The Night Watchman (13 page)

‘We think so.’

Senhora Coutinho winced. ‘Do you think Pedro made it while he was dying? A last message?’

‘You tell me – does it look like his writing?’

‘I’m not familiar enough with how he wrote in Japanese to identify his handwriting. Have you found out what it says yet?’

‘No, but I’ll research it today. Did Pedro ever mention anything bad happening to him in Japan – any enemies he might have made, business problems he got into?’

‘No, nothing. He always spoke of his time there as if it had been his greatest adventure.’ She shook her head. ‘Jean couldn’t possibly have killed him, you know,’ she said, and softly, to imply that it was a simple fact. ‘And I didn’t either. I’m not only good at running away from an argument, Inspector. I also know how to wait if I have to, and waiting four more years for a divorce wouldn’t have made my life any more difficult than it already was.’

‘I believe you,’ I said, and I did, but maybe Morel had lied to her about what he’d done. If he failed to fly in to Lisbon tomorrow, we’d know the truth.

‘Tell me more about what the killer did to Pedro,’ she requested. The tight, fearful hunch of her shoulders reminded me of her daughter.

‘Maybe you should wait until tomorrow,’ I suggested.

‘So it was bad?’

I nodded. Letting out a moan, she dropped her drinking glass, which shattered. Ice streaked across the floor. When she looked up, I expected to see despair in her eyes, but anger was flashing. ‘You make damn sure you question my husband’s business associates,’ she said.

‘Anyone in particular?’

‘Everyone in particular!’ she shouted. She was vibrating with rage. ‘Inspector, let me pass on one of the useful things that Pedro taught me – presume that every transaction in Portugal is shady until proven otherwise.’

‘So did your husband make payoffs to get building contracts?’ I asked.

‘Don’t be such an idiot! Of course he did! Talk to Rui Sottomayor, his accountant. He knew Pedro’s business dealings back to front, and they’ve been friends since they were kids.’ With savage amusement in her voice, she added, ‘Though if you want to save some time, just write down the name of every politician whose signature is required to build a shopping mall in this fucking banana republic. The list of officials that Pedro had to bribe should be just about the same.’

She read me Sottomayor’s number from her phone. In reply to my next questions, she said that she’d never seen any notes her husband might have written detailing his illegal transactions. And he’d never mentioned the names of anyone he’d bribed.

‘He thought it safer for me not to know anything specific,’ she said, and she went on to tell me that she had never given her front door key to anyone, not even Jean Morel. As far as she knew, Sandi hadn’t either, but she’d ask her. We looked in the cabinet where the family kept their spare house keys, but none of them was missing.

She also told me she’d never seen her husband with another woman since their move to Lisbon and didn’t know the names of any of his girlfriends. ‘I learned to just look the other way,’ she explained.

I asked her to follow me into the living room and showed her the Almeida drawing of Fernando Pessoa. ‘Do you know if this was always here?’ I asked.

‘I’m not sure. Why?’

‘I think the killer moved it.’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘I have no idea.’

‘Look, Monroe, everything on the walls belonged to Pedro.’ She gazed around the room in a teetering three-sixty. Her droopy eyes closed momentarily. ‘All these beautiful things he bought, and now . . . You know what it took me years to realize? That way back when, I was his most treasured
objet d’art.’
She snapped her fingers. ‘But one day, just like that, Pedro traded me in for something more contemporary. When I figured that out, I stopped giving a shit about the beautiful things he brought home. Don’t get me wrong – he was apologetic. Boy, was he ever! He cried like a baby when I first confronted him with his cheating on me. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, I must be crazy to hurt you like this!” he told me. It took me a few months to figure out that he traded me in for good. Pretty stupid, right? Because it was simple – I was getting older. Men don’t like women who have the bad taste to age. You can quote me on that, Monroe!’

She frowned at me as if I was part of a masculine conspiracy. I pointed to the Almeida drawing and asked, ‘Would your daughter know what had been hanging here?’

‘Probably. She and her father loved going to art galleries. I’ll ask her when she’s feeling better.’

‘Please excuse another indelicate question, but the way your daughter shrieked . . . Has she ever shouted like that before?’

‘Monroe, her father has just been murdered. What do you expect from her?’

‘True, but—’

‘God, how Pedro loved that girl!’ she cut in. ‘He wanted so badly to get things right this time.’

‘This time?’

‘He was married once before. He had two kids – a boy and a girl. After the divorce, his wife turned the kids against him. He hasn’t seen them in at least fifteen years, since the kids were teenagers. That’s what he was most afraid of, I think – that I’d turn Sandi against him if we were divorced.’

‘I’d like to know why Sandi felt she’d needed to hide her ring,’ I said.

‘Look, she’s had a lot of difficulties lately. Among other things, the kids at school have been teasing her since she cut her hair. Maybe that had something to do with it.’

‘Did she cut it herself?’

‘Yeah, she just grabbed the scissors and . . .’ Senhora Coutinho made wild snipping motions in the air. ‘Sandi said she wanted a more
edgy
look. I had to look up the damn word in a fucking English dictionary.
Edgy –
have you ever heard anything so stupid!’

‘When did she do it?’

‘About three months ago.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘And she insisted on trimming it again just a few weeks back. She also wanted to get a spike in her tongue, but I told her to forget it!’

‘Did anything special happen to her three months ago?’

‘Like what?’

‘Any particularly bad quarrels with you or your husband?’

‘No. Sandi never really quarrels, to tell you the truth. Not for long, anyway. Her technique is to stab you hard and deep enough to draw blood and then walk away while you’re still in shock.’

‘By any chance, did she spend any time away from you about three months ago, when something bad might have happened to her?’

‘No.’

‘Any trips at all?’

‘Christ, you really don’t give up, do you?’ she asked. ‘At Easter, she went to Jean’s house just outside Paris with Pedro for a few days. I wasn’t able to come. Jean has a big house in Normandy. It’s lovely. Sandi went with two of her girlfriends.’

‘And the trip went well?’

‘She had a great time. She loves France – prefers it to Portugal. And given how depressed everyone is here, who wouldn’t?’ Senhora Coutinho combed her hand through her hair and teased out a snag. ‘You have kids, Monroe?’

‘Two boys.’

‘How old?’

‘Seven and thirteen.’

She whistled as though in warning. ‘Boys mature a little later, so just wait till the older one hits fifteen or so. Then he’ll start getting awkward and doing some really crazy things and forget how to talk to you nicely. Some of it is a generational thing, I’m told. Like vampires and YouTube and downloading crap like Lady Gaga.’

After announcing that she was thirsty, she led me back into the kitchen. While she poured herself a glass of orange juice, I took out my two evidence bags. Once we were seated again, I showed her the honey dripper. ‘This was tucked under the top sheet of your daughter’s bed,’ I told her.

‘She has a sweet tooth. Inherited it from Pedro and me, so I can’t deny our guilt.’ She held out her hands. ‘I’m ready for the handcuffs, Inspector.’

‘Where’d she get it? I’ve never seen a honey dripper in Portugal.’

‘New York, last summer. We had a brief vacation there.’

I took out the knife. ‘I found this under her bed. Any idea why she kept it there?’

She studied it indifferently and dropped it to the table. ‘I can’t see what this could possibly have to do with Pedro’s murder.’

‘I’d still like to know.’

She swept the cake crumbs scattered across the table into a pile as she considered what to say. ‘This is delicate. Please don’t put this in any official reports.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Sandi started getting her period about . . . it must be eight months ago by now, and the blood really scared her.’ She sat back, folding her arms over her chest as if to remind herself of the need for caution. ‘The poor girl was very upset. She had nightmares – monsters sneaking into the house and coming after me and Pedro and her. Her shrink told us that all these TV shows and movies with trapped young women being tormented by psychopaths have created a kind of syndrome. Some girls live in a constant state of fear these days. It’s crazy. Anyway, a few months after her nightmares started, Sandi told me she wanted to keep a knife with her in bed. I hated the idea, but her shrink thought it was all right – as a stopgap measure.’

‘Did she ever tell you that someone real was threatening her?’

‘No.’

‘How long has she been in therapy?’

Senhora Coutinho looked away while doing the maths. ‘Almost two months.’

‘Are you certain no one hurt her just before that – physically, I mean? At school, maybe. One of the kids who’s been teasing her? Or a teacher?’

‘She would’ve mentioned that. At least to her father. He would’ve taken care of it. He was very good at taking care of things,’ she added darkly.

‘Just to be certain, would you ask her?’

‘Sure, but keep in mind that whenever I try to have a serious conversation with her, she glares at me and pretends she’s tapping on a keyboard. She calls it
pressing delete.’

‘That seems kind of—’

‘Unnecessary?’ she interrupted. ‘And cruel?’ She laughed caustically. ‘That’s what it’s meant to be, Monroe. You asked why she needed to apologize to Pedro. That was why – she deleted him a lot of late. And me, too.’ She jumped up, opened the refrigerator and took out an apple. ‘Look,’ she said, shaking it at me, ‘I know you want me to care a lot about what Sandi is going through right now, and I do, but I also need a day or two for myself, just to go slightly insane.’ She slammed the refrigerator door closed and kicked it hard.

I pictured her daughter lying in bed, in the dark, clutching her knife. ‘It’s a bad sign that Sandi hid the ring in her own room,’ I said.

She took a big, determined bite of her apple. ‘Why’s that, Inspector?’

‘Because it means that whoever she feared didn’t respect normal limits and borders. There was no safe place. At least, Sandi didn’t think so.’

‘Then why in God’s name didn’t she talk to me or Pedro?’

‘I’m getting the feeling it involved your husband’s other life – with his girlfriends. And she couldn’t very well bring that up with either of you.’

‘And this is important to this case because . . .?’

‘What if the person threatening Sandi was the same one who killed your husband?’

‘No one would ever threaten Sandi in this house. It’s impossible.’

‘You also said that Morel couldn’t possibly have been in Lisbon yesterday. No parent knows everything that goes on with his or her kids. What if Pedro’s girlfriend had a husband? Maybe he threatened Pedro while Sandi was with him. Or maybe the girlfriend made it clear she didn’t want Sandi around.’

‘I suppose it’s possible, but it—’

‘Was the ring a present from your husband?’ I cut in.

‘Yeah, Pedro gave it to Sandi for her twelfth birthday.’

‘So she was keeping something from him extra safe. Maybe trying to keep
him
safe, too. Kids think like that – magically. I’m going to need to question her.’

My host reached for my hand. ‘Please,’ she whispered, ‘give Sandi a couple of days to grieve without having to answer any questions.’

‘I’ve generally found it’s best to question the families of victims right away.’

‘I know my daughter, Inspector. If you question her now, you’ll push her deep inside herself. You won’t get a word out of her.’

I felt the pleading tug of my empathy but also knew it would set a bad precedent to let Senhora Coutinho dictate the pace of my investigation. ‘What time does your daughter usually get up?’ I asked.

‘About eight.’

‘I’ll be here tomorrow at nine thirty to talk to her, though I promise not to push her. Later in the day, I’ll also send a lab tech over to talk to Jean Morel and get his DNA. He’ll call you before he comes over.’

‘All right. Thank you.’

‘Also, I don’t want her to sleep in her room tonight. I found what may be a bloodstain on one of her stuffed animals and, until I’m sure whose it is, I’d like her to sleep with you or in another room.’

‘Okay, I’ll tell her.’

‘And neither of you are to touch anything in the library or the living room. If you don’t think you can do that, I can’t let you stay here.’

‘It won’t be a problem.’

On the back of one of my cards, I wrote out the phone number Senhora Coutinho would need to call when she was ready to see her husband’s body. After handing it to her, I offered her earrings back to her, but she closed my fist around them and said, ‘If you catch the killer, I’ll give you the Almeida drawing, too.’

In her laboured, drunken handwriting, she then wrote me out a list of the friends and work colleagues who had visited their home over the last few months, though she still denied that it was possible that any of them had menaced Sandi. There were seventeen visitors in all, including Morel. Susana consulted her agenda and discovered that he’d slept over on two occasions in May when Pedro had been away on business.

On scanning my notes one last time, I rediscovered Sandi’s cryptic comment to me:
If you take something away, you have to leave something behind in its place.
When I asked Senhora Coutinho what special meaning that might have had for her daughter, she replied that she had no idea. I asked her if Sandi had ever been caught stealing anything from her parents or anyone at school, but she rolled her eyes as if I were crazy. ‘That wasn’t her style, Monroe. She could be incredibly rude, but she wasn’t a thief.’