She left us.
‘Please, sit down.’ He gestured to the sofas, placed at right-angles to each other. I opted for the firmest-looking one; there’s nothing worse than trying to be businesslike while sliding inexorably into a horizontal position on a soggy sofa. He took the other.
He gave off a palpable air of restless energy. Frustration, even. He was a stocky man with small, square hands, a round, shiny face as though someone had polished him, receding hairline, grey hair. He wore jeans, a casual sweatshirt but good quality. Chicago Bears on the front.
‘What I’d like to do,’ I began, ‘is ask you some initial questions, get the overall picture of what’s happened, both about Ahktar Khan’s death and since.’
He nodded briskly.
‘Let’s start with New Year’s Eve.’
He spoke so rapidly it was all I could do to note the essential facts, but that was all right at this stage. I could go over any gaps later if I decided to take the job. What I needed now was the flavour of the case. It would help me to establish whether there was anything that made me uneasy or rang alarm bells, whether there was any point in Mr Wallace paying me, or if I was a last-ditch attempt to do something in a hopeless situation.
Luke and Ahktar and two other friends had gone to Nirvana for the big New Year’s Eve bash. The boys were close friends from school; they had formed a band and used to practise in the Wallaces’ basement.
Victor knew Luke would be home late, so he’d made sure he had plenty of cash for a taxi.
Where was Mrs Wallace in all this? Was there one? I’d ask later.
At five he was woken by a phone call from the duty solicitor at the police station. Luke was being held for questioning in connection with an affray.
They didn’t tell him any more over the phone.
‘I thought it was a mix-up – you know, some horseplay got out of hand – though frankly, even that surprised me.’
‘Why?’
‘Luke’s not like that. He’s never been in a fight in his life, hates practical jokes,’ he smiled. ‘It wasn’t cool, you see. At that age, it’s all image, isn’t it, and Luke and Ahktar, they were into being grown-up. They’d no time for kids’ stuff.’
He’d waited for two and half hours at the police station before he’d found out that Ahktar was dead as a result of an assault with a knife, and that Luke was being questioned about the incident.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘He was a lovely boy – bright, friendly – he and my son were inseparable. It seemed ludicrous that he was dead.’ He paused, remembering something else, shifted on the sofa. ‘And I thought: Thank God, it’s not Luke. I hated myself for thinking that.’ He took a deep breath, wiped his hands on his jeans.
