Fine Lines

Chapter Nine

I telephoned Marty shortly before six o’clock the following 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 called me that morning. I had not gone into the gallery until late. It had been five o’clock before Zeppo and 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 all 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 really 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.

“Shall I? You think it’s a good idea, then?” Her eagerness was touching, but my mind was elsewhere.

“Yes, very good. Well done.”

“Thanks. I can’t wait for tonight. Shall I call you afterwards? It shouldn’t be too late.”

“No, don’t bother. I may be out. I’ll hear all 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 all 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 all 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’ll 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 well 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 really want anyone asking what an art gallery needs with DIY and gardening equipment, do you?”

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

“In the car out back. Shall I bring it in now?”

“No, not yet. Wait until I close the gallery.”

He hesitated. “Are you still 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 collapse altogether.

“In that case we’ll 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 finally did, it seemed so sudden that it startled me.

“Hello?”

“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 called?”

“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 all 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 tell me. They just said that a number of people had been injured, and that some had been arrested as well, on drugs charges—”

“Drug charges? For Christ’s sake, what’s going on?”

“I can’t tell 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 all seems very confused, I don’t think they’re even clear themselves.”

“They must know if she’s all right! Has she been hurt, or arrested, or, or what?

“Marty, I don’t know! That’s all they told me. I think...” I hesitated. “I think they’re having problems identifying some people. Some of them were killed, and—”

“Oh no. Oh Jesus.”

“Marty, we don’t know Anna was one of them! She could be fine. This could all 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’ll find out when the next flight is to Amsterdam, and book seats on it. We’ll be able to find out much more if we’re actually 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’ll be quicker. The front door will 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 call 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 tells someone?”

“I don’t think he will. 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 tells anyone, we’ll have to postpone it, obviously. I’ll 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 still going to go through with it then?”

I sighed. Zeppo had swung between moods of supreme confidence and uncertainty all afternoon. I was beginning to tire of it. “Can you really see a London taxi driver remembering one insignificant fare out of hundreds? And the date and time as well? I can’t. I’m only being cautious. I really don’t think it matters.”

I looked at my watch. “Now, he’ll 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 doorbell 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 still can’t get through.” I moved to one side to let him in, then closed the door and went past him. He followed me inside. “Did you come by taxi or tube?”

“Tube. So you don’t know anything else at all?”

“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, will you tell 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 fell 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 still. 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 still 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 smell. 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.

He jerked back. “Why? He’s dead isn’t he?”

“Yes. But now we’ve come this far, we might as well do the job properly.”

“What are you talking about? How much more properly can you get than that?” He nodded at the figure on the floor.

“He can be identified from dental records if his teeth are intact.”

Zeppo stared at me. “You want me to smash his teeth?”

“I think it’s a sensible precaution, yes.”

“No way! You didn’t say anything about that before.”

“It hadn’t occurred to me before. But I think we should.”

“No, you mean you think I should! Well, forget it! If you want his teeth smashing, you do it!”

“I don’t see what you’re being so squeamish about. They hardly matter to him now.”

“I’m not breaking his teeth!”

I could see he meant it. “All right, if you feel that strongly about it. I don’t suppose it really matters. It was only an idea.” I still thought it was a good one. I had also brought paint stripper to remove his fingerprints. But there was no point now. “We’d better start to clean up.”

Zeppo emptied Marty’s pockets and removed his wristwatch. Then we wrapped him in both the cotton and polythene dust-sheets and manhandled the entire bundle into a large refuse sack.

By the time we had finished, I was exhausted, and Zeppo was sweating heavily.

“Jesus, I need a drink,” he said.

“You can have one later. The last thing we need is for the police to stop you for a breathalyser test.”

“Oh, come on, Donald! One isn’t going to do any harm! I need something after that!”

“No.”

We stared at each other. In spite of what I had just seen him do, I did not feel at all threatened by him. Far from it. He seemed unnerved, his aggression more petulant than arrogant. I held his eyes until he shrugged and looked away.

“Oh, all right, all right, I’ll not have a bloody drink. Can I at least go for a piss? Or is that too risky as well?”

While Zeppo was at the toilet, I went through the articles he had taken from Marty’s pockets. There was a wallet containing credit cards and a relatively small amount of money, a passport, and an address book. I took the money from the wallet and then, as an afterthought, bent each credit card in half. I did not want Zeppo to succumb to temptation. Leaving all this in a small pile, I opened the suitcase.

There was nothing of any interest in it. A few clothes, hastily packed. A soap bag, a chequebook, and some more money. Marty had obviously been a prudent person. I put everything except the money in the suitcase, and was just closing it when Zeppo returned.

“Doing a spot of grave robbing are we?” he said, grinning.

“If it offends your principles, I suppose you won’t want the cash he was carrying.”

He picked up the thin bundle of notes and counted through them. “Waste not, want not, eh?” His eyes were unnaturally bright. He seemed to have suddenly recovered his self-assurance. I wondered if it was reaction.

“If you’re ready, I suggest we see about getting that” — I nodded at the bulky plastic sack — “into the car.”

“You’ll have to give me a hand to lift it.” There was a hint of malicious pleasure in his voice. I had the suspicion that he was quite capable of managing on his own, but said nothing as I went to help. Much of the weight seemed to fall on to me before Zeppo finally announced that he had it.

I switched off the light in the corridor before I opened the back door. It was dark outside. The alley at the rear of the building was unlit, and the lights from the street failed to penetrate into it. There was no one in sight, and when I opened the car boot it shielded us from anyone who might be passing. Inside was a brand new spade and pick-axe, overalls, Wellington boots and a pair of gloves the rest of Zeppo’s purchases. I took them out and beckoned to him. He staggered out and quickly lowered the sack into the boot. While I put everything else back inside, Zeppo fetched the crowbar and Marty’s suitcase from the storeroom. The crowbar, now wrapped in plastic, went on top of the sack, the suitcase on to the back seat. That done, I handed Zeppo the car keys. I had reluctantly decided that my grey BMW was less conspicuous than his red sports car.

“Have you got the map?” I asked. He patted his pocket. “And you’re sure you know where you’re going?” We had put much thought into where to dispose of Marty’s remains, finally deciding on the North Yorkshire moors. The exact spot would be left to Zeppo’s discretion.

“If I get lost I’ll ask a policeman.”

He got into the car and turned on the ignition. The lights came on, dazzlingly lighting the alley. I watched as he slowly edged out into the road and pulled away. The noise of the motor quickly died in the distance. I went back inside and closed the door on the darkness and smell of exhaust.

Without the sheeting, the storeroom looked the same as ever. I looked around for any sign that Marty had been there, but there was none. The last half-hour might never have happened. Feeling utterly calm, I turned out the lights, locked up, and made my way home.