She countered. ‘I don’t see how Lynch would know which window, or that the window was unlocked. Whittler said it looked locked and would seem locked when you last turned the key.’
Dana didn’t like the messiness of who knew about the locks. It was too difficult to pin down and she liked her cases when the logic flowed consistently. ‘Unless Megan knew,’ she went on, ‘and told Lynch which window to use. In which case, surely Lou would have known as well and it all breaks down.’ She shrugged. It was too convoluted to seem credible, relied on too much secret knowledge and coincidence. ‘Leaving that stuff about the locks aside, there’s a “but” coming, right?’
‘But – I still don’t see it. Megan and Lynch want to be together. They can do that easily, but they’d screw up Lou’s business. Sure it’s tricky, it’s awkward; probably slower and messier than they’d want. But they’re two intelligent people, and one is a lawyer with twenty years’ experience of exactly this thing. I think they’d have waited it out and worked it out.’
‘So you don’t see enough of a motive?’
‘No. No, I don’t.’ He paused. ‘I do see Whittler, with a knife, in the dark.’
He was right, thought Dana. They could run around in circles trying to prove or disprove the potential to fix an electric meter; they could play at the margins of divorce settlements; they could check wills and bank accounts; they could trade hypotheticals about window locks; they could look for a money-launder gone awry; they could do what they liked. In the end, someone had to have wanted to stab Lou Cassavette. Lynch and Megan didn’t really have a reason. But then, neither did Nathan. There was no evidence he even knew who Lou was, let alone had met him.
No one had a motive for this murder.
Lucy returned with an apple and two bottles of water. She pointed and gave a cartoonish disapproving look at the half-consumed bar of chocolate.
Dana looked contrite. ‘You’re probably wondering why I’m eating this, Luce.’
Chocolate guilt was the worst. Lucy put on a pout. ‘After I brought you those lovely sandwiches from the garage; a byword locally for cordon-bleu cuisine.’
Dana took another bite of 70 per cent cocoa, fair trade. ‘Appreciate the effort, Luce. But it was hard to tell where the packaging ended and the sandwich began.’
Mike spoke up. ‘I have a problem, ladies.’
Lucy beat Dana to the reply. ‘Admitting it is the first step, Mikey. Let me see… it won’t matter if she really loves you. That reassure you? Barb sees all; Barb forgives all.’
Mike gave a theatrical thumbs-up and shook her hand. ‘Thank you, wise laydee. By the way, Barb does not forgive all. The Christmas Present Debacle of 2005 proves that.’ He raised a finger. ‘I have a second problem. Why didn’t Whittler, or whoever, grab the biggest knife? Doesn’t make sense.’
Dana cursed herself. She’d noted that back at the crime scene, but hadn’t given it a second thought since. Stuart had needed to remind her about chasing forensics; Lucy and Rainer were catching balls she’d dropped all day. Dana felt she was skating by, getting away with it because she was making progress each time she faced Nathan. Not organised enough, she told herself. Not on top of it.
‘I haven’t fathomed that either,’ she said. ‘Let’s assume it’s Whittler for the moment. Maybe he only wanted the threat. I mean, we’re guessing Cassavette’s blocking his path to the window. Whittler’s a burglar, not an assassin. He doesn’t want to hurt the guy but he needs to escape.’
‘So?’ asked Mike.
‘So he grabs a knife that’s big enough to be a credible warning. It says he’s a threat to Cassavette. He can hurt him; he’s prepared to hurt him.’ Dana shrugged. ‘A little knife – maybe Cassavette thinks Whittler isn’t serious, or thinks he can take him down.’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Lucy. ‘Cassavette’s a tall, chunky guy – way bigger than Whittler. The knife would need to be large enough to be intimidating, something that can do damage.’
Mike pursued it. ‘Still, why not the biggest one? That’s even more intimidating.’
‘Yes, true.’ Dana tried to picture it in her head. She couldn’t frame the image: Nathan with a knife. He’d baulked at a mousetrap to scare off a rakali, for Christ’s sake. Surely Nathan would only want a knife for the shock value, the threat? ‘Maybe the biggest blade ups the ante too far. It says, “We’re on. This is it. Fight Club.”’
She could see Mike wasn’t convinced, and she wasn’t entirely sold herself. But this was what they did: bounce ideas.
‘The knife Whittler chose is the Goldilocks weapon,’ she continued. ‘It’s too big to be some kind of idle boast – it’s not a kiddie knife. But it’s not so big it’s too much peril and makes Cassavette feel he has no choice but to fight. Instead, it makes Cassavette wary, but maybe not desperate enough to start the battle. Because all Whittler wants the knife to do is intimidate; get Cassavette out of the road so Whittler can run.’
Mike sat back. ‘That’s a lot of clear-headed, logical thinking going on if he’s a panicking burglar who wants out. Panic and darkness make everything instinctive, primeval. All that thinking seems too rational for that situation.’
Dana nodded. ‘That’s because it is. Good shout.’
The three were silent for a minute, Dana finishing her chocolate. Now Mike had raised the question of why that knife had been chosen, it was bugging her. If he hadn’t mentioned it, she’d probably have forgotten until tomorrow.
‘Wait, I’ve got an idea,’ said Lucy. ‘All this is speculation. I’ve got an idea based on what we actually know.’
‘Which is?’ Dana and Mike in chorus.
‘The food on the shelves.’ Lucy presented this as if it spoke for itself, sitting back with a satisfied expression.
‘What?’ asked Dana. Her eyes narrowed. ‘Assume, in a wild and unlikely scenario, we don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No, think back to Whittler’s cave.’ Lucy bounced forward again, animated. ‘I saw Stu’s footage on the shared drive. That cave is Whittler’s personality in three dimensions, right? He used OCD, deliberately, to keep his mind from wrecking him. Checked stocks over and over, every day; those lists in his journal are positively weird. All to give his mind work to do. He said that himself, in fact. It’s ingrained now; hard-wired. He can’t stop. Those cans in the cave – perfect pyramids; threes and fives, no fours. Even the junk in the interview room today – he stacks it in a tower, he cleans up; it’s neat, balanced. That’s what he does. Because that’s what he is.’
Lucy leaned in close to Dana, almost whispering. ‘So he took the middle knife… because it’s the middle knife.’
It felt like a dull thud in Dana’s chest, as though Lucy had struck her with the heel of her hand. ‘Oh God, you’re right.’ She nodded. ‘Taking that one leaves two either side of the space – the balance is still there.’
It was Nathan, she thought: it was definitely Nathan. It had always been Nathan. Now she felt certain.
‘Wait, wait,’ said Mike. ‘He’d do that in the dark? In an emergency?’
‘Especially then,’ replied Dana. ‘Like you said, Mikey, he panicked – he thought the place would be empty. He needs to get out, needs his escape route. He’s not thinking, as such, it’s all instinct. So he grabs a pack of knives and opens it. The patterns he’s ingrained over fifteen years; they make him do things automatically. Preserving symmetry is automatic.’
She scrunched the chocolate wrapper. ‘It’s not the third-smallest knife, or the third-biggest. It’s the middle one of five. And that’s all.’