He sighed and took it. “You’ll delete it once you’re finished, right?”
“Of course…and if anything goes wrong, I’ll say I hacked the gallery system to get the footage. Ned will say he saw me do it, won’t you Ned?”
“Indeed, I saw you hack…helped even.”
Mattlock walked around the console. About forty screens had been displaying surveillance of the gallery while he did sit-ups. He inserted the USB stick into a port, typed for a while, and pressed Return with flourish.
“Thank you, Lou. You’re a true friend.”
“If you’d like me to speak to this bloke who’s following you,” the guard said, puffing up. “A quiet word from a law man might be all it takes.”
Willow smiled sweetly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’d be happy to help, that’s all,” Mattlock handed her the memory stick.
Edward felt a twinge of compassion, perhaps camaraderie, for the guard. “Would you like to join us for lunch, Lou?” he asked. “It’s the least we could do.”
“No thanks, mate. I still have a stone or so to lose before they accept me.”
And so they took their leave of the security guard.
“Is he trying to get into the police force?” Edward asked as they walked out to his car.
“Lou? No, not at all.”
“Then what’s he trying to lose weight for?”
“He wants to donate his body to science. Apparently they only take skinny bodies…something about it being hard to store human fat. It’s odd. I would have thought every body was of some use or interest to science.”
“That’s not the part that’s odd.”
“You mean Lou?” She laughed. “Poor man has a very domineering mother. He still lives at home. I think this is his way of ensuring that he’ll escape her clutches eventually.”
“By donating his body?”
“A final act of rebellion when he is beyond the consequences. He’s quite dedicated to the idea.”
Madeleine giggled as she contemplated weaving Lou Mattlock further into the story somehow. She liked the idea of him. She made a note to herself to check the veracity of the claim that Science was interested only in lean cadavers. She had heard it before in passing but couldn’t remember whether the information came from a reliable source. A little part of her was tempted to follow Lou Mattlock for a while, but she felt the tug of the surveillance footage and returned her watch to Edward and Willow.
“We have to stop by the shops.” Edward started the Jaguar.
“What shops? Why?”
“The police took all my computers. I’ll have to buy a new laptop if we’re going to watch this.”
“Buy a new laptop?” Willow rolled her eyes. “Have you never heard of a library? We can use one of their computers.”
“There’ll be a few hours of footage, Will. And, unless libraries have changed significantly, they don’t give you a private room and a pot of coffee with your computer…both of which we’ll need.”
“But a new computer, just for—”
“I’m a writer. I need a computer and I have no idea how long the police will hold onto my old one.”
Willow sighed but she said nothing further. It was probably ridiculous to argue about extravagance when they were both under the threat of arrest for murder.
Indifferent to price, Edward made his purchase quickly and they drank ice cream spiders in the department store café while waiting for the appropriate software to be loaded.
“This is all rather exciting.” Willow fidgeted with the USB stick. “Your crime-writer would approve, I think.”
“Approve of what? Don’t lose that.”
Willow put the USB back into her pocket. “Of your investigating. It’s classic crime fiction—the innocent bystander finds his back against the wall and is forced to take action, accepting the mantle of hero in the pursuit of justice.”
Madeleine winced. But there was no point pretending she was reinventing crime fiction, as so many writers and their publicists appeared fond of claiming.
Edward was a little perturbed to hear himself described as a cliché. But it didn’t seem as though he had any choice but to be just that. “Madeleine would probably have solved this by now,” he said absently.
“Rubbish,” Madeleine objected. “I have no idea who did it yet. You’ll just have to investigate, even if it is beneath you.”
He smiled at her. “It’s not beneath me. I’d just rather be writing.”
“Ned!” Willow caught his attention again. “You were a thousand miles away.”
“Sorry.” He checked his watch. “Come on, let’s pick up the computer and solve this mystery. You do understand that the hero has to get the girl in the end, don’t you?”
Willow squinted at him. “You could just keep the one in your head.”
They returned to Edward’s beach house to watch the footage. Edward waved at the unmarked police car that had been following them before stepping inside. “I wonder if I should send them out a drink?”
“They’re on duty.”
“Coffee?”
“I’m sure your lawyer would tell you not to goad the police.”
He pulled a tin of ground coffee from the refrigerator. “Just us, then.”
Willow moved the kilned bowl of Matchbox cars and set the new laptop on the coffee table. They sat together on the couch and watched. The footage was taken from a number of cameras within the gallery space. They scrolled through to find the footage from the camera trained on Literatum scripius excellio. It didn’t cover the fire stairs specifically but anybody who went to the fire door, or the men’s room would have to pass before it.
It picked up the conversation between Vogel, Willow, and Edward. Edward’s disdain, his loathing of Vogel was clearly visible on the footage. It showed Edward’s departure and a little later both Willow and Vogel joining other conversations.
Edward checked the time on the tape. “Right, we know he was alive to this point. We’re interested in who passes in front of the camera from left to right from now onwards.”
Willow frowned. “Explain that to me.”
“The fire stairs are on the left of the screen. The killer would have been coming from there.”
“Assuming he returned to the opening. He might have simply walked down the stairs and out of the building via another floor.”
Edward groaned. “Dammit. You’re right. This is no use whatsoever.”
Madeleine paused, disappointed, frustrated. She’d hoped this thread would lead to something. The practicalities had not been something she’d anticipated. Perhaps, if the camera was trained directly on the door to the fire stairs? No. That would be too ridiculously convenient and solve the mystery entirely too easily, not to mention too soon. She groaned, cursing internally as she considered cutting the sequence. If the footage wasn’t going to progress the plot somehow, then it didn’t belong in the story. But now that it was written it became what happened and she resisted going back.
“Hold on,” Willow said as Edward stood. “Let’s just watch it. We may see something anyway—someone who wasn’t on the guest list or someone who left before the body was discovered.”
Edward stopped. He sat back down and grimaced at the artist. “You can see why I don’t write crime fiction.”
“I can, rather,” she replied, settling into the couch and putting her feet on the coffee table. “Now shut up and watch or go make popcorn.”
Madeleine listened to the gentle rise and fall of Hugh snoring beside her as she stared at the ceiling. They’d just made love for the first time in weeks. It was strange…a mechanical angry act. When Hugh finally came, the relief was more to do with the fact that it was over than any physical ecstasy. He’d touched her body like he was tuning a television, pressing buttons with an expectation that results w
ould follow, irritated when they didn’t. She’d been tense, and handling what might once have aroused her was uncomfortable and intrusive. She’d wanted to push him away and she suspected that he had wished she would. But she hadn’t and neither had he and now they could not take it back, could not stop the creeping chill between them.
Madeleine turned her back to Hugh’s form, curling around the privacy of her own thoughts. She wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly wanted her. She’d not made an excuse because she’d hoped it might help her sleep. It seemed ridiculous now, weak. She’d agreed to sex seeking sleep, because she hoped post-coital languor would grant her unconsciousness. Perhaps Hugh had, too…for him, success.
But the kiss, Edward McGinnity’s stolen kiss. It played on her mind now, in the darkness when she lay alone beside her husband. She remembered a time when she and Hugh were first in love, when they had kissed endlessly. Intensely. Excitedly. Their hearts pressed against each other’s. When they’d first become intimate, it would have been impossible to separate the kissing out, but slowly that had changed. Over the years it had retreated. Now they had managed to make love without bringing their lips anywhere near the other’s body. It had been all hands and organs, no breath, no words, a joining without connection. They’d fucked at a distance. How had it come to this?
But there was Edward’s kiss, too easily brought to mind because that’s where it had always been. Gentle, lingering. She held the feeling of it now and closed herself around it, cradling it, desperate to fall asleep within it. But sleep would not come. Instead she thought about the security footage Edward and Willow had procured, watched it over again, searching, looking. There had to be something. Some little thing, a clue, a red herring, a reason…
“Maybe there’s nothing,” Edward whispered. “Maybe it’s a path you went down just so you could know there was nothing there.”
“I don’t want to delete it.”
“Why would you delete it? It was what happened. It failed, but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t have ever happened.”
Madeleine could feel the pillow wet under her cheek.
“Everything has to progress the story,” she said.
“Why?” He pushed a stray tress of hair behind her ear, tracing the curve of her cheek with his fingertips. “Not everything is about moving forward. Sometimes it’s about taking a step back. Trying something else.”
Madeleine watched Edward’s lips as he spoke. But she closed her eyes when those lips pressed against hers, softly parting until she could taste him, feel him tasting her. Edward’s hand moved down from her face, light upon her neck, until it cupped her breast. She froze, afraid any movement now would wake Hugh, but she did not resist. Edward’s mouth followed the path his hand had taken. His tongue swirled against her skin and his hand slid lower still. “Ned,” she whispered.
His lips were on hers again then and her back arched towards him. Gradually, he brought up his knee, parting her legs to allow him access, his fingers first, gentle, exploring, as he sucked the skin on her throat. Madeleine’s breath became ragged. He languished there, unhurried, smiling as he saw the almost bewildered desire in her face. He waited until she was shuddering before he entered and found welcome. Slowly, inch by inch, he claimed a place in her body.
Madeleine felt pleasure explode and spread into every quivering nerve. It seemed a star had burst within her, casting constellations into all the unlit parts of herself, as she lay trembling beneath him. She kissed her lover’s chest, tasting the slight salt of his skin, sensing the beat of his heart against her lips. His hands pressed into the small of her back as he took her more urgently now. She moved with him, went with him.
When Edward’s body finally tensed, claimed by release and descent from that carnal peak, he did not look away or retreat to some solitary place, but stayed with her, his gaze locked on hers, so that she could see the reflection of her own surprised desire in his eyes. He kissed her as they floated down, spent, tangled, together.
Evidence
Breakfast was strange.
Hugh had always preferred to treat sex as if it had never happened from the moment it was done. He was amorous enough in the lead-up, but the moment the whole business was complete, he seemed to dust off his hands and sleep, or want to talk of politics or work. It was as if the act of sex embarrassed him somehow. Madeleine had once found this post-coital routine quaint and now she was at least accustomed to it.
This morning, however, Hugh patted her behind when he reached around her to grab the kettle.
She looked at him surprised. He averted his eyes. “Do you want a coffee?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment.
And so they ate together, an odd, polite meal that left Madeleine a little bewildered. They talked about the new Marvel movie. “We should try to see it,” Hugh said.
“Yes…I’d like that.”
“Maybe one day we’ll be able to go to the premiere of the Veronica Killwilly movie.”
Madeleine tensed. She hadn’t mentioned the Grand Oak Productions offer…how could Hugh know?
“You’ll have to wear something other than pyjamas.” Hugh raised his eyes and looked at her for the first time. He pulled back. “What’s that on your neck?”
“Where?” Madeleine was immediately self-conscious.
Hugh reached over the table and pulled back the collar of her pyjama top. “My God, they’re love bites.”
Madeleine got up and checked her reflection in the sideboard mirror. There were a series of bruises on her throat, small but distinct.
“Did I do that?” Hugh asked puzzled. Neither of them could remember him kissing her neck.
“No…It was the sailors I keep under the bed for emergencies.” She pulled her collar back to hide at least some of the telltale bruises.
Hugh frowned, too perplexed by the appearance of the marks to even pretend to be amused. “I’d best get off to work. I’ll be late again tonight.”
As soon as he had left, Madeleine returned to the mirror. They were unmistakeable. Small swirling smudges, purple against the mortified flush of her skin. She stared in horror, though, even now, her skin tingled and her heart hastened with the memory of Edward’s tongue against her throat.
But how could a dream, however intense, leave bruises in its wake? Madeleine gazed at her own reflection, struggling to suppress her rising guilt. She had fantasised about another man whilst her husband slept beside her…surely that was adultery on some level.
She fingered the chunky bracelet on her right wrist. Had she forgotten to take it off the night before? Had she slept with her hand wedged beneath her neck? Yes, that must have been it. What else could it have been? The possibility afforded her relief, though she wasn’t sure what against. Perhaps it was that she was only guilty of an imaginary infidelity.
Unsettled, Madeleine retreated to the certain morality of her imagined world.
The screen displayed her last paragraph with the inevitable blankness beneath. Edward and Willow sat forward on the couch, elbows on knees, eyes fixed on the laptop between them.
And then they saw it, both at once. Edward sat back and looked at her, waiting, allowing Willow to react first. She moved forward, her head tilted, her eyes large. “Fuck,” she whispered. “That’s Elliot.”
Edward nodded. “It is.”
Willow stood. “I have to go home.”
“I’m coming with you.”
She didn’t argue.
***
Elliot Kaufman opened the door with a fried turkey drumstick in his other hand and grease on his lips. “Willy—there you are, baby. Fuck off, McGinnity!”
Edward ignored him, stepping in behind Willow and closing the door behind them.
“What the hell were you doing at my launch?” Willow hurled straight in.
“I wasn’t—”
“Liar! We saw y
ou on the security footage!” Willow pushed Kaufman furiously.
He stood firm. “You’re spying on me now?”
Edward intervened. “Look, Kaufman, if we saw you, you can bet the police have or will too.”
“This is nothing to do with you, McGinnity!”
“What were you doing at the gallery, Elliot?” Willow demanded. She was on the verge of tears, a fact which heated Edward’s blood and cooled Elliot’s.
“I was supporting my wife.” His lips twitched upwards.
“You said you weren’t coming!” Willow snapped.
“Yeah, I did, but I knew it was important to you,” Kaufman said quietly.
“Why didn’t you…?”
“When I got there, I saw you hanging off this fuckwit!” He cast his glare towards Edward. “Figured I wasn’t wanted!”
Willow’s face softened. “Oh, Elliot.”
“Every time you step out with him, baby,” his voice cracked, “I wonder if you’ll ever come back to me.”
Edward rolled his eyes, but Willow reached up to stroke the carefully groomed stubble on Kaufman’s cheek. “Elliot…I’m sorry…I didn’t think—”
Kaufman leaned down and kissed her…deep, lingering, territorial. Edward shook his head.
“You can fuck off now, McGinnity,” Kaufman snarled as he pulled Willow into his chest, the turkey drumstick still in his hand.
“Why haven’t you said anything before about being at the gallery?” Edward persisted.
“Nobody asked.”
“When did you leave?”
“How many times do I have to tell you to fuck off?”
“Ned,” Willow cautioned as Edward flared.
“Will, you’re not buying his—?”
“That’s enough, Ned! Perhaps you should go. I’ll see you soon.”
Edward looked at her, silently pleading for her to see sense.
“Ned…please.”
Kaufman smiled.
Edward ignored him and focussed on Willow.
And in her eyes he saw that she truly wished he’d go.
Crossing the Lines Page 13
