"Some wounds run too deep for the eye to see; they bleed in silence, beneath layers of performance."
— Unknown
After a quick shower, I manage to nibble on some biscuits as I sit in the living room with all the doors open, watching as the police talked to the staff in the dining room, one after the other. When Yusuf and Ibrahim return, the police officer who I learned was the head of the Boston department,named Mark, asks to meet with all four of us again.
"I've already sent a request to the hospital, for them to make arrangements for an autopsy," he says. "I believe that will help put everyone's mind to rest."
"Is it really necessary? Isn't it obvious the way he died?" Ibrahim asks. "He was stabbed in the stomach and had a chair broken over his head.
The evidence is there for all to see."
"Yes, but we still have to conclude which of the two injuries killed him, Sir," he answers. "We also spoke with all the staff. One of them has been arrested as a possible suspect."
"The cook?" Ibrahim grunts and shakes his head.
"Mark, your people can't surely think that little man is your culprit. My father, even at his age, would have thrown him away with one hand."
"It's officer Mark , Sir," officer Mark answers, his voice firm.
I can't help a satisfied smile, happy that the man is not as intimidated by Ibrahim as I'd earlier suspected.
"And we can't rule anything out. We have to see every lead to its conclusion."
"What would my father's former wife have to gain from killing our dad after so many years?" Yusuf muses.
"It could be anything…revenge most likely, if their parting was as acrimonious as I have been made to believe," officer Mark answers.
"So, apart from arresting a poor, defenceless cook, what did you find out from talking to the staff, save from wasting everybody's time?" Ibrahim asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Have you and your men even looked outside these gates at all? Just yesterday, a lunatic broke into the compound, a lunatic who has a sordid history with our father. Have you even looked into that? What about the doctor whose hospital the old man destroyed? Have you gone to find
out where he was at that time of night?"
I glared at him, furious over any inference that Jacobi had anything to do with it.
"Yes, we were told about Amanda, God rest her soul," officer Mark answers. "She was found hanging from a tree yesterday evening, so it is unlikely that she came here to kill your father. Unless you reckon it was her ghost."
If it weren't for the severity of the situation, I would have burst out laughing.
"As for Doctor Jacobi, is this a formal confession that your family was behind the vandalization of his hospital?" officer Mark probes.
"oh, on, officer. Please ignore him," kamsir cuts in.
"Why would my father vandalize anybody's hospital? He was very close to Dr. Waverson. Please strike that out. Maybe the alcohol from last night is still having an effect on my brother's brain."
You can cut the tension in the room with a knife, as kamsir glares at Ibrahim, and Yusuf looks around confused.
We sat in silence for a few more minutes, before officer Mark rose to his feet.
"We better leave you, it's been a long day, and I'm sure you all need to mourn privately," he says.
"Please accept our condolences once again. Boston has lost a great man," he turns to look at me. "Ma'am, please can you show me to the servants' quarters? I want to ask a few more questions before we leave."
I reluctantly stand and lead him out of the living room.
Once outside, he holds me by the hand.
"That was just an excuse to get you out of there," he says. "I wanted to ask you a question, and I didn't want to do it in their presence."
I look at him, confused about what he could possibly want to ask me about.
"A few of the staff have told me that your brother was seen here days ago " he says. "They say you two were talking outside by the bushes, something most of them found odd."
My heart starts racing. "Odd in what sense? What's odd about a woman talking to her brother?"
Sergeant Ifedi smiles, and I can read a million and one meanings into that smile. "Is he still in town?"
"Of course not!" is my retort. "He went back to
The UK that same day and hasn't been back since."
Or at least, I don't think he has. I have a sick feeling in my stomach as I realise there is a possibility Damien returned last night…and did what he said he was going to.
"I also hear that your father and your late husband had a confrontation at a private event recently," officer Mark says. "Your family wasn't on good terms with him?"
"My family has…my family had a perfect relationship with my husband," I answer firmly. "I don't know who is feeding you with these lies."
"Please don't take offence, Ma'am," he says. "I just had to run these by you but didn't want to do it to the hearing of the minister's children. There might be nothing to these suspicions, but from what I have observed today, they might read more meaning into them."
I nod, grateful he, at least, had the wisdom not to bring any of these to their attention.
The last thing I need is to explain to Ibrahim and kamsir, especially, why my brother refused to enter the house and had instead chosen to speak with me outside.
There is no way it can be spun not to look suspicious.
Walking away, through the open door, I spot madam maria sitting in the kitchen. She seems to have aged several years over the course of the day and looks drained of energy, drained of life.
Our eyes meet, and she dissolves into tears again, something I suspect she has been doing the whole day.
But I am not in the mood to mourn with her, nor anyone for that matter.
I just want to be by myself.
"Zeynep," Yusuf calls out. "I saw you talking to the policeman. What did he want?"
"He just wanted to get a few details about the number and distribution of our staff," I answer, the lie heavy on my lips. "Nothing serious."
"I heard you don't have a phone," he says. "You can use mine, in case you want to call your family to let them know what's happened."
I look around, wondering if he and the rest heard my conversation with the officer t, hence his sudden interest in my family. Is it even concern, or just a ploy to record any conversation I have with them?
"You can keep it with you for as long as you need it," he continues. "It's scandalous that you don't have one. Keep it. I have another I can use while I'm here."
I don't argue nor protest. Instead, I thank him before making my way to my room. Once there, I fish out my notebook and dial Damien's number.
It is switched off, further adding to my agitation. I then proceed to call my sperm donor but I stopped merely at the thought of it.
Ibrahim takes advantage of my distraction and enters my room sitting closer to me on the bed.
"oh my darling step mother," he says, touching the back of my hand with his, his voice a seductive purr. "This must be very difficult for you. In fact, my handkerchief is wet from cleaning your tears."
His sarcasm is not lost on me.
Despite the grief and anguish I feel, my eyes have remained bone dry.
Try as I may, I cannot even will a single tear out of them.
I know that, if for nothing but optics, I need to appear at least as devastated as madam Maria because,even I know that, there will soon be several raised brows if I remain this calm.
I need to start acting like a woman whose husband has just died.
"My darling step-mother, you need to start shedding tears before the police comeback here for their second round of investigation. I'm sure you know you're the primary suspect," Ibrahim whispers in my ear, followed by another chuckle.
"The young, promiscuous wife of an old man like my father. You have a lot to gain with him out of the picture."
I glare at him and, in return, he licks his lips and winks at me, before walking out the door..
Before I could register what had happened,
There is a soft tap on my door.
"Hi zeynep," Yusuf says, looking into my room.
"Hi," I answered. "You want your phone back?"
"No, I told you it's yours for as long as you want it," he answers.
"I just wanted to give you some news. Officer Mark just called. He said someone has come forward to confess to the murder."
I sit up, more than ready to find out whom it was that killed the man I called husband. "Who?"
"Some old man in town," Yusuf answers. "I'm not too sure, but I think he said he said my father killed his son and this was atonement."
I let out an audible gasp. Jason's father