didn’t want his stalker to miss him either.
He continued up the stairs to the top floor. Up here, it was dark and silent. The door of Jankowski’s office was shut, and there was no gleam of light underneath it. Moving quietly now, he went through the door to the left of the landing and found himself in the narrow corridor that led to the computer room, the classrooms and the small office where Ania had died.
He let himself into the computer room and closed the door behind him. The Yale clicked home. Nothing would happen yet. If anything was going to happen, it would be later, much later, after everyone had left. Until then, Dariusz was alone up here.
He didn’t turn on the lights. He didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone with a legitimate reason to challenge him. He closed the blinds to shield out the glow from the computer monitor, and switched on one of the machines. He turned the sound low – the heavy door would muffle it but he was playing safe now – and took the pen drive out of his pocket. It lay in his hand, an innocuous piece of white plastic. It wasn’t like a book or a film. Its outside gave no hint of its content.
He slipped it into the port and waited for the files to appear on the screen. He opened the video and pressed play.
Again, the camera wobbled and fuzzed, then steadied onto the scene in the basement, the metal shelves lining the walls, the damp making the stone floor shine. Again the child stared at the camera with frightened eyes.
There was a click and the film flickered. A voice spoke off camera. ‘Not... Over here. Like that.’
The child’s head turned to the camera. Her voice. It was quiet, barely above a whisper, the English accented. ‘Please. Please. Listen. Please. I can’t…’ Her lips were quivering and tears were starting to spill out of her eyes. Dariusz wanted to turn away, but he kept watching.
There was the same slight flicker, and the man’s voice spoke again with a feigned enthusiasm that was more chilling than anger. ‘Attagirl! That’s right.’
The screen flickered again and the sound fuzzed then cleared. ‘Great. Great. You’re a star.’
‘I can’t…’ She was crying in earnest now.
‘Star.’ The child tried to choke back her sobs, her eyes enormous as she watched whatever was going on behind the camera. Then the man spoke again, mildly irritated, mildly put out. ‘Look you’d better be quiet. We’re going to get into trouble here. I’m not telling you again.’
She gulped and swallowed. ‘Please. Please. I’m sorry. I can’t…’
The camera steadied and framed the child. Dariusz braced himself. It was coming.
‘Jesus.’ The same tone of mild irritation. ‘You don’t listen, do you?’ Then music played, the sound crackled, the image faded and was gone.
Dariusz stared at the screen. It was the same as the one he had watched before. The files couldn’t have corrupted in the second sending, or not in exactly the same way. This must be it. This must be all there was.
Chapter 66
Will opened his eyes in the darkness of a strange place. The bed was soft and the air smelled faintly of perfume. He lay still as the evening before came back to him.
There was no one in the bed beside him. He became aware of the faint murmur of a voice, almost undetectable beyond the closed door. He lay there, listening. There was just the one voice, speaking, then stopping, then speaking again. Sarah was talking on the phone. He looked at the luminous numbers on the clock. Two thirty-one.
He was wide awake now. He listened as the voice went on and on, just on the edge of hearing, too soft for him to pick up individual words. After about ten minutes, there was silence. He waited. The bedroom door opened, and her shape was outlined in the doorway. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and he watched her as she felt her way across the room and back to the bed. The mattress barely moved as she slipped in beside him.
‘Will?’ It was just a breath of sound in the darkness. He didn’t reply, just muttered something and turned over. He was aware of her watching him, and he made himself breathe evenly and slowly, like someone in deep sleep.
She lay down carefully, and he waited until he felt her relaxing, waited until her breathing became slow and regular, and waited half an hour beyond that, counting off
the time by the faint illumination of the clock.
The moon was bright. He could see her where she lay asleep. Her hair was spread out across the pillow, and as she breathed, there was a faint catch in her throat. Her face looked soft and defenceless, but all he cared about now was the possibility of deceit, the possibility that behind the warmth, she concealed the secrets of his daughter’s death. If she did, and if it was her actions that had taken Ania to that drop, then he swore to himself he would break her neck.
Once he was sure she was asleep, he slid out of bed. The door to the en-suite bathroom was just by the bedroom door. He reached in and switched on the light, pulled the door to, then he went out of the bedroom into the hall, where he had heard her talking.
The phone was on its stand on the side table. It was as simple as that. He took it into the room where they had been the evening before. In the dim glow of the moon, he saw their wine glasses on the coffee table, still half full. Her shoe lay discarded on the floor. This time he let the darkness in and saw another shoe in another place, lying where it had fallen beneath the desk. It had an impossibly high heel and a filigree of fine straps. ‘Not a shoe for running in.’ He looked out onto the street beyond the metal gates. It was silent and empty.
It was easy enough to get the information he wanted. The number she had called was listed, with the name and the time clear to read: JMB, 02.25. He pressed the call button and waited. After a couple of rings, the voice he had been expecting answered. ‘Sarah! Is there a problem?’
Blaise. Sarah had been talking to John Blaise.
‘There’s a problem,’ Will said.
***
Dariusz sat at his desk staring at the blank screen. The video he had just watched was disturbing and horrible. It was a record of fear and intimidation. It carried implications that made his stomach twist with nausea. But nothing happened, nothing to satisfy people who had such tastes, nothing marketable, nothing for a predatory paedophile’s private collection.
