Last Room

by Reah, Danuta

  ‘No. Thank you. You turned a dull evening into an entertaining one. It’s been good to meet you.’ She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. The slight stickiness of her lipstick left a lingering trace. She smiled into his eyes. ‘And Keeper,’ she said, bending down to pat the dog’s head, her hair, a dark honey blonde, falling forward over her face.

  He walked back along the cliff path, the sea below him gleaming in the night. He could hear the sound of the swell as it washed against the rocks. The sky was clear, the stars blazing out with icy clarity. For a moment, he imagined he was walking back to the cottage with Sarah, still caught in the undercurrent of sensuality that had marked their goodbye, but then his thoughts moved elsewhere, troubled by the conversation he had had with his daughter that morning, and by the ominous headlines he had glimpsed in the newspaper.

  Chapter 6

  Keeper headbutted Will into wakefulness. He groaned as he checked his watch. It was just before seven on a cold, still morning. There were frost patterns on the inside of the windows and a thin layer of ice on the top of Keeper’s water dish. Resisting the temptation to stay under the covers, he pulled on his trousers, boots and a heavy jumper then went downstairs and put a match to the gas.

  The previous evening was coming back to him and the headlines he had glimpsed in the paper. He switched on the radio and angled the aerial for the best reception. The headlines were clones of those the day before and the day before that. More people had died in Afghanistan. There was trouble in the Middle East, unrest in the Palestinian territories.

  And then…

  ‘Dramatic new evidence came to light yesterday in the court of appeal where Derek Haynes, the man found guilty of the murder of eight-year-old Sagal Akindès, is appealing his conviction. Lawyers for Haynes declared that crucial evidence in the case against him was “in grave and serious error.” We’re going now to our legal correspondent, Mark Wallender. A worrying story, Mark.’

  ‘Worrying and disturbing. An important plank in the case against Haynes was the identification of his voice on video recordings found on his computer. This identification was made in court by Dr Ania Milosz, an expert in voice analysis. But now an expert for the defence has not only challenged these findings, but has demonstrated deep flaws in Dr Milosz’s original analysis. If that identification can’t be made, then the case against Haynes is seriously weakened.’

  ‘And what reactions do we have to this…’

  Will listened, a sick chill growing inside him.

  ‘We obtained what were supposed to be the original recordings from the police,’ a spokesperson from the defence team said. ‘These were the ones that came back after Dr Milosz had worked on them. Our experts subjected them to rigorous analysis and I am afraid there is no doubt. They have been tampered with. The prosecution has offered no evidence to challenge our claim. Mr Haynes has been the victim of a grave miscarriage of justice.’

  Then Oz Karzac, Ania’s boss came on. Will listened tensely, waiting for some kind of explanation. Karzac would defend Ania. He was media savvy, having worked in the film and sound industry before moving into the less crowded area of forensics. But Karzac confined himself to anodyne stonewalling. He was ‘very concerned’ and would be launching an internal investigation ‘at once.’

  ‘Do you want to challenge the defence contentions?’

  ‘Until I’ve had a chance to study the evidence, I’m not in a position to…’

  ‘You are accepting the defence case that the voice on the recordings is not that of Derek Haynes?’

  ‘That’s not what they’re saying. They’re saying the tapes don’t confirm that.’

  ‘Professor Karzac, they’re making much more serious allegations. There are very grave questions to be answered about Dr Milosz’s original work, are there not?’

  ‘As I said, until….’

  ‘Have you discussed this with Dr Milosz.’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘I understand she has left the country?’

  ‘She’s working with one of our overseas partners. This was a long-term commitment. Her absence isn’t linked to this case. I plan to talk to her later today.’ He would have done better not to answer an accusation that hadn’t been made.

  Will snapped the radio off. Ania had expected her evidence to be challenged, but this wasn’t a challenge, it was far worse than that. Despite the careful wording of the reports, he could read the subtext. She was being accused of falsifying the evidence she had given to the court. Karzac, to give him his due, had supported her as much as he could, but his contribution hadn’t helped.

  He reached for his phone, making a quick time calculation. It would be just after eight in Poland. She would be awake by now, and she must be keeping an eye on the UK news. It worried him that she hadn’t contacted him, and she apparently hadn’t contacted Karzac either. He pressed the key for her number, and waited as it rang and rang.

  This is the messaging service for…

  ‘Ania. Call me. We need to talk about this.’

  There was nothing he could do now but wait for her to phone.

  The newspapers had loved Ania when Haynes was convicted. Her evidence had been sufficiently new, sufficiently sexy to attract their attention, and Ania herself was suitably photogenic. He’d dug out one of the many cuttings from the days of the Haynes trial. He smoothed it out and read it again.

  ‘VOICEPRINT’ CONVICTS MONSTER HAYNES

  ‘Convicted out of his own mouth’ took on a new meaning in court today. Ania Milosz, 29, helped to put monster Derek Haynes behind bars when she identified his voice as the one heard by the jury on the ‘Sagal’ videos.

  ‘What I do isn’t new,’ the forensic expert told our reporter, ‘But it’s getting more recognition in the courts.’

  The articles – and there had been several – were all accompanied by the same photograph, Ania coming out of the court in her tailored suit among the city crowds, her dark glasses creating a touch of enigmatic glamour, her fair hair, caught by the breeze, ruffled round her face. For once he had been able to look at her without seeing the ghost of his dead child looking over her shoulder. Despite his misgivings, he had been proud of her.

  But now, these same papers were turning on her with all the savagery they were capable of.

  He didn’t know what to do.

  Keeper burst out in a flurry of barking, and there was a sharp rap at the door. He went to open it, feeling the tug of anxiety. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

  A woman was standing there, her hand raised to knock again. Her eyes widened with surprise, and he realised it was Sarah, from the hotel the evening before. ‘Sarah. I wasn’t... Please. Come in.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated, then stepped into the room, pulling off her woollen hat. She was wrapped up against the icy wind in a sheepskin coat, a polo neck just visible inside the turned up collar. ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘I’m just surprised you managed to find me.’

  She was still staring at him. ‘I just asked,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘Right.’ The people of St Abbs were notoriously close-mouthed, but there was no reason not to tell her where he lived. Their evening in the pub would have been noted. ‘Were you OK at the hotel last night?’

  She smiled. ‘Well... until about three. Then some drunks came in. What with that and the frostbite I gave up on sleep and did some work.’ She didn’t look as if she’d had a broken night. She looked fresh and alert in the cold morning air.

  ‘Are you heading back this morning?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t decided.’

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘You’re a mind reader. They only have instant at the hotel.’

  He’d lit the stove so the cottage was warm, but she kept her coat on, looking round with some curiosity. ‘You live here on your own?’

  ‘Yes – it’s just about the right size for one. I used to use it as a holiday cottage but now…�
�� He stopped. He didn’t want to start explaining his life.

  She crossed the room and picked up one of the photos that stood on the shelf. It was one of him and Ania, taken about two years ago, the last time they had been here together.

  ‘How do you like your coffee?’

  She was still looking at the photograph, and didn’t respond for a moment. ‘Sorry. Black, no sugar.’ She put the photo down. ‘Your daughter?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was suddenly aware how little he knew her, and remembered his misgivings about journalists wanting a story about Ania. She wasn’t like any journalist he had ever met – they didn’t wear designer clothes and drive expensive cars, and they were a lot more direct with their questions – but he needed to be cautious.

  ‘Does she come here much?’

  ‘Sometimes.’ It was Ania’s bolt hole when Brown Jenkin had her in his grip.

  She looked at him in surprise and he realised he had sounded curt.

  ‘She’s away at the moment.’ He spooned coffee into the cafétière.

  He saw her lips start to form a question and said quickly, ‘She’s in Poland. Business.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Here and there. It’s an academic thing.’ He didn’t attempt to hide the irritation in his voice and was aware of her glance as he poured hot water onto the grounds. The conversation died.

  He poured out the coffee and gave Sarah hers. She moved to the window that looked out over the sea. ‘It’s so lovely here. I’m tempted to stay on for a few days.’

  If she’d said it last night, he would have been pleased. She was an attractive woman whose company he had enjoyed. He could have taken her out on the boat, shown her the hidden parts of the coast, explored the possibilities that had been there, unspoken, the evening before. Now it was different.

  ‘Another time I’d have offered to show you around but I’ve got a lot on.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ She deftly turned the conversation. They talked about Keeper, about boats, about the weather, but they weren’t able to recapture the rapport they had shared in the bar the night before.

  She finished her coffee. ‘I won’t keep you. I can see you’ve got things to do and I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.’

  ‘You’re not staying then?’

  She met his gaze and smiled. ‘It doesn’t look like it. Another time, maybe.’ She fastened her coat and wrapped her scarf round her, pulling her hat low over her eyes. She held out her hand. ‘It’s been good meeting you, and thank you for the coffee.’

  ‘It was my pleasure.’

  He watched her head down the hill towards the harbour, then reached for his phone. He put it down again. Ania would call when she was ready. He picked up the newspaper cutting that was still on the table where he had left it.

  ‘VOICEPRINT’ CONVICTS MONSTER HAYNES.

  Ania stood outside the Crown Court, her hand raised to her dark glasses, her hair stirred by the breeze. People were caught in the moment, moving between the pillars into the shadows.

  And among the crowd, standing just on the edge of the picture, was a figure his eyes had passed over before. There was a ghost looking over Ania’s shoulder, but it wasn’t a ghost from the past. It was one from the future.

  Sarah Ludlow stood in the shadows of the pillars, watching.

  Chapter 7

  Will made it to the car park in five minutes, held up by a delivery truck negotiating the narrow streets. Sarah Ludlow’s car was gone. He saw Jack coming across and wound down his window. ‘The woman… that car. Which way did she go?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The BMW. Which way did it go?’ Jack shrugged and pointed up the hill. It was the only way out of the village.

  ‘After that.’ He realised his voice sounded curt. ‘Did she say which way she was going?’

  ‘I don’t know. She didn’t say. Nice car. Nice lady.’ He could see the speculation in Jack’s eyes, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He stared out across the glittering water. She would almost certainly be heading south. He might be able to catch her up, but she had a powerful car. If she wanted to keep away from him, she could. And if he did catch her up, what then?

  He was kicking himself for not making the connection sooner. He’d been tired, he’d been worried, but there was no excuse. The phone call the night before – it must have been Sarah Ludlow. Who was she? A lawyer touting for trade? Someone attached to the Haynes case? He realised she was probably a journalist on the track of a juicy story. How had she known that Ania had connections here? I thought I’d make a detour.

  Detour, his arse.

  She would have talked to other people as well, but he could be glad the news had broken when it did. He and Ania had long-standing connections with the village. The tight-knit community would have closed ranks and quietly, unobtrusively, stonewalled anyone who was digging around. But he had to put her out of his mind. He had to think about Ania now. He nodded a quick acknowledgement to Jack and drove back to the cottage.

  Throughout the day, he watched the furore in the news reach fever pitch. The expectation was that Haynes’ conviction would be quashed. The fight would centre on whether he was pardoned, or whether there would be a new trial. In the meantime, his lawyers battled to get him released on bail, claiming that the nature of their client’s conviction put him in danger from people who would rather see him dead than free. Haynes was already in isolation. He had been attacked immediately the news of his appeal broke.

  Deprived of their monster, the papers had turned on Ania. Haynes himself received no sympathy – most news reports, sailing skilfully close to the winds of the libel laws, implied that he was guilty as hell and was in danger of being allowed to walk free.

  From Ania herself, there was nothing.

  He tried calling her, more than once, but all he got was her answering service. ‘For God’s sake will you phone me!’ he said in his last message. ‘They’re crucifying you. I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.’

  But his immediate conviction that she was completely innocent of the accusations made against her was beginning to crumble. The police had been certain Haynes was guilty. They were less certain that they had enough to convict him. If she had been given access to evidence that showed Haynes’ guilt, but evidence that wasn’t admissible in court… Previous convictions? Previous accusations? Would she have done something to strengthen the evidence she had? Without her testimony, the case against Haynes could have gone either way.

  He knew what it was like to be faced with hard decisions. In his own work, he had had to make judgements that might leave him hanging by his thumbs over the righteous blaze of the news media’s anger, until he had made the one that had ended his career. But there were hard decisions, and then there were the decisions you should never make, and with the Haynes case, Ania had been too vulnerable.

  They had been twins, Louisa and Ania, Ania the eldest by minutes. He had been twenty-two, not much more than a child himself. He could remember sitting by Elžbieta’s bed feeling gut-punched with the shock of it – they were too young, they hadn’t planned to start a family and they had had no idea that she was carrying twins. He hadn’t felt the traditional paternal joy. He had felt fear, overwhelmed by the sudden responsibility and the realisation that his life – their lives – had changed beyond redemption.

  It had been difficult. He was starting out in his career and it was a struggle to live on his salary. The demands of twin babies kept Elžbieta at home for longer than they had expected. They had been broke, and they both worked harder than they had ever worked in their lives before.

  Q: When and where were you happiest?

  A: When my children were small.

  Q: Who or what is the greatest love of your life?

  A: My daughters.

  Q: Both of them?

  A: I love them both, but…

  It had always been Ania who had worried them most. She was the foolhardy one, the one who took risks and seemed to have
no sense of danger. She would jump, climb, dive, leap into dangerous situations without a second thought; Louisa was quiet and thoughtful, a shy, bookish little girl who was scared of spiders and the dark.

  But it was Louisa who had been abducted.

  Will didn’t want to go down that path. It had destroyed Elžbieta, leaving him and Ania alone, just the two of them bonded by tragedy and loss, and for him, the guilt that maybe he hadn’t loved Louisa enough, maybe the bond he’d shared with Ania, the sheer joy of physical challenge had made him value his quieter, more introspective daughter less. If he had valued her enough, then surely, surely he would have been able to protect her.

  But he hadn’t. And he hadn’t been able to protect his surviving daughter either. After her sister’s death, after her mother’s abandonment, Ania’s life had been dogged by the depressions she came to personalise later as Brown Jenkin. Louisa became the topic they couldn’t talk about – at first, her death, and later, her life. It was as if she had never existed.

  Angrily he picked up the phone and keyed in her number. When he got her messaging service again, he disconnected and called the lab where she worked. ‘FLS. How can I help you?’

  ‘Professor Karzac, please.’

  ‘I’m afraid Professor Karzac is unavailable at the moment.’

  ‘I see. When will he be available?’

  ‘Who’s calling?’

  ‘My name is Gillen. Will Gillen. I’m Ania Milosz’s father.’

  There was silence, then the woman’s voice said cautiously, ‘Mr Gillen. Perhaps… Just a moment.’ The line cut off, then crackled into life again. ‘Gillen? Oz Karzac. Have you heard from Ania?’

  ‘No. She isn’t answering her phone.’

  ‘Jesus. What the fuck is she playing at?’

  ‘I’m worried about her. She should be here.’

  ‘Of course she should. I’ve told her. Well, I’ve left messages – call me, get yourself back. Nothing. She’s keeping her head down.’

  ‘She’s probably as shocked about this as we are. She must be trying to…’