by CJ Carver
Dan shot off a reply to Firecat, asking where and when they could meet. Having no idea where Firecat might reside, he suggested Thursday, which meant he could be pretty much anywhere that day, as long as it wasn’t Australia or New Zealand.
As he stepped out of the hotel, he was surprised to see the Mercedes had gone. Had it been replaced by another watcher? He looked around but couldn’t see anything to concern him, but that didn’t mean nobody was there. Were they connected to Mouse Woman? he wondered. Or was this another team of some sort? What on earth had his dad gotten involved in? Out of nowhere, he felt a surge of grief so strong his throat closed up.
He would miss his father, miss their talks. Their occasional disputes and differences of opinion. But above all he’d miss his father’s laugh, because when his dad laughed it was always genuine and whoever heard it couldn’t help looking around, their faces already alight and wanting to know what was so funny.
With the photographs of his father to hand, Dan walked across the square to a café. He ordered the house special, which his dad would have loved: slices of local cheese, dried ham, hard boiled eggs and two warm rolls and butter. He showed the pictures to the waitress but she shook her head.
‘Maybe one of the others might be able to help?’ he suggested.
Her gaze flickered between the gingham aproned staff and the kitchen hatch. ‘For sure.’ She took the photograph. ‘It’s not so busy now.’
‘Thank you. Could you also ask them if they knew Alice Lange or George Müller? They were children at the Grundschule Isterberg.’
She came back as he was finishing his coffee. ‘Sorry,’ she said. She handed back his photos. ‘No one has heard of the children either.’
Dan continued his trawl of shops and cafés but with no luck. The morning slipped away. Breakfast menus turned to lunch. Without holding out much hope, he entered a rustic looking restaurant that his father would have liked, which boasted the best Jägerschnitzel as well as having its own micro-brewery. Waiting staff flickered around the restaurant like busy fireflies, taking orders, bringing back trays of beer, sausages and bratwurst.
To his astonishment the first waitress he spoke to took one look at the photo of his father and said, ‘Oh, yes. He was here all right.’ Her tone was aggrieved.
‘He did something wrong?’
She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. ‘We had to throw them out. They were fighting.’
‘They?’ he repeated. ‘When was this?’
She looked again at the photograph, frowning. Then her hand went to her mouth. Her eyes rounded. ‘He was murdered. I saw it in the papers.’
It was obviously the first time she’d put the man she’d seen having an argument in her restaurant together with the man who’d been killed on the golf course.
‘That’s right.’
She stared at Dan, her mouth agape.
‘It’s OK,’ he tried to assure her. ‘He’s my father. I’d like to know what they were fighting about.’
She returned her gaze to the photograph. Rubbed her forehead.
‘Can you describe who he was with?’
She glanced behind her, then at her watch. ‘Give me ten minutes. I’m due a break then.’
‘That’s fine.’
He watched her sturdy form wind its way with practised ease through the crowded room. His dad had been thrown out of a café for fighting? He didn’t think he’d ever seen his father lose his temper; his marine training had taught him to keep tight control of his emotions. Had the other person attacked him in some way? Forced him to defend himself?
Dan settled at the brauhaus bar, opting to order a fresh orange juice. He sipped it while he checked his phone. Another email from Firecat.
The Fiddichside Inn, Craigellachie, 6 p.m. Tomorrow night.
A tight frisson of shock ran through him.
Craigellachie? He knew the village. He’d even fished there years ago, his dad teaching him how to handle the fifteen-foot salmon rod. He fought to get his mind around it.
When he looked up the Fiddichside Inn he saw it was just outside the village, on the road to Keith. White walls, red trim, it looked homely and traditional. Apparently Firecat couldn’t make it past Tuesday as he was going overseas.
Dan decided he’d fly back to the UK tomorrow. The cost of his air travel at the moment was depleting the family travel fund more than usual, but he didn’t see he had a choice. From Firecat’s caution, he was pretty certain he had some important information about his father and the sooner he got it, the better.
He emailed Firecat, confirming their meeting.
The reply was immediate.
You’ll bring the money?
Dan had no idea what money was being referred to but emailed back:
Of course.
He re-read Firecat’s previous email.
It would take a lot of money to persuade anyone to stand up against such forces, but then again, everyone has their price.
He guessed his father was paying for information. A whistle-blower maybe? Dan wondered if his father and Firecat had met and if it had been in Scotland. If so, his dad hadn’t mentioned it, which was unusual. When he was up there he’d always stay with Gordon – and Aileen until she’d died fourteen years ago – and he’d tell Dan all their family news.
He had heard nothing new from Lucy after her report on Green Test Lab, which hadn’t come to much. Even though it had high security, nobody seemed to work there. Perhaps it had been abandoned for some reason? He wondered how the police were getting on, and thought it was maybe time to let Lucy reveal she was also police. That should stir things up. He’d see her tomorrow. Talk it through.
‘Hi.’
He looked up to see the waitress wriggling onto the stool next to him, hastily removing her apron with one hand while she dragged her fingers through her hair with the other. The brauhaus had quietened a little, taking a breath before the next rush, he guessed. She asked the barman for a jug of water and poured herself a glass. ‘I’ve only got ten minutes, sorry.’
He checked her name tag. ‘Viveka,’ he said, ‘you say you threw them out?’
‘Yes. They were yelling at each other. Everyone stopped to watch.’
‘What were they arguing about?’
Viveka pulled a face as she tried to remember. ‘Your father . . . he was very angry. He kept shouting “how dare you!” and . . . well, he swore a lot.’ She looked slightly uncomfortable.
‘Who was he arguing with?’
‘A woman.’
Dan blinked. For some reason, he hadn’t expected that.
‘She was giving as good as she got. She yelled . . .’
When she hesitated, he said, ‘Please, tell me exactly what he said. It’s important.’
‘She shouted, “you fucking bastard” several times. Then she slapped him.’
‘Describe her.’
‘Elegant,’ Viveka told him. ‘Same age, perhaps. Late sixties. Tall. Slim. She would have been beautiful when she was younger.’
Dan felt his stomach swoop. Was she talking about Anneke? Hurriedly he brought out his phone. Scrolled through his father’s photographs that he’d downloaded yesterday. Opened the ‘people’ album and scanned until he found a recent close-up portrait of Anneke. It was dated June last year. ‘Is this the woman?’
Viveka had a good look.
‘Yes, that’s her.’
‘What else can you remember?’
‘He called her a selfish, self-centred bitch, which was when she hit him. That was when we asked them to leave. She left first. He paid the bill.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Dan couldn’t put the picture of Anneke yelling abuse at his father together with the calm and controlled woman who now sat opposite him.
When he’d asked Viveka if it was OK for him to use a table for a while, she’d moved him to one in the centre of the brauhaus. From there, he’d called Anneke at her house. He didn’t beat around the bush. He said, ‘I gath
er you had a row with my father last Thursday.’
There was a silence then she said, ‘Arne doesn’t know.’
‘I’d like you to come to the Brauhaus Isterberg.’
‘All right.’
Now he was aware of everything around him, the tide of conversation from other diners, the smell of frying potatoes, the waiting staff watching them out of the corners of their eyes. Anneke had asked for a glass of Reisling, which had come with a tense smile from Viveka. Dan stuck to water.
‘What did you fight about?’ he asked, getting straight to the point.
She raised a hand and pushed back a strand of silver-blonde hair. Held his eyes as she spoke. ‘Rafe.’ Her voice was husky and she cleared her throat. ‘We fought over Rafe.’
‘Rafe?’ he repeated. ‘Why?’
She picked up her glass of Reisling and took a sip. ‘Rafe wanted your father to kill him.’
Dan exhaled, leaning back in his chair as he recalled the vigorous discussions his father and Rafe had had over the subject of euthanasia.
‘Except Bill wouldn’t.’ Anneke’s mouth tightened. ‘He didn’t believe in it. I told him he was a selfish bastard.’
‘What about Arne?’
‘Rafe didn’t ask Arne to help,’ she said sharply. ‘He asked your father.’
Long silence.
Dan took a sip of water. Anneke took another sip of her wine.
‘Does Arne know Rafe asked Dad to do this?’
She looked away, her expression turning distant. ‘I’m not sure.’
Dan considered Anneke
‘Did you have an affair with my father?’
Her gaze flew to him, shocked. ‘Absolutely not. I’ve never been unfaithful to Arne.’
At that moment Viveka came over with two menus, which she put on the table. Neither Dan or Anneke touched them.
‘As far as Bill is concerned,’ Anneke went on, ‘well . . . he wouldn’t countenance such a thing, let alone with me, the wife of his close friend. He was an honourable man. You know this. Besides, he was still in love with your mother.’
Dan’s mother had died eleven years ago. Had his father ever had another relationship? He’d never met any girlfriend of his and he suddenly felt sad, hoping his father hadn’t been lonely.
‘How did you find out about Rafe’s request?’
‘Rafe emailed me. He knew Bill was coming to visit. He thought I might be able to persuade him.’
Dan thought of the wasted figure that was Rafe, coughing his guts up, hating the indignity of his care. Wish I’d died years ago.
‘Are you sure that’s all you argued about?’ Dan pressed. ‘Rafe’s euthanasia?’
She lifted her hands. It was a weary gesture. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
As he recalled the passion in Rafe’s and his father’s emails, he thought Anneke was probably right. Rafe had applauded Martin Amis and his call for euthanasia ‘booths’ on street corners where the elderly could ‘terminate their lives with a “martini and a medal” ’. Bill had protested against the thought of a giant super-loo where you put a pound in a slot and got a lethal drink in return. It’s too open to abuse, he’d said. Dan could remember the email quite clearly. Families getting rid of their doddery old parents early because they can’t be bothered to care for them and want their money.
Dan’s breathing tightened as grief nudged him, reminding him his father’s life had been snatched from him.
‘Do you happen to know Alice Lange or George Müller? Dad went to see their memorials.’
She raised her eyebrows, considering Dan intently. ‘I’ve never heard of them.’
‘What about Project Snowbank?’
A tiny frown appeared. ‘Project?’
‘Snowbank.’
‘It means nothing to me. What is it?’
She finished her glass of wine and raised a hand to indicate to a passing waiter that she wanted another.
Dan didn’t answer her question. Instead he said, ‘What about Firecat?’
‘I don’t understand.’ The frown remained. ‘Firecat? What does it mean?’
There was a pause, then Dan said quietly, ‘Who do you think murdered my father?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You think I know?’
‘Do you?’
A flash of horror mingled with dismay crossed her face. ‘Of course not! You can’t believe I do, surely?’
‘I don’t know what to believe.’ His tone hardened.
‘Oh, dearest Dan.’ Her face fell. For a moment she looked as though she wanted to reach across and take his hand, but thought better of it. ‘I can’t think what you must be going through. Please, ask me more questions. As many as you like, no matter how ridiculous or personal. Maybe I can remember something that might help you or prompt you on another av-enue of questions. How is the police investigation going?’
He’d just started to speak when Viveka came over and said, ‘Your guests are here. Shall I find you a bigger table?’
Surprised, Dan looked past Viveka to see Gustav, who was standing just inside the door with his arm around the waist of his companion. As Dan watched, the woman leaned up and kissed him fully on the mouth. They were lovers, no doubt about it.
He felt the shock of it against his breastbone.
Sophie?
Sophie and Gustav?
‘What the—’
‘I got Gustav’s secretary to persuade them to lunch here,’ Anneke said carelessly. ‘Arne’s coming too. I thought it would be fun for all of us to have lunch together.’
Dan stared at her. ‘Do Gustav and Sophie know I’m here?’
‘No.’ A sly look crossed her face. ‘I thought it would be a surprise.’
It was more than that, he realised. Anneke wasn’t just exposing Gustav and Sophie’s affair to him but ensuring a limit on the amount of time Dan had with her alone.
‘What are you trying to hide?’
Anneke blinked. ‘Nothing, Dan. Honestly. I thought you’d enjoy seeing your old friends.’
Like hell, he thought grimly. She’d engineered the whole situation to her own agenda. He rose from his chair, his eyes on Gustav and Sophie. They hadn’t seen him. He walked over.
‘Gustav,’ he said. ‘Sophie.’
He’d been prepared for the shock on Gustav’s face but not Sophie’s. She was normally so imperturbable, so cool, but the second her eyes met his, she blanched.
‘Anneke’s getting us a table,’ Dan said. ‘Apparently, Arne’s coming, so we can have a bit of a party.’
Sophie’s gaze snapped to Anneke, who was standing by a new table – one laid for five – smiling. Her posture was relaxed and friendly, but there was something in the way she looked at Sophie that made Dan cringe. She would hate it, he thought, that her only son wasn’t just unmarried, no kids, but that he was involved with a married woman.
Gustav’s mouth was opening and closing. No sound came out.
‘Let’s join Anneke,’ Dan said briskly, stepping back and indicating Gustav and Sophie forward.
‘Do we have to?’ Sophie hissed and Dan pushed her forward saying, ‘Yes, we do.’ He wanted to see how things played out. It may have nothing to do with his father’s murder but he was curious just the same.
‘No,’ said Sophie, and she could have been a little girl again for all the anger and petulance in her voice.
‘Yes,’ said Dan, and he held her upper arm like he used to all those years ago to prevent her bolting from the room.
‘You shit.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, but he was grinning.
‘You haven’t bloody changed, have you?’
‘Nor have you. As stroppy as ever.’
‘OK, OK. You can drop the strong-arm bit. I’m going over.’ She slapped his hand away.
‘Make sure you eat all your main course,’ he told her, ‘or you won’t be allowed pudding.’
She smacked his arm. He saw the colour had returned to her face. A smile began to appear. ‘You’re a pig.�
�
‘You’re a sow.’
Childish insults from way back.
When they headed for their table, Viveka looked at Dan with raised eyebrows. He raised his eyebrows back at her along with a tiny gesture of his hands saying, I have no idea what’s going on. She smiled and gave him a wink. He winked back.
As Anneke ordered a bottle of Riesling for the women and beer for the men, Dan leaned over to Sophie. ‘Gustav?’ he questioned in a low voice.
‘Yes, Gustav,’ she whispered.
‘How long?’
She gave a casual shrug but despite their earlier sparring he could tell she was deeply rattled by the way she pleated her napkin, her fingers restless.
‘Long enough,’ she replied.
‘Six months, isn’t it?’ Anneke said with a pretence of lightness.
‘Mama.’ Gustav still hadn’t sat down. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Sit, sit. We all want to hear about your love affair with the delectable Sophie.’ She seemed amused, but Dan caught the animosity seething beneath.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Gustav said. He still didn’t sit down. ‘I’m going to leave now and Sophie is coming with me.’ He held out a hand.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Sophie got to her feet and put her hand in his. She looked at Dan. ‘Call me.’
When they had left, Anneke rose. ‘Thank you for the wine.’
‘Wait. I thought Arne was—’
‘I think we’re done here, don’t you?’ she said archly.
At the door, he gave Viveka enough money to cover the bill along with a generous tip.
‘Friend of yours?’ she asked him.
‘To be honest,’ he answered, ‘I have no idea.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Grace had spent the morning trying to work her way through some paperwork but she found it almost impossible to concentrate. She kept replaying last night’s scene with Ross.
