He pushed the doorbell, and it rang somewhere deep within the house. Silence followed. Alderman leant closer to see if he could hear noises of someone approaching to open the door.
‘I was told he was in’ James said. 'Anyway, how did you find this place? We didn't publish his address.'
Alderman ignored the question, and raised his finger to push the doorbell again, when the door swung open.
‘He will see you now. He is busy. Please come in and wait.’ The man who had answered ushered them in. He was not a butler. His accent was Russian.
‘Thank you’ James said, moving forward.
They were let into the hallway and told to wait. The man disappeared upstairs. Alderman and James looked at the pictures on the walls in silence. The house was quiet and cold.
'What will we get from him that other reporters didn't?' James whispered.
'Since they never asked the right questions' Alderman replied, 'how could they possibly have got the right answers?'
'Hello, gentlemen', a man said, coming down the stairs towards them. He had a thick, black moustache. 'What can I do for you? I thought I had spoken to your paper already.'
'Yes, well, my editor just wanted a few more words, if that's ok' James said.
'It's about the words he said an hour before he died' Alderman added.
'They were very strange, I must admit. Perhaps it was the effects of the drugs.'
'But what prompted them? Tell me what happened immediately before and after. What was the day like?'
'Like any other. I'm sorry, I know who James is, but I didn't catch your name?' he asked.
'My name is Alderman.'
'Well, Mr Alderman,' he continued 'the day was like any other. I woke and went to the hospital and sat by his bed, hoping he would recover. The doctors told me the same vague news - we don't know, maybe, perhaps... I sat by his bed through the morning. He hardly spoke. And then, about 12 I suppose it was, he sat up in his bed and asked for the police. He seemed a little better. There was something new in his eyes - not anger anymore, and not health, but a realisation.'
'A realisation?' Alderman stepped forward, closer to him.
'Yes. I suppose of death.'
'And that's when he spoke those words to the police?'
'Yes. It was almost the last he could say. He was so weary by then.'
'So he was too weak to say anymore?'
'I suppose. Except goodbye to me and his wife. Was there anything else?'
'Did he often go to sushi bars?'
'What?'
'Were there any other women?'
'I'm sorry, Mr Alderman, your questions are very strange. I am busy preparing for the funeral.'
'Please, sir, humour him' James added, before the man could turn and leave.
'Very well. Yes, he loved sushi. He always chose it when we went out. And no, there weren't any other women.'
The man began ascending the stairs.
'Thank you very much, sir' James said. 'We'd better go. I'm sure he'll call my editor. That was a waste of time.'
'Quite the opposite, James, we have learned everything, and much more, than we ever could have hoped from him. Let's have a drink.'
‘I was told he was in’ James said. 'Anyway, how did you find this place? We didn't publish his address.'
Alderman ignored the question, and raised his finger to push the doorbell again, when the door swung open.
‘He will see you now. He is busy. Please come in and wait.’ The man who had answered ushered them in. He was not a butler. His accent was Russian.
‘Thank you’ James said, moving forward.
They were let into the hallway and told to wait. The man disappeared upstairs. Alderman and James looked at the pictures on the walls in silence. The house was quiet and cold.
'What will we get from him that other reporters didn't?' James whispered.
'Since they never asked the right questions' Alderman replied, 'how could they possibly have got the right answers?'
'Hello, gentlemen', a man said, coming down the stairs towards them. He had a thick, black moustache. 'What can I do for you? I thought I had spoken to your paper already.'
'Yes, well, my editor just wanted a few more words, if that's ok' James said.
'It's about the words he said an hour before he died' Alderman added.
'They were very strange, I must admit. Perhaps it was the effects of the drugs.'
'But what prompted them? Tell me what happened immediately before and after. What was the day like?'
'Like any other. I'm sorry, I know who James is, but I didn't catch your name?' he asked.
'My name is Alderman.'
'Well, Mr Alderman,' he continued 'the day was like any other. I woke and went to the hospital and sat by his bed, hoping he would recover. The doctors told me the same vague news - we don't know, maybe, perhaps... I sat by his bed through the morning. He hardly spoke. And then, about 12 I suppose it was, he sat up in his bed and asked for the police. He seemed a little better. There was something new in his eyes - not anger anymore, and not health, but a realisation.'
'A realisation?' Alderman stepped forward, closer to him.
'Yes. I suppose of death.'
'And that's when he spoke those words to the police?'
'Yes. It was almost the last he could say. He was so weary by then.'
'So he was too weak to say anymore?'
'I suppose. Except goodbye to me and his wife. Was there anything else?'
'Did he often go to sushi bars?'
'What?'
'Were there any other women?'
'I'm sorry, Mr Alderman, your questions are very strange. I am busy preparing for the funeral.'
'Please, sir, humour him' James added, before the man could turn and leave.
'Very well. Yes, he loved sushi. He always chose it when we went out. And no, there weren't any other women.'
The man began ascending the stairs.
'Thank you very much, sir' James said. 'We'd better go. I'm sure he'll call my editor. That was a waste of time.'
'Quite the opposite, James, we have learned everything, and much more, than we ever could have hoped from him. Let's have a drink.'
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