Chapter 7

I was right about not being able to get to sleep. I’m lying in bed staring at the ceiling. There’s light coming through the curtains from the streetlight a little way down the road, but that’s not the reason. I keep thinking of Sam.

I hope I’m not heading for a breakdown. I’ve been assured that it’s perfectly normal to feel like this after such a sudden and totally unexpected loss, but my mind is certainly buzzing in a way that doesn’t feel right. I’m reliving the results of the findings at the crime scene.

It was definitely a crime scene, and officially declared as such. However, the coroner didn’t seem to take the report for granted. No woman came forward from the appeal in the newspaper, or subsequently from an appeal on the local radio, but that didn’t seem a significant part of his conclusion. I realised that the police weren’t there to present the case one way or the other, although they were allowed to state their findings. It was the coroner who took all the evidence into account before making his decision.

I couldn’t afford him, but I didn’t tell my solicitor I was broke when I signed him on. Courtney had advised me to get a solicitor, and this one was certainly sharp. He reinforced the police report that there was no way that Sam’s gold cross and unbroken leather cord could have ended up where it did, without been placed there manually. The coroner then suggested that perhaps I had placed it there, but my solicitor quickly pointed out that – with all due respect – the suggestion was ludicrous. I would not have been able to place a ladder there without being noticed, and no one had reported it. Also, a ladder that tall would have needed at least two people to handle it.

I think the coroner wanted to be absolutely sure he was making the right decision. A lot depended on it. Not just my own peace of mind, of course, but there was a question of a large life insurance payout and compensation from the police.

I’m sure that without the intervention of my solicitor the coroner might have given an open verdict, which of course would be totally unsatisfactory. Eventually, and I got the feeling it was reluctantly, he ruled that Sam’s death was murder, by person or persons unknown.

I fluttered my eyelids after the inquest and explained to my solicitor that – with all due respect – I wouldn’t be able to pay him until the insurance money came through. That really brought him to life, and he explained that the situation was certainly unusual, but if I wanted him to pursue the insurance company and the police compensation, he would be glad to do so for a small commission. He didn’t explain how small the commission was going to be, but I could call in the next day to sign a contract. I found it a great relief to have him on my side. The man was sharp, but also a total softy.

It looks as though Danny Wells is kind, too, because he’s not inserted any nasty clauses into the tenancy agreement. I’m hoping he’ll be able to get me some detective work through the solicitors’ office, but nothing too tricky to begin with. Just something that pays well!

I have to get in touch with my parents in Poland to tell them about the office and living apartment, and give them what will be my new address. They came over for the funeral, but we more or less lost contact again after Sam’s death. Not that we’ve had much contact anyway. My mother kept warning me that I was foolish to be marrying a policeman instead of Bruno, because of the dangers. Instead of showing sympathy when Sam was killed, all she could say was, “I told you so,” and subsequently she’s been no help. Perhaps when she knows I’ve made something of my life when I start the detective agency, the rift will be healed. Not that it will bring Sam back.

Foregoing Rachel’s offer of coffee doesn’t seem to have helped me sleep. I’m still wide awake, wondering who these person or persons unknown are. Well, obviously if I knew who they were, they wouldn’t be person or persons unknown. And that’s the problem.

Courtney has become quite a good friend, and she’s warned me several times against trying to track them down. She says the police are onto it, and that’s all she’s allowed to say. Well, I hope they find them soon. I’m worried they might find me first, wanting to know if Sam shared any incriminating details with me. Maybe even keeping some sort of notebook, or coded file on our laptop. I’ve not seen one yet, and I’m doubtful there is one. Surely Sam’s records would be at work. But if I do find anything, Courtney will be the first person to know.

Even though Sam didn’t share anything with me, the person or persons unknown won’t know that. I get this nightmarish picture of being hung over the bridge by my ankles, by two men demanding to know what Sam has told me. I’m wondering why I would bother to tell them anything. They’re going to let me drop, anyway. They won’t want me reporting them. I imagine the same thought occurred to Sam. I’m not imagining myself hanging there now, but I’m seeing Sam in his last moments. I wish I couldn’t keep thinking about these things. Thoughts like this are at their worst in the night.

Whether Sam told anything or not I have no idea, but that gold cross certainly didn’t bring him any luck. Maybe that’s not why he wore it. I’m feeling sad that he never talked about it with me, probably because we got into arguments. Getting into an argument is the last thing I’d do now ‒ if he could come back.

Of course, he won’t come back. I don’t believe in ghosts. I wonder if Sam is preparing a place for me in heaven. I heard that somewhere. No, I’m pretty certain it was Jesus who said it. He told his followers not to worry, because he was preparing a place for them in heaven. Really? Well, Sam certainly believed it.

 

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I slept a bit during the night. I can remember a few of my dreams, and they weren’t as bad as my waking thoughts. Perhaps I need to get some professional help. Of course, the sooner I can get to work and have something to occupy my mind, the better I’m likely to feel.

It’s Saturday now, and Jezza and Rachel aren’t going to work. Rachel suggests they take me to lunch at Button Up. It seems I’ve made the coffee and pastries at Button Up sound extremely attractive. If Abi is amenable I’ll show them the office, just to make sure they agree with me that the traditional furniture will give my clients the right impression. And they might as well see the living accommodation, even though it is all rather cramped. But if it was good enough for an elderly accountant, I’m sure it’s going to be good enough for little me.

I need to phone Abi.

“Abi, Janika here. I’ve signed the tenancy agreement. I’m happy to pay the full deposit. As I explained yesterday, I have adequate funds to start the business. I’d rather we got off on a professional footing, even though we’re friends.”

Are we friends? Am I taking something for granted here?

“Come any time, Janika. This is my Saturday to be on duty. Melanie and I take turns for the Saturday work. Pete and Hayley will be here. They are fascinated by the thought of having a private investigator living above the coffee shop. They’ve hardly stopped talking about you. Good things, of course.”

I can’t help wondering what they’ve been saying, but thankfully whatever it is, it seems to have been okay. “I know it’s not properly furnished yet, but is it all right if I bring my friends to look round the apartment? I told you about Jezza and Rachel. They’ll drive me over, and I can drop the signed tenancy agreement off at the same time. As soon as you’ve signed it and given me a copy, I’ll do a bank transfer with the deposit and the first month’s rent, to start whenever the apartment is ready. No pressure, but I’m dying to get my feet under that old desk.”

Not a good choice of word.