by Welfare, Sue
‘I’m sure that’s not true.’
Sarah reddened. ‘I’m sorry, Ryan didn’t tell me your real name?’
‘So sorry, it’s Mustapha Sid Ahmed.’ He stepped back towards her and held out a hand. His skin was smooth and cool and dry as parchment. He smiled. ‘I appreciate it’s a bit of a mouthful. Woody is easier. Most people call me Woody.’
‘And you prefer it? I mean I don’t mind what you’re called…’
He nodded.
‘Okay. How long have you been in the UK? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘No, not at all. Just over a year.’
‘Your English is fabulous.’
He grinned. ‘Too much TV I’m afraid. And of course it’s the language of commerce and my parents both studied in the UK; my father is a complete Anglophile. He’s very envious that I’m over here.’
Sarah
A uniformed female constable is standing just inside the door to the interview room. She looks bored. She makes a point of not meeting my gaze when I look at her. The detective makes a note of the time on a form in front of him.
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened, Sarah?’ he says. His tone is conspiratorial and gentle, as if I’m a child. ‘Just tell me in your own words. We can take as long as you want. All right? I just need to make sure that you understand that these are very serious charges.’
‘Yes. I understand,’ I said.
He smiles, as if I have done something clever.
They’ve taken all my clothes away and given me a paper jump suit but I was so cold, my teeth chattering, that in the end they found me a tracksuit and a pair of canvas beach shoes. Everything is far too big; my feet keep slipping out of the shoes, making me shuffle like an old lady.
‘You’re sure, Sarah?’
I nod.
‘Can you say yes or no for the benefit of the tape, please?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I understand that these are very serious charges.’
‘Good,’ he says, moving his chair in a little closer and indicating that I should do the same. He has a manila file alongside him. It’s open. ‘And are you sure you don’t want a solicitor? We can arrange for someone to represent you if you want.’
‘No, I’m fine.’ I say. Which is a stupid thing to say because I am anything but fine.
The chair is heavier than I expected and scrapes across the floor as I try to lift it.
‘So, are you okay?’ he asks, when I’m settled.
I nod.
‘Good.’ He slides a photograph across the table towards me.
‘When did you first meet this man?’ the detective asks.
‘When my brother, Ryan, brought him home.’
‘And he needed a room?’
‘Yes, his name is Mustapha Sid Ahmed. Although we always called him Woody.’
He nods and hands me another photograph. ‘And what about this man?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know who that is,’ I said.
I’m hoping that the detective will believe me and then it occurs to me that I don’t really care anymore what he believes or understands, or even, really, what happens to me now, because it is finally all over and, and he is dead, and I am free, and nothing can touch me now, and nothing can be worse than where I’ve been. Nothing. But that doesn’t stop the detective from talking because he doesn’t know that I know.
‘How did Mustapha Sid Ahmed, Woody, seem when you first met him, Sarah?’
‘He just seemed pleasant. Personable. Interested in me.’
‘In a flirtatious way?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘But he was an attractive man?’
‘Yes, but he asked me questions about me and my life, work and stuff. It felt more like he was just being friendly rather than coming on to me. He struck me as someone who was naturally quiet, studious.’
‘So what did Woody do after you had shown him around?’
‘We agreed that he would rent the attic room and he asked if he could move in straight away.’
‘And you said yes?’
‘I didn’t really see any reason not to.’
‘You didn’t think it was strange?’
‘No, not really. He seemed plausible, and he said he had the references for the place he was currently renting. And he kept saying that he was nervous.’
‘Nervous? Nervous about what? Did he explain?’
‘Yes, although he wasn’t really specific just that he was afraid of someone at the house where he was living and the sooner he could move out the better.’
‘Did he mention Farouk at this stage?’
‘He didn’t mention anyone. He just kept saying that he wanted to move out as soon as possible and that he could bring the money round later that afternoon.’
‘And you needed the money?’
‘Yes, I needed the money. Money’s always been tight even when Mum was alive. And then when she died she left Ryan and me the house, but it’s in trust until Ryan is twenty-five. I know she meant well but it’s made things really hard. We couldn’t sell it. We couldn’t let it. It’s lovely but it was a bit of a millstone at times. The last few months, before we decided to take in lodgers, things had been really tough. We had to try and find a way to make the place pay for itself.’
‘When you say “we”?’
‘Ryan and I, although I suppose I mean me really. Ryan’s the kind of person who can just stick his head in the sand and ignore things.’
‘Have you any idea why your mother tied the house up like that?’
‘Ryan has always been a bit of a handful, especially after Dad died, and I think she was hoping that having a proper home, somewhere to live, a base, would make it easier for him, that, and not getting his hands on a chunk of money till he was a bit older and he was mature enough to use it sensibly if we decided to sell it.’
‘But that tied you up too?’
‘Yes, but it’s a big house and it wasn’t for ever. We’ve got plenty of room. And I love Cambridge. It’s such a beautiful city, and there’s plenty of work here.’
‘But you had to give up your course, your life?’
‘I’m not saying it wasn’t hard but it was the right thing to do. I’m glad I did it. And I thought that I could always go back. Like I said, it wasn’t for ever.’
‘And what about Ryan?’
‘For him too, but he has always had a problem sticking to things. Anyway, Mum thought it would be better for him if he had a proper base, some roots.’
‘So Ryan shared the house with you?’
‘No, not exactly. He had the basement flat. Mum had had it converted before she got sick. She planned to let it out as a way of making some money or to live in the flat herself and rent out the house. I mean I could see that it made sense. Her pension she used to say, but then, when she died, Ryan thought it would be better if he lived down there. So that he could be independent.’
‘But he still came up into the main house?’
‘Yes, he was always in and out. He still saw it as his home.’
‘And you didn’t object to that?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘Well, yes and no. Sometimes. It’s a big place for just me on my own, but he used it like a hotel. Letting his friends come round, letting them stay over. We’re always falling out about keeping it tidy; he just leaves stuff all over the place and I work full time.’
‘Remind me what you do again?’
‘I work at Fuller’s Nursery out on the St Neots Road, and then I do a couple of nights a week at Vincentis on the market square, sometimes as a waitress, sometimes in the kitchen, depends what they need.’
‘Always busy?’
‘I suppose so, but someone has got to keep on top of the bills. I don’t mind doing my share but sometimes it feels like I’m doing it all, I am always tired.’
‘And what about Ryan?’
‘He picked up an odd day here and there, but nothing regular. It makes things h
ard if you can’t be sure how much money is coming in. I feel like I’m always trying to play catch-up with the bills, and he didn’t see the household bills as being anything to do with him. Behaving like he was still the baby of the family – you know – the youngest child, the dependent one. It drove me crazy.’
‘Which was why you decided to take in lodgers?’
‘It seemed like a good idea, the only way really. I thought it would give us a regular income. The house was too big for us, and Cambridge is full of people looking for somewhere decent to live. Taking in lodgers seemed like the only practical solution unless Ryan got himself a regular job.’
‘You didn’t think of renting out the basement?’
‘Ryan didn’t want to give it up.’
‘Okay. But Ryan was paying for the bills on the basement flat?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Sometimes?’
‘Like I said he wasn’t very good with that sort of thing. I’ve had to bail him out a few times when they threatened to cut his electricity off. And his phone. It was why letting the rooms seemed like a perfect solution.’
‘Okay, so you let Woody rent the room. And then what happened?’
‘He brought the deposit round that first afternoon, just like he said he would. In cash. Then Ryan borrowed a van from someone he works with and they went round to collect his things from his old place, and he moved in.’
‘And did you check Woody’s references.’
‘No. I mean yes. I did check them.’
‘So which is it, Sarah? Yes or no?’
‘He showed his references to me and they seemed to be fine, but I didn’t ring them up and check them out, if that’s what you mean.’
‘And can you remember who his referees were?’
‘One was his course tutor – I think.’
‘And the other?’
‘I’m not sure now. I think it was some sort of college liaison officer for overseas students.’
‘But they were both for Mustapha, both for Woody?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You’re sure of that?’
‘Yes. His name was on both of them.’
‘Okay. And did you rent the other room? The room on the first floor?’
‘Yes, to the woman who came round at half past ten; as soon as she saw it she said she would have it. I mean, it was a lovely room.’
‘And her name was?’
‘Anna. Anna Dunkley. She’s a nurse at Addenbrookes; she seemed really nice. She hadn’t long split up with her boyfriend and was looking for somewhere to live as a stop gap till she got herself sorted out.’
‘And did she give you references and a deposit?’
‘Yes, I’d already told her the terms of the let.’
‘Okay. So, in the course of one day you had two new lodgers who would be paying you nearly seven hundred pounds a month, and you had the month in advance, and their deposits.’
‘Yes.’
‘That must have made things easier for you. Made you feel better?’
‘It should have. I mean it did; it was a relief. I banked the money. I’d already told Anna that she could pay me by bank transfer and she was happy about that.’
‘And what about Woody?’
‘He said he wanted to pay in cash. He said it made things easier for him.’
‘And was that a problem, Sarah? I mean, he did pay presumably?’
‘Yes, sometimes.’
‘Sometimes?’
‘Ryan—’
‘—your brother?’
‘He would ask Woody for a sub on his rent.’
‘Often?’
‘Quite often. At least that is how it felt.’
‘Okay. And did that make you angry?’
‘Yes, of course it did. Angry and annoyed and sad, I suppose. We’ve got a whole list of things that needed doing to the house as well as the regular bills. The windows need replacing, everything needs updating – the cooker, the boiler, the bathroom and kitchen. Ryan wasn’t contributing, he was just taking. Like always. Sorry, but that’s what it felt like. While she was ill Mum had let the place go; she couldn’t help it, but there is so much that needs doing. So yes, we needed the money and I just started to get things sorted and get ahead, and then there was the thing with Anna.’
‘The thing?’
‘They’d been there two or three months. Anna and Woody.’
Chapter Three
It was a bright sunny Sunday morning. Sarah, cheered by the sunshine, hadn’t long been home from the nursery. She’d slipped off her shoes and left them outside in the porch, and was padding about in her bare feet, making proper coffee and slicing bread that she had picked up from the Italian deli on the way home. The coffee smelt good, and the smell, along with the thought of hot buttered toast and apricot jam, was making her mouth water.
She turned on the radio to catch the news. Through the open door she could hear the birds twittering in the garden; it was one of those glorious early summer mornings that make your heart sing.
And it was early – on Sunday mornings in the summer Sarah went in before the nursery opened to tidy up the outdoor areas and water all the plants and shrubs so that everything was fresh and perky for the customers. Sometimes she drove, but today she cycled in. It was something her mum had always done and Sarah had just carried on. Spring and summer Sundays were the nursery’s busiest day. Sarah usually worked three weekends out of four but this week, as she had pulled a couple of extra shifts during the week helping to unload deliveries, her boss had given her the day off. So, once the tidying and watering was done she had hurried home.
It was a rare treat and the day stretched ahead of her, clean and empty and full of promise.
Anna, who had just got in from a night shift, leaned in around the kitchen door. ‘Sarah, can I have a quick word with you?’
‘Sure, come on in. Would you like some coffee? I’ve just made fresh.’ Sarah lifted the pot in invitation. ‘And I’m about to put some toast on if you’d like some.’
‘No, thank you.’
‘You sure? There’s plenty?’
Anna nodded. ‘This is a bit difficult. The thing is, Sarah, someone has been in my room.’
Sarah turned round, good mood stalling. ‘Really? Are you sure?’
Anna nodded. ‘Yes, I am. I think it happened last time I was on nights as well, but that time I wasn’t certain, I was tired and thought maybe I’d made a mistake, but this time I know someone’s been in there.’
Sarah set the coffee pot down on the counter. ‘Oh god, Anna, I’m so sorry. What’s missing?’
Anna sighed. ‘There’s forty pounds that I’d left on top of the bookcase, and some of my jewellery has gone as well.’
Sarah stared at her. ‘And you’re certain?’
Anna’s expression hardened. ‘Of course I’m certain. I wouldn’t be telling you if I wasn’t. I locked my door last night before I went on shift and left two twenty-pound notes on top of the bookcase. When I came in this morning they were gone, and so was the watch my parents gave me for my eighteenth birthday, a pair of gold earrings, a couple of silver bangles. I think you need to call the police, Sarah. And if you don’t then I will.’
Sarah nodded, feeling her joy draining away; she was now flustered and wrong footed. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry. I don’t think anything’s been taken in here. I was out too last night. I was working at the restaurant – I should check.’ She glanced round, anxiously. ‘I’ve got no idea who could have done this. Are you sure you’ve looked?’
Anna’s voice was tight, controlled. ‘Of course I’ve looked. I didn’t just assume my things had been stolen.’
‘No, of course not. Okay. And your room was locked, you said?’
Anna nodded. ‘I always lock it when I got out, especially after the last time.’
‘Okay,’ Sarah said, more as a place marker than a real reply while she tried to work out what her next move should be.
She gla
nced round the kitchen, thinking things through, going through a checklist in her head: the front door was locked. She’d unlocked the back door first thing that morning when she went out, and locked it up after her. Glancing round Sarah took in the details; the TV was still there; there was a pile of change and her iPod on one of the counter tops, along with the radio and the microwave. Easy pickings for any opportunist burglar. By contrast, Anna’s bedroom on the first floor had been locked and was hardly an obvious target. Whoever it was had to have walked through the house and yet had left all this stuff behind. It made no sense at all.
‘You didn’t give anyone else a key?’ Sarah asked.
Anna raised her eyebrows. ‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Why would I?’
‘Do you mind if I just go and ask Ryan and Woody if they heard anything or let anyone in last night. As far I know no one’s been in here but us, but the boys might have had some friends round. I’ll just check.’
Even as she said it an icy feeling tracked down Sarah’s spine, and she could see that Anna had already had the same thoughts and arrived at the same conclusion.
‘Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be back in a minute. If they don’t know anything then we’ll ring the police,’ Sarah said, trying to sound supportive and more confident than she actually felt. ‘I’m sure we can sort this out.’
Anna nodded but said nothing.
Sarah opened the back door and hurried round to the basement steps that led to Ryan’s flat. The curtains were closed tight. There were dead flies trapped in grey webs between the glass and the fabric, and carrier bags of empty bottles and cans stacked up in the light well beside the stairs and under the cellar windows. Sarah walked past it every day but today she noticed how neglected and squalid it looked. There were hundreds of dog-ends stubbed out in the flowerpots that once upon a time her mum had filled with bright red geraniums and Marguerite daisies. It looked seedy and unkempt.
Sarah knocked. There was no reply. ‘Ryan, are you in there?’ she called, knocking harder this time. ‘Ryan?’ She knocked again.
‘Of course I’m here, for fuck’s sake, where’s the fire? ‘he called. She could hear him unlocking the door and sliding the chain aside, jerking the door open over something on the floor that hindered its progress. ‘What do you want?’ he said, words slurred and sleepy. He was wearing a grubby towelling robe and screwed up his eyes against the light. ‘It’s Sunday morning. I’m having a lie-in for god’s sake.’
