“Not really,” he replied. He caught the anxiety in her voice. It intrigued him that she would question her own motives. “Will’s always chosen Kaufman. I never understood it until I saw them painting together.”
“How do you mean?”
“It was like they were possessed by each other.”
“You mean they were in love.”
“More than that. They’d forget anybody—anything—else existed. There was only themselves…the work, and the work through themselves, and themselves through the work. They made their own reality. Nothing else could touch it.”
Madeleine reached for his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. His grip was warm, strong. Somehow it had substance and force. Some part of her was in wonder that she had conjured this, that she had created such a magnificent delusion. Another part was unsure if she had created him at all.
Edward studied her, mesmerised. How he’d summoned her into being did not bother him enough to contemplate. But he did wonder why. What question was he asking that was answered by Madeleine d’Leon? What was it in his own psyche, his own life that required a crime-writer—was it the death of Geoffrey Vogel? Madeleine had come first, but perhaps he would not have held her so close if it had not been for the events which seemed so suited to her expertise.
Madeleine met his eye and he wondered if she knew what he was thinking. She was probably laughing at him. That was probably fair.
***
“Just a minute.” Edward tore the swing tag off a polo shirt and pulled it hastily over his head before answering the door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, but recent experience had taught him to consider the possibility of the police. If that were so, he did not want to risk being dragged to the station without a shirt. Half-dressed men always looked guilty.
“I say, old man, I hope I’m not intruding.” Adrian Barrington radiated courteous goodwill.
“Adrian…no, of course not. Though this is a surprise. How did you know I was here?”
“I was in the station…for Willow, you know. I overheard one of the officers talking about placing men at The Warwick in case you attempted to run.” Barrington took a seat in one of the tub-shaped armchairs in the sitting area of the suite.
“Can I make you a cup of coffee, Adrian, or would you prefer something stronger?” Edward asked awkwardly.
“Tea, if you can manage it.” The art dealer glanced about the suite as Edward fumbled with teabags and boiling water, visibly cringing at the prints which decorated the wall. He paused when he noticed the bed which showed clear signs of inhabitation. “Oh, I say, you were asleep. I apologise. How rude of me.”
Edward placed tea and a couple of UHT milk pods on the table. “I was getting up anyway…please don’t be concerned.”
Barrington stared at the disarrayed bedclothes. “I see you’ve tossed and turned. No wonder, of course.”
“I’ve always been a restless sleeper,” Edward replied carefully. He could see Madeleine sitting in the bed, watching. “Does Will know you’re here, Adrian?”
“Heavens, no! Elliot is not out of the woods, I’m afraid. She’s maintaining a vigil at his bedside.”
Edward frowned. He decided to be blunt. “Do you mind me asking what you are doing here?”
“Not at all. You’re entitled to ask, of course. I was hoping you might tell me exactly what happened.”
“Didn’t Willow—?”
“Willow is distraught. You may think of us as mere acquaintances, Ned, but I believe I know you rather well. Willow has been talking about you since I first started representing her and we have discussed you often and in great depth. I don’t think I’ll be betraying a confidence to say she loved you like a brother. I also know Elliot Kaufman. All of this that I know is inconsistent with what Willow says or thinks happened. And so I’m here.”
Edward sat back, surprised. “I see. But why do you want to know?”
“I act for Willow. It’s easier to do so if I know precisely what’s going on.”
Edward shrugged. “That seems reasonable, I suppose.”
“So will you enlighten me?”
Edward nodded. He told Barrington what had happened: the argument he’d had with Willow, Kaufman’s attack, the accident, the blood and his attempts to stop the bleeding.
The art dealer pulled out a green polka-dot silk handkerchief and patted his brow. It was a studied movement. Almost everything about Adrian Barrington seemed designed for effect, without being affected.
“Dear Lord, how appalling!” He took a sip of tea and grimaced his judgment of the brew. “How fortunate that you acted so quickly, Ned!”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I should have paused a moment to allow Will to see I hadn’t stabbed Kaufman.”
“I’ll speak to her,” Barrington offered. “She’ll come round once the shock has passed.”
Edward saw Madeleine’s eyes narrow. It was enough to make him wary.
“Why?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why do you care how Will feels about me?”
Barrington expanded with an intake of breath and blustered. “Well I…if you…I’m just trying to…” He stood. “I think it’s very sad that this experience has made you think the worst of people, Edward! I came here with the very best of intentions. It’s really too bad.”
Edward retracted, regretting the sharpness of his suspicions. He had no quarrel with Barrington, no reason to distrust him. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I didn’t mean to suggest…it’s been a difficult day.”
Barrington settled somewhat. “Of course, I understand. Perhaps I should not have stuck my oar in.”
“No, you were perfectly kind to do so. Anything you might say to Will on my behalf would be greatly appreciated.”
Barrington seemed further mollified. He offered Edward his hand. “Say no more, Ned.”
Fealty and the Lack Thereof
Peter Blake walked through the open door. Edward McGinnity was sweeping up the last fragments of shattered glass. His sitting room was slowly being put back together.
The reporter whistled. “I thought you’d have someone to do this sort of thing.”
Edward smiled. “I fired the butler. I’m afraid Jeeves just wasn’t up to the job.”
Blake studied him. “So, McGinnity, are you a homicidal maniac or just the unluckiest sap on the planet?”
Edward deposited the glass into a garbage bag. “I’d offer you a seat, but the furniture hasn’t been cleaned yet,” he said glancing at the couch. The blood splatter was not visible on the dark leather, but it was there. He motioned Blake to follow him into the kitchen instead. Of course it, too, had been a crime scene, but that was weeks ago.
“Thanks.” Blake caught the beer that Edward tossed and the two leaned on the breakfast bar to drink and talk. Briefly, Edward recounted what had happened.
“So you saved his life?” Blake said raising his bottle in salute.
Edward shrugged. “Sadly the only other witness is convinced I stabbed him.”
“Kaufman?”
“No, he’s still sedated. Willow.”
“She saw that?”
“She couldn’t have—it didn’t happen.”
Blake set down his beer and took a notebook from his hip pocket. He wrote a couple of notes. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to consider that Ms. Meriwether may have a less-than-noble reason to accuse you of attempting to murder her husband.”
Edward wouldn’t have it. “Will was hysterical—mistaken. It wasn’t sinister.”
Black tapped the pen against his chin, contemplating. “You do know that one of Ms. Meriwether’s pieces was sold last week for one hundred and six thousand dollars.”
“Really?” Willow had never allowed Edward to buy her paintings and so he had no idea of their market value. “Is that unusual?”<
br />
“Let me put it this way, that same painting was bought for fifteen thousand dollars at her exhibition opening.”
Edward shrugged. “Her agent did say something about the murder affecting the value. She sold out, you know.”
“Well then, some folks have made very astute investments.”
“Are you suggesting someone killed Vogel to add value to Will’s paintings?” Edward made no effort to hide his scepticism.
“People have been murdered for much less, Eddie boy.”
“Still,it seems a little far-fetched—”
“Probably. Why do you think Kaufman attacked you, in the first instance?”
“He probably realised what I was telling Will. Or perhaps he thought he was protecting her somehow. I was trying to make her listen…I grabbed her arm.” Edward closed his eyes as he recalled how the nightmare had unfolded. “He came charging in and my bowl of cars was knocked over—”
“Bowl of cars?”
Edward fished the Vauxhall Cresta out of his pocket and showed the reporter.
Blake’s face lit up. “Matchbox! Well I’ll be buggered—I used to play with these things…always had a couple in my pockets as a kid!”
“I think Kaufman slipped on one of them and fell on the coffee table,” Edward said. “Ended up with my fountain pen in his neck.”
Blake shook his head. “You wouldn’t read about it.”
***
Hugh closed Madeleine’s laptop.
“Hey!” Caught by surprise, Madeleine only just managed to get her hands out of the way.
“Where are the sheets, Maddie?”
“What sheets?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about! We only have one set of white sheets and they’re gone!”
“I didn’t know you cared so much about the colour of our linen!”
Hugh shouted now. “What the hell did you do with them?”
“Where did the blood come from, Hugh?”
Hugh paled a little, whether from fear or fury, Madeleine could not tell. “What do you think, you idiot? I’m a doctor. I handle blood all the time!”
Madeleine stood folding her arms around the laptop. She held it like a shield before her breast. “It was in our bed, Hugh. What did you do? Dammit! What did you do?”
Silence. It had been said and now there was silence. Loathing and contempt in Hugh Lamond’s eyes. Madeleine stepped back, suddenly frightened. He spoke slowly. “I had a vial of blood in my jacket, which I’d forgotten to send off for testing. I lay down for a moment and the vial broke. Blood was spilled. If you had asked me, I would have explained but instead you concoct some wild notion about God-knows-what!”
Madeleine stared at him. Oh God, what had she done? Still. “Whose blood is it, Hugh?”
“Jesus Christ, Maddie, this is not one of your fucking novels! There is no mystery here, just an overworked doctor forgetting to follow protocol with a blood test. Whose blood test it is, is confidential!”
Madeleine felt like he’d slapped her. He looked like he wanted to.
“There’s something wrong with you, Maddie!” Hugh had clearly not finished venting his rage. “This is not normal.”
“Hugh—”
“I’m going out—to murder people or whatever it is you think I’ve been doing!”
Madeleine watched as he walked out of the house slamming every door in the process. She felt shaky and wrong-footed. And bereft. She put aside the laptop, angry with herself and with Edward McGinnity.
“You’re confusing me,” she said bitterly. “You’re making me crazy!”
“You believe him, then?” Edward asked.
“What?”
“You believe him about the blood?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Only you know that, Maddie.”
“Damn you, Ned! It could have happened the way he said!”
He regarded her wordlessly for a time, then he said quietly, “I haven’t made you crazy. You are not crazy.”
***
The shrill ring of the phone startled her. It intruded, and so she was sharp when she answered. It was her father.
“Oh hello, Dad…no, there’s nothing wrong. I was just working.”
“Ah, I won’t bother you then.”
“No, it’s fine, Dad. I’m always working.”
“Asoka Wickramaratne called me about your bloodstain, Madeleine. He’s done some tests. He wants you to come to his office.”
“His office?” Madeleine groaned. She no longer cared about the blood. “Couldn’t I just ring him?”
“I think he has some books he wants you to sign. He buys them all, you know. He must have gone to some trouble to do these tests for you.”
Madeleine winced. Clearly, she was going to Asoka Wickramaratne’s office. “Yes, of course. I’ll go tomorrow—just give me the address.”
***
Edward had first noticed the SUV, or at least its headlights, several minutes before. The vehicle was a latest model BMW…he assumed the owner had not yet worked out how to switch his lights out of high beam. By the time he reached the outskirts of the city, however, the glare in his rearview and side mirrors was becoming more than a passing annoyance.
He slowed and pulled over to let it pass. And so his car was nearly stationary when the SUV first made impact. Edward cursed and moved to get out of his vehicle, expecting that the other driver would do the same. As he swung open the door, the SUV reversed and gunned its engine once again. Edward hesitated, and then he heard Madeleine scream, “Now, Ned, go now!”
He turned the ignition and slammed the accelerator to the floor before he’d even closed the door.
The BMW corrected too late, slid past the Jag’s rear bumper, braked hard and turned in pursuit.
On the road, Edward wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed he had somehow become involved in a car chase. The Mark II was not accustomed to being driven hard—he was not sure she was up to anything this strenuous, not to mention insane—he was not sure he was up to it either. The SUV was trying to pass him in order to cut him off or run him off the road again. He turned hard into a bend, hearing the squeal of tyres behind as the SUV fishtailed before regaining control. Edward had no idea where he was going, just away.
“Drive back towards the city,” Madeleine instructed.
“Why?”
“Traffic, witnesses—she’s got a clear run here, nothing but road and no one to see.”
“Are you crazy, Maddie? He’s driving like a lunatic. If there’s traffic someone will get killed!”
“She’s chasing you down, Ned. You are going to get killed! You have to go towards help!”
Edward’s eyes flashed, the lines of his jaw became hard. “I will not be the cause of a car accident!”
Madeleine pulled back. Of course. He wouldn’t. What had she been thinking? “Then you’ll have to lose them. How fast is this thing?”
“She’s pretty swift in short bursts, but she’s an old car, Maddie.”
“We’ll have to hide.”
“What?”
“Go as fast you can. When you lose sight of the BMW on a bend or over the crest of a hill, pull off the road and kill the engine. With any luck they’ll drive past.”
“Do you think that will work?” he asked sceptically.
“It does in my books.”
Despite his misgivings, Edward did as she instructed, opening up the throttle. The burst of speed caught the SUV by surprise. Edward smiled grimly as the force of the acceleration threw him back into the leather seat and the headlights in his rearview mirror receded rapidly. He wasn’t sure how much of a lead he’d clawed by the time he pulled off into a small laneway which offered a screening of trees. He could not bring himself to drive the Jaguar completely off road.
> Madeleine watched Edward McGinnity grimace as he cut the engine.
“Living might be just slightly more important than allowing the engine to cool,” she whispered.
Edward did not seem entirely convinced.
Seconds passed, and then a minute. A car sped past, but from his position behind the trees, Edward could not see if it was the SUV. Madeleine did not allow him to lose time wondering. “Go, now!”
He turned the key. For a few spluttering moments the car resisted and Madeleine feared that all Hugh’s warnings about the importance of allowing the engine to cool were warranted, after all. Then, finally, the engine ignited. Edward pointed his car in the direction from which he had come and once again pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor.
***
Madeleine was struggling to understand the twisting of her own mind. She wasn’t really sure what she was putting into train or why. She had no idea who was trying to run Edward McGinnity off the road. Elliot Kaufman was in hospital…Adrian Barrington, perhaps…or Willow?…She shook her head to dislodge the thought. Willow Meriwether was one of the good guys, her hero’s love interest…not that Edward really loved Willow…he’d just thought he did.
She manoeuvred her old Mercedes into the tight parking space, wondering, not for the first time whether she should sacrifice the classic style of her vintage automobile for the convenience of power steering. She climbed out feeling like she’d heaved the car into place. Still, she was lucky to have found a space at all at this time of day.
Dr. Asoka Wickramaratne worked on the twenty-seventh floor of the building adjacent to the car park. The forensic pathologist, a solid gentleman, as wide as he was tall, moved and spoke with a kind of measured caution.
“Hello, Uncle,” Madeleine said as she walked into his office. An extraordinarily small skull leered up at her from the desk. A child’s skull, perhaps. The thought hurt. The callous disrespect of the poor wee thing’s resting place on the pathologist’s desk was distressing.
“It’s a pencil sharpener,” Wickramaratne said, picking it up to show her the mechanism embedded in the bottom. “My son’s idea of a joke.”
Madeleine nodded, relieved but hoping she didn’t look so.
Crossing the Lines Page 19
