Last Room

by Reah, Danuta

  ‘We? You mean you. But you weren’t.’

  ‘No. When I got in the next morning – I got there early because I wanted to make sure everything was sorted – no cassette, just a note from her saying she was going to get it authenticated independently so that FLS weren’t open to any more accusations of tampering. She’d taken it to Łódź with her. I was in the shit.’

  ‘So you had to stop her.’

  Karzac nodded. ‘I wiped her system – I had to overwrite all her data. It took hours. I destroyed all her post – I didn’t know what she’d written and I didn’t have time to go through it. Then all I had to do was get the audio tape back. Only…’ His face darkened.

  ‘She spoke to you, didn’t she, from Łódź.’

  ‘I tried to persuade her to send it back. Maybe I overplayed my hand there, maybe that was what first started her thinking. The irony is, she couldn’t have got it authenticated there. Their expert had left.’

  ‘And you’d warned Pawlak. If you went down, he was going to go down too.’

  ‘That wasn’t my fault. I never asked him to... All I wanted was the audio tape. That’s all. You have my word…’

  ‘Which is worth how much, exactly?’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth! I never meant... I know you blame me, but...’

  ‘You let Pawlak loose on her. You knew. You wrote the suicide note, didn’t you, or you gave him the wording for it. I should have realised sooner. She never called me ”daddy,“ not since she was small.’ He released Karzac’s arm. The feel of the man disgusted him. He wanted to be as far away from him as possible. ‘Blame you? Oh, I blame you. Give me one good reason not to kill you, Karzac. One.’

  Karzac sagged against the desk, breathing hard. ‘The tape,’ he said after a moment. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It’s with Cathcart.’

  He saw an expression – he couldn’t quite define it. Relief was the closest he could manage, a smug relief – that flickered across Karzac’s face. Karzac knew. He knew Cathcart had been told to wind the case down, put it in the tombs of the cold cases files. There would be no clamour for an answer to the death of Sagal Akindès. If one monster – Haynes – was released, there was another monster – Nadifa – to hate. Karzac would not have to answer for what he had done. In the end, he would have the protection that had been denied to Sagal Akindès and to Ania.

  ‘But Pawlak told me he’d found it. I paid him.’

  ‘She set up a decoy in case she was being watched – she knew the significance of the audio tape, you see. That’s what he found, and it didn’t take him long to realise he’d been fooled. She didn’t reckon on Pawlak. Even then, she didn’t think you would do that.’

  ‘She knew…’ Karzac slumped in his chair. It would have been simple for Will to deliver the blow, the one that would bring the story to a close. It was what Blaise wanted. It was what he had set up. There’s one more thing you need to know...

  Will didn’t work for him any more. Blaise could do his own dirty work.

  He walked away.

  Chapter 75

  Dariusz was clearing his desk. He was moving clumsily. His left arm was immobilised in a cast and would be for weeks. The orthopaedic surgeon couldn’t promise that his arm would ever fully recover. The bullet had torn the muscles and shattered the bone.

  It was a week after Jerzy Pawlak had fallen to his death from the top floor of the university building and Dariusz had – briefly – been arrested and charged with murder. Mielek could barely conceal his pleasure, but Dariusz wasn’t giving him the opportunity to do anything about it. He resigned.

  He was finished with Łódź. He had to get away if he wanted to put his life back together. He had several job applications out which were already generating interviews. There was one that interested him in Warsaw – he’d always wanted to move back to Warsaw, but he was beginning to wonder if that was far enough. There was an academic post in Birmingham, at the university. They wanted to interview him as well, and sounded very interested. Dariusz’ experience in EU employment law made him versatile and marketable.

  He packed away the last of his books and looked round the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything. There was just the photograph on his desk, of him and Ania the day they had danced on Piotrkowska, a snap taken by a street photographer. He slipped it into his bag.

  ‘Dariusz?’

  He turned round. Krysia was standing in the doorway, looking uncertain.

  ‘I wanted to say goodbye. And I’m sorry. About… You know. Ania.’

  He nodded. The verdict on her death had been changed to manslaughter. Król’s men had investigated again, and they had found a print on the fire escape rail. She had tried to escape from Pawlak by the only route available, trying to scramble across to the fire escape just a few short feet away, but with her damaged hands, she had been unable to grip and she had fallen, Ania, with her fear of heights. ‘She wasn’t going to let him have the information about the tape,’ Gillen said when he told Dariusz what he had found out. ‘It was the only way to stop a paedophile. She trusted me to do that, and I came so close to letting her down.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Thank you for... you know.’

  There was an awkward silence. It had been a series of illusions, of one thing masquerading as another – even the deaths were not clear cut murder, and the truth, Gillen was telling him, would probably never come out. ‘Karzac walks free?’

  ‘For now. Without Ania’s evidence, without Pawlak, the law can’t touch him.’

  ‘Yet.’ Dariusz had his own plans. He might be in the UK soon.

  ‘You won’t do anything.’ Gillen’s voice was suddenly authoritative. ‘Do you think Ania did this to see you in jail for the rest of your life? It’ll be taken care of.’

  ‘Taken care of? You mean he’ll get early retirement and a pension?’

  ‘I mean it will be taken care of.’

  And Dariusz realised, to his surprise, that he trusted Gillen to make certain of that.

  He realised Krysia had been talking. ‘… you again?’

  ‘Sorry? I didn’t…’

  ‘I said, shall I see you again? Maybe we could have a drink. Before you go…’

  ‘No. I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

  She bit her lip. ‘OK.’

  ‘You can make Mielek’s life difficult, if you want. I’d like that.’

  He smiled at her and after a moment she smiled back. ‘I’ll try.’

  He carried the rest of his possessions out to his car. He had a bit of time off before his interviews. He could go and see his family. His father was getting more and more frail. He had barely spoken to Beata since the party. There were some bridges to mend on both sides.

  And then? Anything was possible.

  Chapter 76

  When Will arrived back in St Abbs, he went straight to Jack’s caravan and collected Keeper who greeted him with hysterical joy. ‘She’s been fine,’ Jack said. ‘You OK?’

  ‘I’m OK.’ Will knew that would be the only reference between them to the events of the past few weeks.

  He took stock as he walked back along the cliff path to the village. He’d called Blaise after leaving the FLS building where Karzac still sat at his desk. ‘I won’t do it for you,’ he said.

  There was silence, then Blaise said, ‘That’s your choice. It always has been.’

  ‘Listen to me. Karzac isn’t going to die. He’s going to be exposed for what he is. He’s going to jail. That’s what Ania wanted.’

  ‘My hands are tied, Will. You know that.’

  ‘There’s a way round everything – isn’t that what you used to tell me? That video is still out there – the undoctored version. I want your word you’ll support me, let me search for it – I can find it. And then...’

  There was silence on the other end of the line, then Blaise said, ‘I trust you, Will,’ and Will knew he had, once again, done exactly what Blaise expected him to do.

  And that was enough.
/>   Dariusz Erland was coming to the UK in a couple of weeks. He had an interview in Birmingham. Afterwards, he had promised to come north to St Abbs. He wanted to see the places that were important to Ania, and he seemed to think that they should keep in touch. Maybe he was right.

  Will threw a stick for Keeper and watched her as she vanished into the long grass. Her coat was soaking when she emerged. She’d need a good brush later. He stopped and looked out across the sea. The sun was low and the water reflected the light, the grey turning to silver as the sun set. He had to get the boat ready. The funeral was in a couple of days and he’d need to take her out to do what he had promised. He could see the wake of the boat and the stream of grey ashes falling into the water, dancing on the surface in the turbulence, then sinking away.

  He was almost back at the cottage when his phone rang. He answered it. ‘Will Gillen.’

  It was Sarah Ludlow. They exchanged cautious greetings, then she said, ‘I thought you’d want to know that Nadifa’s going to get leave to remain. Blaise came through. She can stay. And they’ve found out what happened to François. He’s alive. He’s in a camp, but they’re going to try and get him out. It won’t be easy, and it could take some time. Blaise is prepared to say François was working for him. I don’t think it will get him any medals.’

  ‘Blaise will survive.’

  Silence fell between them. ‘I’m sorry,’ Will said, ‘for what I…’

  ‘It’s OK. I understand.’

  She probably did – understood a lot, and forgave a lot.

  There was a lot to be forgiven, a lot to atone for. To do that, he had to live, he had to endure. Just now, it seemed unbearably hard, but he couldn’t let Ania’s courage down by taking any easy ways out.

  He was at his cottage. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. Keeper bounded in ahead of him, and he followed her, picking up the post from the mat, checking the phone, following the familiar routine. ‘I’m back,’ he called into the waiting silence.

  And in the silence, he could sense she trusted him enough to say goodbye.

  Epilogue

  The sky was a clear blue, and the small yard was awash with sunlight. Nadifa turned her face to the warmth and closed her eyes. With the brightness against her lids, she could be walking along the shore at Grand-Bassam where the trees grew through the decaying colonial buildings, and along the beach where she and François used to walk together, before rebellion tore their lives apart.

  The flies started to drone and her eyes flew open.

  The yard was filled with colour. Her friends had brought tubs and pots that had blossomed in the sunlight. Leon was kneeling by a tub of bright blooms that looked too exotic for an English summer. He was digging, his face serious and absorbed. Bees burrowed industriously into the flowers.

  She let her eyes close again, but this time, she was back in Danané, filling a plastic bowl with water. Sagal stood beside her, holding the jug. Her small hands were steady. Nadifa kept her eyes focused on her daughter as the shouting and the gunfire came closer.

  The water kept pouring and pouring.

  And the flies...

  ‘Mama?’

  Leon’s hand tugged at her skirt. He climbed onto her knee and knelt up, looking at her face. One muddy finger traced the tear that had run down her cheek. ‘Mama?’

  She looked into his eyes. They were dark, like Sagal’s, and for a second, she thought her daughter was looking back at her, then it was Leon again, holding out a flower to her. She took it.

  He smiled, and she could see the way his cheeks had plumped out and his eyes had brightened since they left the detention centre. He looked so like François, the way he was when they first met, when he was a young man.

  François was coming back. In a few days, he would be here. She didn’t know what would happen then. She had no inclination for thinking or for making plans. The warmth of the sun was enough.

  Leon slipped off her lap and ran back to his digging.

  She let the quiet of the day close over her, drifting on the murmur of the bees.

  About the Author

  Danuta Reah, who also writes as Carla Banks, made her crime debut in 1999 with ‘Only Darkness’ the rights to which were purchased by Escazal Films. Her novels have been published internationally: USA, Germany, Holland, France, Sweden, Norway, Denmark, Italy, Spain, Finland, Czech Republic. She is married and lives in South Yorkshire with her husband who is an artist. For many years, he has painted the scenes that form a potent backdrop to her South Yorkshire novels.

  She currently works as a lecturer in English Language and Linguistics. She also teaches writing for undergraduate courses and runs writers’ workshops at a range of venues. She has published text books in linguistics as well as crime fiction.

  She is a regular speaker at conferences and literary festivals, and has appeared on radio and television.

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