‘So, when Radu ran away from home, no one was surprised. He’d begun harbouring impure intentions, had stopped caring about what people thought, was self-harming. Andrea had tried to change him, tried to toughen him up—she’d been afraid for him—but it hadn’t happened. All it’d helped to do was to make him run away from her and the family. When the news of his death came, at first, we thought he’d become the target of religious zealots, but later we learnt it’d been from an overdose. Obviously, the family was devastated, but they never let it show. They wouldn’t speak about it to anybody. They never mentioned Radu again.
‘It was shameful. No one in the family does these things, you understand? We are orthodox Christians. We don’t change what God has given us. We don’t condone suicide and self-harm. The Lord delivers.
‘So, in the end, there was only Ana. You can understand why she turned out the way she did? They were not close, but it must have hurt her, her brother’s death. Her mother’s death, too.
‘She is all alone now, not even married. Doesn’t come out or meet people. I feel bad for that girl, who used to be a sweet, charming little thing. Life has dealt her a cruel blow. It was only her goodness that made her come back. What would’ve happened to the Rosetti businesses otherwise?’
It was as they walked out that Darya plucked up the courage.
‘Ali,’ she said quietly.
Alina stopped and lit a cigarette. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘Did you have anything to do with Brian’s death?’
Darya had thought long and hard about it. Alina was an important link to everything: she knew Brian, she knew the Rosetti family, and she knew Oleg and Irina. What if she was involved? Darya adored Alina and couldn’t get to admit the possibility even to herself but knew she should at least consider it.
So, Darya decided to ask Alina outright, planning to watch Alina’s reaction, confident she’d be able to tell if Alina lied. Or at least, she hoped she’d be able to.
Alina coughed out a fistful of smoke and looked away. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose. ‘No,’ she replied, through puckered lips. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’d think it, too. But all I knew was … and I keep thinking perhaps if he hadn’t been obsessed with it, he might still be alive ...’ she dropped some ash on the grass and moved her weight from one foot to another. ‘Well, he was looking for a dead relative, someone long gone, someone born in Sibiu. He asked for my help.’ She paused, took a puff, and seemed like she was contemplating adding more, but, ‘That’s all,’ she muttered finally.
‘What relative?’
‘He didn’t say. He had a photograph …’ her words trailed off as if she’d just remembered that.
‘Yes?’ Darya prompted, although she’d an inkling which photograph she was talking about.
Alina shrugged. ‘I never saw it. He said he’d bring it to Oleg who said he could help him.’
‘Help him with what?’
‘I don’t know.’
Darya’s heart sank. This didn’t fit with the theory forming in her head.
‘So, you had nothing to do with …’
This time Alina looked straight at Darya. ‘No, of course not,’ she said firmly. ‘I forgive you for asking these questions, because I would’ve wondered too. But no, I had nothing to do with his death. I found him peculiar, interesting, so we hung out a few times. He was highly strung towards the end and it had begun to irritate me.’
‘But Alina,’ Darya said, ‘you knew Maddox, too. There was a postcard on the café’s corkboard. You took it down …’
Alina turned to her in horror. ‘Helenka told you?’ She shook her head. ‘That tramp!’ Taking a deep breath in, ‘Just that … it seemed weird and obviously a cause for suspicion. If I showed the postcard to the police, it would not take them long to make the association. Both Brian and Maddox had come to the café. Oleg came to the café. The café was a connection. And I don’t want any more negative publicity. People gawking outside. It was a harmless note anyway.’ She locked eyes with Darya and added in a steady voice. ‘I had nothing to do with their deaths. Nothing! I … couldn’t.’ She gave a shudder. ‘Believe me.’
‘In that case …’
There was another question Darya wanted to ask. Perhaps it was even more incendiary than the one before. Nevertheless, she ploughed ahead.
‘Do you think Mihai had something to do with Brian’s death?’
To which Alina replied with an incredulous, ‘Why on earth would you think that? Mihai is too rich to do something this stupid. Why does he need to? And can he even speak or move anymore?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re losing your marbles, Darya.’ Her head lowered, she started walking again. ‘I thought you wanted to speak to Smaranda because you wanted to know more about Draco, find a possible connection with Oleg. If Ana-Maria gets to know you’re talking to Smaranda, looking at our family history, asking about the Arlechins, she’s going to lose it. You better not disappoint her … or me. We are passionate about our family names in these parts.’
Gulping down a wave of anxiety, ‘Ana-Maria doesn’t know. Please don’t tell her,’ Darya replied. ‘And no, I won’t disappoint you. Or her.’
But Darya was sure Alina wasn’t going to be very happy if she heard the hypothesis that was taking shape in Darya’s head.
Week 12: The Present Day
‘Why are you telling me all this,’ Ana-Maria asked. ‘What does any of this have to do with Brian’s death?’
‘It has everything to do with it,’ Darya said quietly. ‘And more.’
‘Do tell,’ Ana-Maria said, her lips pursed.
‘Don’t you think it’s odd?’ Darya said. ‘Same house, same place, so many bodies.’
‘It was a conspiracy to defame us,’ Ana replied. ‘The Rosettis have countless enemies.’
‘Or could it be,’ Darya suggested, folding her arms, ‘that the Rosettis think they can get away with anything?’
Ana-Maria met Darya’s cold gaze. A nerve bobbed in her jaw.
Darya continued, ‘It was something Smaranda had said that struck me. Draco had been playing at the farmhouse. But why was he even there? It was far from the city. No one lived close by. His mother worked in the city. They lived in Sibiu.’
‘Andrea and Mihai went there often. Children liked to play there sometimes. Or go mushroom-picking.’
‘They were there often because it was Andrea’s special picnic spot,’ said Darya. Then, with a smug smile she couldn’t help, ‘Do you know whom Draco was seen with last?’ she asked.
There was a moment of silence as Ana-Maria stared back, seeming to debate whether she should venture a guess.
At long last, she leaned back and asked in a tired voice, ‘Whom?’
Week 10: 1 week after Brian is found
Having talked to Smaranda and learnt all about the Arlechins, Darya now pieces together memories and some other findings.
Darya was learning the specifics about the police investigation from Helenka, or at least as much as Helenka gleaned from her uncle who, while not directly involved in the investigation, was in-the-know. The remaining she gathered from Romanian newspapers, which, to her continued surprise, kept with their understated coverage. Could it be owing to the fact that Oleg’s father owned half of them and was acquainted with those who owned the other half?
Even a week after Brian’s body had been discovered, the police had little else to go on, save for a single suspect—Oleg—whom Darya had delivered to them—although they didn’t know that. Sporadic public noise continued, demanding closure, but strangely those were lessening, too. It was because of the upcoming elections, Helenka reasoned. Why else would a serial murder garner such low interest?
Darya had stopped doing full shifts at the coffee shop. Alina did not seem to mind. Gonna go away soon anyway, Darya told her. Better look for someone else now. In any case, Darya was barely coping most days, overcome with whirlpools of emotions. Unable to help herself, she’d brought home a cheap
bottle of pálinka, promising herself it was going to be for only when she needed it direly, but the bottle was done within the following night, and she didn’t regret it either.
Her Romanian sojourn hadn’t gone according to plan. Shouldn’t she be allowed to mourn the disaster?
The morning after her tryst with the bottle of pálinka, Darya woke up with a furious hangover and a churning stomach. 48% alcohol—she read on the label with blurry eyes. Disappointed with herself, she wept a little.
After thirty minutes, Get a grip, you fool; shake it off, she scolded herself. Brian was dead and gone. She had a mystery to solve. How was self-pity going to help?
Getting up from her bed, Darya dumped the near-empty bottle of pálinka into the dustbin. Next, she had a bath, changed into fresh clothes, brushed her teeth, sat on the couch, and got back to work again.
First, her notes.
According to the forensic pathologists, without his medication and trapped in the chimney, Brian had taken somewhere between twenty-four to thirty-six hours to die. He had slowly choked to death. The worst kind of death that can be, alone in the dark, away from your loved ones, rotting amidst decaying walls. It was the stuff of nightmares.
But why was Brian even there? Had Oleg asked to meet in the old farmhouse?
The police had gotten hold of CCTV footage of Brian, presumably the last before he died. Brian had traipsed down the Stairs Passage on his own, moved past the large pharmacy at the bottom, and then entered a blind zone. A chemist at the pharmacy claimed to have seen Brian stop by the post office next door, unlock a bike, and take off in a hurry.
But Brian did not own a bike. Whose bike was it?
The chemist had described a mountain bike. Painted in white, black, and orange.
It was Oleg’s.
Perhaps the police knew that already.
Helenka said they’d searched the bag Oleg was found with when he’d been brought in for questioning. Nothing incriminating had been found, but they’d been looking for weapons, and not anything else. At present, Oleg’s lawyer was blocking requests for any further searches. Induced by Darya, Helenka had attempted it through her uncle.
Darya should’ve guessed a long time ago—even before she’d seen Oleg at the farmhouse—something odd had been brewing between Brian and Oleg. Alina had told her Brian had wanted help finding someone. Thinking back to the photo she’d found amongst his things, she guessed it must’ve been his father. Did Oleg claim he could find him for Brian? Had Brian’s father been in Sibiu? Alina had said that person was dead. So, was Brian looking for memories?
But how did Oleg manage to lure Brian to the farmhouse? It was obvious Oleg had helped him get there, offering his bike so that Brian didn’t take a cab and leave traces of his final movements. But why did Brian agree to go at all? What excuse had Oleg used?
Heart thudding, Darya sat up straight. She had remembered something.
The time they had messaged each other …
Darya picked up her phone and scrolled through her messages. There! She’d found it … the only time she and Brian had exchanged so many messages, in quick succession. She’d felt small at the time, angry at herself even, for being miffed with someone who she wasn’t even in a relationship with, who obviously had other priorities, but now she wished she’d picked up the phone and asked Brian what he’d been talking about.
Wassup, girl?
Who this?
Kidding???
Found time, did we?
Bcoz did not call?
What do you think?
Been busy.
Doing what?
Found a local chapter of freemasons, kis you not.
Kis?
Kid. You knew what that was.
Whats this freemasons?
A bunch of clowns
I know that. Whats this one specifically?
Bunch of holy clowns
Whatever. Wanna meet for dinner?
Going out on Friday.
So, Saturday?
Will confirm.
Her insides were a bloody mess when she finished reading. But she couldn’t let her emotions take over. She had work to do.
Oleg had told Brian about the Arlechins. Perhaps Oleg had called Brian to the farmhouse to talk about Draco’s death.
There were clues out there, floating around her. All she needed to do was pluck them out, arrange them cogently, and thread the story together.
She had written down Smaranda’s spoken account. Every word. She’d read the pages several times but could not shake off the feeling she was overlooking something. She wished she knew more about Draco’s death, about Sibiu itself at that time; perhaps there were old newspaper archives she could look at. She’d ask Alina or Helenka about it.
But something else Smaranda had said … it nagged at the back of her mind. She couldn’t quite grasp what it was …
It evaded her consciousness and was to come to her a day later, within the confines of her room, just after she’d unveiled a terrible secret from Brian’s past.
Darya finished her call to Calgary, having caught hold of Valerie at long last. It had been a prolonged conversation—largely carried on by Valerie at her end, even though she’d been overcome with grief. Darya was glad that was how it had turned out to be; she hadn’t prepared her questions—half expecting not to get through to her this time as well—but what Valerie told her was all she needed to know.
She sat back on her bed. Her mind raced as she stared absently at the jagged roofs of the neighbouring houses, faintly visible through the gently curling, translucent curtains of her windows. The church bells rang, but unlike most other days, Darya was unmoved. Her cell phone lay limp in her hand.
Her head felt like it was going to explode. Rising from the bed, she moved to open the windows and draw the curtains apart. She needed to breathe.
She knew she had to call a number in Oban next, but she was feeling overwhelmed. What else might she learn? How much more lurid could this whole affair get?
Thoughts lurched about in her head; there were many unanswered questions.
At first, Darya had thought Brian had died randomly, a result of being at the wrong place at the wrong time and mixed up with the wrong people. But now she realised … Brian had been calling his death towards himself, because he’d been trying to uncover secrets from his past … Or was his death the result of the coming together of both? A perfect storm?
A few things had cleared up for her after she re-read her notes from the meeting with Smaranda and recalled a few other things from before. They all led to one crucial inference.
Draco had known the Popescus; his mother had worked for the family. And Mihai was a Popescus.
Maddox and Brian had both come to the cafe. It wouldn’t be a leap to assume Maddox had known Mihai and Irina, as Brian had.
Oleg worked for Mihai. As had Irina.
The farmhouse belonged to Mihai.
Only one person was a common factor in all of these.
Mihai Rosetti.
Week 12: The Present Day
It was well past midnight.
A car alarm went off outside and the conversation between Darya and Ana-Maria stopped. They took the moment to catch their breaths and arrange their thoughts. Things were on a boil between them; a few minutes of withdrawal was a welcome break. Nevertheless, they knew the sooner they got over with whatever was coming, the less painful it was going to be. For the both of them.
Christine knocked to check if either of them needed anything but scurried away after sensing the mood in the room.
Ana-Maria’s face was an odd mixture of dread and what looked to Darya strangely like … relief. It had taken all of Darya’s willpower not to divulge everything, all at once. It would’ve been the easiest thing to do, but there were so many questions still. She had to piece the events together slowly, for Ana-Maria to grasp, and for her own clarity, too.
Perhaps even at that moment Ana-Maria had hoped Darya had not known everythi
ng. Perhaps she was waiting to find out exactly how much she knew. That’s why she didn’t brush her off or ask her to leave. Or perhaps …
… she had wanted for it all to come out.
Darya had to ask. ‘Did you know?’
‘Ce?’
‘That your father was involved?’
She shook her head. The harsh lines on her pale-yellow face glistened. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oleg has been brought in for questioning again. It will not be long before he names Irina and Mihai.’
With an almost imperceptible nod of her head, ‘Yes, I know the politie are talking to him again,’ Ana-Maria conceded.
Darya leaned forward, a trickle of excitement coursing through her body. ‘I can see it in your face,’ she said. ‘You know I’m right.’
Ana-Maria met Darya’s eyes and kept her gaze steady. ‘I don’t know what Oleg will say, or if he has said,’ she replied. ‘The politie called. They want to talk to me.’
‘I’m sure you know it’s about your father.’
Her face gave nothing away. ‘I know nothing,’ she murmured. ‘That’s what you’re telling me.’
Darya’s eyes traced the brush strokes on the landscape that hung on the wall behind Ana-Maria. Darya had overlooked the wall-piece before, but it held consequence now; an important link between the past and the present.
Then again, equally noteworthy were the walls around, or rather, the lack of accoutrements on them. Nails had been drilled onto the walls, but nothing hung from them. No photos, no adornments, nothing. Darya noted the discolouration and dents where photographs had been before. But where were they now? Why this room, and almost all the house, was as far as she could see, bereft of vestiges from the past and trimmings of any sorts?
The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3 Page 66