Chapter Twenty-Six

Just One To Stand On

The Four Legs was crowded and loud. Sandra, Liz and Daniel made their way deliberately through the crowd, like a posse of cowboys returning from the prairie searching for revenge. Heads didn’t turn as they passed, but bodies parted like the red sea and allowed them through without fuss as if sensing their purpose.

The bar was only a short walk from the apartment, but the rain had not let up and the streets were beginning to flow so they’d taken Daniel’s car. It was a small Renault, and the girls had crammed into the back, Daniel was in the front and Richard’s driver drove. It was simpler that way – it meant they had no need to park the car and they were flustered about pulling a plan together. The driver seemed unconcerned. Business was business with him it seemed. Though he was concerned over their inability to find Richard.

They’d checked the apartment and found no sign of him – no sign of a struggle either, though it was difficult to tell with the piles of debris. When they had told the driver and asked him if he had any idea, he’d blinked a couple of times and said “no.” And that was it. But he did seem concerned. At least, Sandra thought so. When she asked him if he was, he didn’t say no. So that must mean yes.

After Daniel showed Sandra the pictures on his phone she believed everything he said. At some point it seemed she’d borrowed his phone because she couldn’t find hers, and being exceptionally drunk had proceeded to fill it up with photos of herself holding the camera at arms length, with her arm around Richard, her arm around Daniel, in the studio, in the apartment. By the looks of it they’d had a magnificent time, and according to Daniel they did. Lots of laughing and drinking. Her and Daniel went through an epic number of beers, and Richard had his strange cocktails that he pre-mixed in a thermos and kept in his fridge.

He assured her nothing had happened. Well, sort of.

“What do you mean, sort of?”

“Sort of sort of. You suddenly got really drunk. Like, just out of the blue, you started slurring and swaying. We were in the apartment and you announced that you were tired, and just got up from the kitchen, staggered over to the bed.”

“And then what?” she asked, as she dried her hair, slowing down and waiting for the nasty part of the story.

“Ok. Well, you just took your clothes off. Like, Richard and I are in the kitchen and you take all of your clothes off. I didn’t look, I swear, neither of us did. We decided we should have some coffee, call it a night, but we couldn’t find the bloody plunger.”

“Seriously”, she cursed. “I take off all my clothes, so you boys make yourselves some coffee.”

“No no, you’d climbed into the bed. You got undressed and went to bed and suddenly you’re unconscious. It caught us totally by surprise. We checked to make sure you were alive, then folded your clothes and I went home. Richard slept on the couch. End of story. It was weird, we were really getting fired up, we’d just gone back to my flat to bring round another slab, Richard was onto his second thermos of his weird thing.”

“What was he drinking?”

“I’ve no idea I never touch them. You said it tasted like cheese, and that was good enough for me. Next day – well, we know what happened the next day.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Why didn’t you say anything the next day”, she asked.

“I did. I came forward. I spoke to the police. And they told me about you, and your memory loss, and I stayed away.”

“Why? You could have helped. You could have filled a huge gap for me.”

“Really? Or maybe I could have brought some horrible memory back. Maybe seeing me would bring some memory of seeing Richard get killed, some fucking horrible memory that has shut you down and it would come flooding back and break you. Or maybe you’d blame me. Or maybe, maybe a hundred other fucking reasons that you’d like to forget. Or maybe it was just simply too fucking hard Sandra. And then you turn up knocking on the studio like you’re a detective. Then you fall asleep on the studio balcony.”

“I woke up on your balcony.”

“I moved you Sandra. I went to do some painting and I saw you. I picked you up, and I moved you. I put you on my couch.”

“But… I woke up on your balcony.”

“And then I freaked out. I freaked out because of who you were. You were there when Richard died and suddenly you appear in the hallway, spin me some shit and then, three hours later, you appear on his studio balcony. I didn’t know what to do. So I put you back on my balcony. It wasn’t supposed to freak you out, it was the nearest place that made sense in a strange way. And I kind of panicked.”

She pondered this. He calmed down as she patted her hair further, and let the topic drop. There was no getting her hair dry now, but Daniel had leant her a t-shirt and flannel shirt from his wardrobe so she felt a little more civilised. Despite having been responsible for the death of a man. But for some reason, it didn’t bother her too much. She assumed it was shock, but the theory she’d heard only thirty minutes ago came back to haunt her.

Whatever. There was time later to be concerned and shocked. And he was going to kill her anyway, so fuck him.

Liz had come up, and left the driver with instructions to push the car with the body on the bonnet further down the alley before they left. They know it would get reported at some point, but they didn’t need the police getting involved just yet. There were things that needed to be done first. He’d obliged, and she was happy for him to. Cars were heavy. And it was raining a lot.

“So who is the guy on the car?” she asked.

They were in Daniel’s apartment. Both him and Sandra needed to get slightly dry before leaving. And the driver needed to push the car down the alley.

“I don’t know his name”, he said. “He’s an associate of Stephen’s, that’s about all I know.”

“Ok, so what’s the go with you and Stephen?” Sandra asked.

Daniel took a deep breath.

“That will take a long time to explain. I’ve known the Pohler’s for some time. Richard uses Sebastian’s apartment a lot, and –“

“Wait a minute – that’s Sebastian’s apartment”, Sandra interrupted.

“Yeah”, he replied, as if she should know. “You can’t see Richard keeping a place that looked like that.”

“I – I didn’t know.”

“Their dad owns the building. That one is Sebastian’s city pad for when he needs his ‘alone time’” he raised his hands for inverted commas, suggesting that he wasn’t, in fact, alone, “and at other times Richard uses it cause we share the studio space. It’s not exactly arty life style, but so what? You’d be crazy not to take the offer up.”

“How does Stephen fit into all of this?”

“Stephen just started showing up a few years ago. No one had seen him in ages, and then he starts turning up, looking for Sebastian, looking for Richard. Then one day he starts looking for me.”

“Why you?”

“He hated what I did with the Four Legs.”

“You own the Four Legs?”

He laughed.

“I don’t own it, I designed it. I told you this the other night, but.. yeah. Anyway, Richard got me the gig, he wanted to make some arty farty place and I went through a hellish design process before I ended up with what it is. He hated it.”

“Why?”

“Ah, his Dad kept interfering, change this, alter that, that sort of thing. Pissed him off.”

“So why go there on Monday?”

“It was Sebastian’s idea. He wanted to meet us there. But he never showed.”

This jarred with everything Sandra had thought about Sebastian. He was there too?

“So what was dead guy doing there?” Liz asked.

Both Sandra and Daniel turned to her. And both said “What?”

Liz was a bit surprised by that response. And pleased to be in the position of the Expositionator.

“He was there. I told you about him. Creepy guy, hanging around. Wasn’t interested when one of us wasn’t there.”

Daniel turned to Sandra.

“You met him?”

“Yeah”, Liz continued. “He followed us, bought us drinks, then left shortly after Sandra did.”

Sandra wasn’t in the mood for anymore.

“We have to get to the Four Legs. Now.”