Fine Lines

by Simon Beckett

  "It's a pity you can't show such aggression where it's needed. Perhaps Marty wouldn't be waiting to laugh at you with Anna if you had."

  "I'm warning you, Donald !"

  "Go ahead and warn me! It stil doesn't alter the fact that you let a worm like Marty get the better of you. Wrecking my paintings and beating me up won't change that!" Zeppo took a step towards me, then stopped. His fists were bal ed. "I want my money. Now."

  "Earn it."

  "Now, or I'l break your fucking neck!" I sneered. "Are you sure you're man enough?" I miscalculated. Before I could say anything else he had grabbed me by the shirt and flung me against the wal . I felt a frame break beneath my back, and something sharp dug into my flesh. Part of me fretted over the damage, trying to guess which picture it was, then Zeppo punched me in the stomach. I doubled up, struggling for breath, and as he seized hold of me and yanked me off the wal , in a rush the thought I had been suppressing surged forward and formed itself into speech.

  "It's not my neck you should break, is it?" I gasped.

  I was slammed back against the wal . But his rage had been pierced.

  Zeppo blinked. "What?" I could feel his breath on my face, sweet with whisky. "You heard." My voice was hoarse and choking. "If you're going to kil someone, at least make it someone worthwhile." A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. "What the fuck are you talking about?" He had me pinned up against the wal , his fists bunching my shirt under my throat. I wriggled slightly to ease the pressure on my windpipe.

  "It's not me you should be angry at. It's Marty. He's the one who's responsible for al this. He's the one who's humiliated you. If you want to kil someone, kil him." I could feel his hold on my shirt slacken. He stared at me. "You're not serious."

  "Aren't I?"

  "Kil Marty?"

  "Why not?" His hands dropped away. He stepped back. "Jesus, you mean it, don't you?"

  I massaged my throat. My shirt was torn. "A few moments ago you were ready to kil me. So why not him?"

  "Oh, this is ..." He turned and walked a few paces away, shaking his head. "This is getting stupid."

  "Just think about it."

  "Think about what? Committing fucking murder? Forget it, Donald! I'm not interested!"

  "Why?"

  "Why? What do you mean, "why"? Why do you think? Okay, so I lost my temper just now, but that doesn't mean I'm going to top someone just for the sake of it!"

  "I'm not asking you to do anything for the sake of it. Just tel me why you won't at least consider kil ing Marty? You're obviously capable." My stomach ached where he had punched me. I tried to ignore it.

  Zeppo shook his head again. "Oh, for Christ's sake! I've no intention of spending the rest of my life in prison just because you want to get rid of somebody's boyfriend! Jesus!"

  "And if you could do it without being caught out? Would you consider it then?"

  "Oh, I suppose you've already got the perfect murder worked out, have you?"

  "No. But assuming we could think of something?"

  "No!"

  "Why not? If you could be assured of not being found out? Why not?"

  "I can't believe you're even talking about this." A smal part of me shared his surprise. Even as I was speaking I wondered how long this intention had been brooding in my subconscious.

  "Give me a reason. Why wouldn't you?" He turned to face me again. "Al right, then. Why should I?" My argument came as smoothly as if it had been scripted in advance.

  "For the same reason you do everything else. Money." He gave a short laugh. "Oh, no. Even I draw the line somewhere, and this is it."

  "Are you trying to tel me you object on moral grounds?"

  "If you like."

  "I'm afraid I don't believe you." His finger stabbed out at me. "Wel , fuck you, and fuck your stupid ideas. I want my money by tomorrow afternoon, or I'm going to tel your precious Anna exactly what her sweet old boss has been trying to do!"

  "She's in Amsterdam."

  "Then I'l tel her when she gets back!"

  "In which case the vice squad wil receive some very interesting photographs. With your name and address." I smiled. "As they may do anyway." He took a step towards me. "And as they certainly wil if anything unfortunate were to happen to me," I added.

  Zeppo paused. "Get fucked." He went towards the door.

  "On your way out, you might have a look in the study," I said. He stopped, looking back at me suspiciously.

  "Why?"

  "There's a picture in there you might be interested in."

  "Shove it." He began to walk downstairs. I fol owed him.

  "I think you might like to see this one." He reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the front door. "The room's right next to you now. It'd be a shame not to have a look."

  Zeppo turned. "What are you up to?"

  "Don't be such a cynic, Zeppo. I merely want to show you something I think you'l be interested in." I opened the door to the study and waited. He hesitated, but curiosity won. He went in.

  "Al right. Show me."

  "It's this one." I indicated a smal canvas on the wal . "What do you think of it?" He gave a cautious shrug. "So so. Why?"

  "It's a sketch by Jean Cocteau. Have you heard of him?"

  "Yeah." I could not tel from his expression if he had or not. I went on anyway.

  "In that case you'l know how rare this is. Cocteau's famous for his films, but he also made a few quite celebrated sketches in the

  'twenties. This is one of them. It was given to me as a present many years ago, which was the only reason I held on to it. I've never real y liked it. At the time it had some value as a curio. Do you know how much it's worth now?"

  "No." I told him. He appeared unimpressed. "Congratulations. I hope you've got it insured. What's that got to do with me?"

  "I thought, with you being in a related field to the film industry, that you might like it?"

  He looked at me in surprise. "What?"

  "Kil Marty and it's yours." For once I had the pleasure of seeing Zeppo thrown completely off-balance. "Are you serious?"

  "Perfectly."

  "You'd give me that to kil him?"

  "That's what I said." He looked at the painting, then back to me. "Is it real?"

  "Of course it's real! You don't think I'd hang a copy in my own home, do you? Or anywhere else, for that matter." He regarded the sketch again. I let the idea sink in.

  "It's real y worth as much as that?" he asked at last.

  "Oh yes. Obviously, it could be a little more, or a little less. But that's approximately what it would fetch at auction, if you decided to sel it. You can always make your own enquiries if you don't believe me. So long as you're subtle about it." He studied it again. I doubted it was out of any aesthetic appreciation. I wondered which was the greater lure, the value of the sketch, or the name of the artist. As wel as being avaricious, Zeppo was also a poseur. I knew the thought of possessing such a piece would appeal to him.

  Slowly, he began to shake his head. "No. Nice try, Donald, but no. No way." Something about the way he said it made me keep silent. "No, it's ... it's ..." He shook his head more emphatical y. "It's too risky." I said nothing. "Sleeping with someone's one thing, but this

  ..." He looked at me, waiting for my response.

  "It's your choice." He began shaking his head again. But his eyes continual y strayed to the picture. "No … I mean, how can we be sure that we wouldn't be caught?" I had him. Trying not to smile too smugly, I took him by the arm and led him back into the lounge.

  "Why don't we have another drink while we discuss it?" I said.

  Chapter Ten

  I telephoned Marty shortly before six o'clock the fol owing evening. As I expected, there was no answer. But instead of hanging up I let it ring on, emptily. I wanted it to be ringing when he arrived home. And if I was on the line, no one else could be.

  Anna had cal ed me that morning. I had not gone into the gal ery until late. It had been five o'clock before Zeppo a
nd I had finalised everything, and I had slept through the alarm. I had only just opened when she rang, and for once I did not feel inclined to talk to her.

  "Is everything al right?" I asked.

  "Everything's fine. I'm sorry to bother you, but I was thinking about tonight's auction. I wondered, since we got the Hopper for less than you expected, if I should go a bit higher for the Burns? I wouldn't do it without asking you, but I thought you might want to use the money you'd saved." It was an effort to apply myself to the question. "No, I don't think so. I don't real y want to pay any more for it. Just stick with the existing limit." She sounded disappointed. "Oh. Okay. You don't mind me asking, do you? Only I started thinking about it last night, so I thought I'd better ask you about it."

  "Yes, I'm glad you did." Suddenly, it seemed too much of an effort to make excuses. "In fact, I've changed my mind. Yes, go up to' For a moment I could not remember the amount. '-

  that much extra," I said, lamely.

  "Shal I? You think it's a good idea, then?" Her eagerness was touching, but my mind was elsewhere.

  "Yes, very good. Wel done."

  "Thanks. I can't wait for tonight. Shal I cal you afterwards? It shouldn't be too late."

  "No, don't bother. I may be out. I'l hear al about it when you get back tomorrow." The last thing I needed that evening was any distraction. Particularly from Anna. She must have noticed my lack of enthusiasm.

  "Is everything al right?"

  "Yes, fine! I'm ... with a client."

  "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realise."

  "I don't want to seem abrupt, but I'd better not keep him waiting."

  "No, of course not. I'm sorry if I've disturbed you."

  "That's al right. I'm glad you did. It was a good idea. But I'm going to have to go, now. Good luck for tonight. I'l see you at the airport tomorrow morning." She had said goodbye and I had hung up. Belatedly, I had realised I should have checked what time she was going to telephone Marty. But it was perhaps as wel I had not. I was not sure how casual I could have sounded, and I did not want her to remember the enquiry later. I had poured myself a coffee and waited for Zeppo.

  It had been late afternoon when he arrived. He came to the back door, as I had instructed. "Have you got everything?" I asked.

  "Yeah. But you didn't give me enough money. I had to put in some of my own too. So you owe me fifty quid."

  "Fifty?" I had given him a hundred. I had no idea how much that sort of thing cost, but that had seemed more than enough. He had also insisted on being given a post-dated cheque, which he would hold against the Cocteau sketch. Ours was not a relationship based on trust. "Have you got receipts?" He gave an exaggerated sigh and handed me several slips of paper. "Oh ye of little faith. The dustsheets alone cost nearly fifty. And if you're thinking of putting those through the books, I wouldn't. You don't real y want anyone asking what an art gal ery needs with DIY and gardening equipment, do you?"

  "Of course not." I had asked for the receipts automatical y, but Zeppo was right. I tore them up and dropped them into a bin. "Where is everything?"

  "In the car out back. Shal I bring it in now?"

  "No, not yet. Wait until I close the gal ery." He hesitated. "Are you stil sure about this?"

  "Of course I am. I hope this isn't cold feet I can detect, is it?"

  "No. I'm only asking."

  "Good. I don't want you letting me down at an embarrassing moment."

  "I won't. I've already told you I won't." His tone was aggressive.

  But I thought there was also some uncertainty there, and while I enjoyed seeing cracks in his self-assurance, I did not want it to col apse altogether.

  "In that case we'l say no more about it," I said. And neither of us did.

  Now he sat silently in the office as I held the receiver to my ear, waiting for Marty to answer. When he final y did, it seemed so sudden that it startled me.

  "Hel o?"

  "Marty? This is Donald. Donald Ramsey." My voice sounded rushed. But that was not such a bad thing.

  "Hi. What can I do for you?"

  "Are you alone?"

  "Yes, why?" The first hurdle, at least, was over. I ignored his question. "Has Anna cal ed?"

  "Not today. I spoke to her yesterday. Why, what's the matter?" I looked across at Zeppo. "I think you'd better come over here right away."

  "Why, what's wrong?" I could hear the sudden urgency in his voice.

  "Now don't panic, Marty. I'm sure everything's al right, but the Dutch police have contacted me '

  "The police! What's happened?"

  "I'm not entirely sure, but it seems as though there's been some kind of shooting incident."

  "Oh God. Is Anna okay?"

  "I don't know, the police wouldn't tel me. They just said that a number of people had been injured, and that some had been arrested as wel , on drugs charges'

  "Drug charges? For Christ's sake, what's going on?"

  "I can't tel you any more than that, Marty. The police were very vague. They only said a number of people were involved, and that Anna was one of them. It al seems very confused, I don't think they're even clear themselves."

  "They must know if she's al right! Has she been hurt, or arrested, or, or what?

  "Marty, I don't know! That's al they told me. I think' I hesitated.

  "I think they're having problems identifying some people. Some of them were kil ed, and '

  "Oh no. Oh Jesus."

  "Marty, we don't know Anna was one of them! She could be fine. This could al be a misunderstanding!"

  "Who did you speak to? Give me his number."

  "The line's constantly busy, I've been trying. Listen, I think it's best if you come over here as soon as you can. Pack a few clothes and bring your passport. I'l find out when the next flight is to Amsterdam, and book seats on it. We'l be able to find out much more if we're actual y there." I was relying on shock to stop him thinking clearly, make him let me take the lead.

  "Take the tube, not a taxi.

  It'l be quicker. The front door wil be locked, so come to the one at the back. And until we know more, I wouldn't mention this to anyone.

  Just get over here as soon as you can." The telephone clicked as he hung up. I put the receiver down on the desk without breaking the connection. If anyone tried to cal him now the line would be engaged. I motioned to Zeppo to be quiet until we had left the office. If Marty happened to pick up the telephone again, I did not want him to hear us talking.

  "He's on his way," I said.

  "What if he takes a taxi anyway? Or tel s someone?"

  "I don't think he wil . He's in no fit state to think for himself at the moment. He's far more likely to do as I told him."

  "But what if he doesn't?"

  "If he tel s anyone, we'l have to postpone it, obviously. I'l just have to pretend that I've been the victim of a particularly sick hoax."

  "And what if he gets a taxi instead of the tube? Are we stil going to go through with it then?" I sighed. Zeppo had swung between moods of supreme confidence and uncertainty al afternoon. I was beginning to tire of it. "Can you real y see a London taxi driver remembering one insignificant fare out of hundreds? And the date and time as wel ? I can't. I'm only being cautious. I real y don't think it matters."

  I looked at my watch. "Now, he'l be here in less than an hour. I suggest we go downstairs and get everything ready."

  Marty made the journey in slightly more than forty-five minutes. The buzz of the doorbel seemed incredibly loud when it came. Zeppo and I looked at each other. Neither of us spoke.

  Then he nodded, and I went to answer it.

  I paused in front of the door. I took a deep breath to steady myself, and opened it. Marty was standing outside, suitcase in hand.

  "Have you heard anything?" he asked. His face was white and stricken.

  "No, I stil can't get through." I moved to one side to let him in, then closed the door and went past him. He fol owed me inside. "Did you come by taxi or tube?"

&n
bsp; "Tube. So you don't know anything else at al ?"

  "Nothing. Have you brought your passport?"

  "Yes. What did they say, exactly?" We were in the short corridor that led to the storeroom. He was close behind me. "You haven't told anyone, have you?"

  "No, I came straight over." I opened the storeroom door and went inside. The cotton dust-sheet slid a little on the underlying polythene as I walked on it. "So no one knows you're here?"

  "No! Dammit, wil you tel me what they said?" he shouted, and then Zeppo stepped out from behind the door and swung the crowbar against the back of his head. I moved aside as he pitched forward and fel face down onto the floor. His glasses skidded off and came to rest at my feet, and I held up my hand as Zeppo raised the crowbar again.

  "Wait." The suitcase had dropped loosely from Marty's fingers. I moved it out of the way and draped a fold of the dust sheet over his head and shoulders. He was breathing noisily, twitching a little but otherwise stil . I stepped back. "AH right." Zeppo brought the crowbar down. The end was wrapped in a towel to prevent blood splashing on the initial blow, but not enough to significantly deaden the impact. By the third swing, patches of red were already beginning to soak through the white dust sheet I let him swing once more, then motioned for him to stop.

  I crouched and took hold of Marty's wrist. Incredibly, there was stil a flutter there. I stood up and moved out of the way. "Not quite."

  Zeppo hefted the crowbar and brought it down several more rimes before he stopped and waited for me to check Marty's pulse again. There was an unpleasant smel . I wrinkled my nose against it and counted up to sixty. Then I put his wrist back down. "That's it."

  "Is he dead?" Zeppo was breathing heavily.

  I straightened and looked at the bloodstained sheet. It clung wetly to the broken object underneath. "I think we can safely assume so, yes." My voice was amazingly steady.

  Zeppo's shoulders sagged. "Thank God for that." His cheeks were flushed, but the rest of his face was pale. He made to set the crowbar on Marty's body.

  "I wouldn't put that down just yet," I said.