Fine Lines - SA (14 page)

"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.

He jerked back. "Why? He's dead isn't he?"

"Yes. But now we've come this far, we might as wel 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! Wel , 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. "Al right, if you feel that strongly about it. I don't suppose it real y matters. It was only an idea." I stil 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 al 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, al right, al right, I'l not have a bloody drink. Can I at least go for a piss? Or is that too risky as wel ?" While Zeppo was at the toilet, I went through the articles he had taken from Marty's pockets. There was a wal et containing credit cards and a relatively smal amount of money, a passport, and an address book. I took the money from the wal et and then, as an afterthought, bent each credit card in half. I did not want Zeppo to succumb to temptation.

Leaving al this in a smal 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 unnatural y 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'l 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 fal on to me before Zeppo final y announced that he had it.

I switched off the light in the corridor before I opened the back door. It was dark outside. The al ey 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, overal s, Wel ington 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, final y deciding on the North Yorkshire moors. The exact spot would be left to Zeppo's discretion.

"If I get lost I'l ask a policeman." He got into the car and turned on the ignition. The lights came on, dazzlingly lighting the al ey. I watched as he slowly edged out into the road and pul ed away. The noise of the motor quickly died in the distance. I went back inside and closed the door on the darkness and smel 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.

I was waiting at the airport when Anna arrived next morning. I felt a proprietorial thril when I saw her walk through the customs area. She smiled as she came towards me, but her smile faded as soon as we had greeted each other.

"I didn't get it," she said. For a moment I did not know what she was talking about. "It went for eight-seven in the end." She gave an apologetic shrug.

"Oh wel , win some, lose some," I said, realising what she meant. "It can't be helped."

"A Japanese woman bought it. Someone else stayed with her up to eight-five, but then dropped out. I'm afraid they left me wel behind."

"That's how these things are. If someone's determined to buy a piece, there's very little you can do to stop them. Unless you want to spend a ridiculous amount of money. Never mind.

At least you got the Hopper, and that was the one I was most interested in." I could see my condolences were unnecessary. Anna was not real y listening.

"Have you heard from Marty?" she asked.

"Not since we saw you off. Why? Is anything wrong?"

"Oh no. I just wondered, that's al . I thought he might be here." Her casualness was unconvincing.

"Wel , I did cal him last night to see if he wanted to come with me, but he wasn't in."

"What time was that?"

"Oh ... about eight, I think. Is there something the matter? You look worried." She smiled. "No, not real y. It's just that I couldn't get in touch with him yesterday."

"At home or the university?"

"At home. I cal ed him last night, but there was no answer."

"Perhaps he was working late."

"Yes, probably." We walked a few more steps. "Do you mind if I try again now? Just to tel him I'm back?"

"Of course not. I'l wait here." I watched as she went over to the row of telephones and joined the smal est queue. I yawned. It had been another late and almost sleepless night. I had waited up until after half-past four for Zeppo to cal and tel me he was safely back.

There had been no problems. Once at the moors he had fol owed minor roads and final y stopped at a particularly isolated spot. He had carried Marty wel clear of the road and buried him in an area of bracken.

"It's just started to grow now," he had told me. "In another few weeks it'l have covered over completely." The shovel, pick, and crowbar had been thrown in a flooded quarry pit.

The overal s, gloves and Wel ingtons had been brought back. Along with Marty's clothes and suitcase, they would be cut up and torn into strips, mixed with household rubbish, and discarded at several dumping sites around London. Marty's more personal belongings, such as his passport and credit cards, would first be burnt and then similarly disposed of.

That was what Zeppo was doing while I was at the airport. He had left my car in the overnight car park where his own was waiting, locking the keys inside. Using my spare set, I had col ected it earlier that morning and run it through a car wash before going to meet Anna. Later, I would have it cleaned more thoroughly and have the tyres changed. I wanted no trace of mud or dirt from the moors left on it.

Anna had final y reached a telephone. I could see a smal furrow appear between her eyebrows as she held the receiver to her ear. I felt a mild shock when she began to speak, before I realised that she must have telephoned the university. The furrow remained after she had cut the connection and dial ed again. This time she waited without speaking. After a while she replaced the receiver.

"Any luck?" I asked, as she came over.

"No. I cal ed the university, but he isn't there. And there's stil no answer from the flat." I patted her arm. "Don't look so worried! He's probably on his way to the department right now."

"But it's not like him to be late. And I tried the flat from the hotel this morning, and there was no answer then, either."

"Wel , perhaps your telephone's out of order."

"I don't think so. It was ringing. And the first time I cal ed last night it was engaged, so it must be working." That would have been me. "Not necessarily. It might not be ringing out at the other end. That happened to mine, once. Or you might have been connected to the wrong number the first time. There could be any number of reasons." The furrow faded a little.

"You're probably right. It's just not like him not to be in, that's al ."

"And if your telephone's on the blink he's probably stil at home now, thinking it's not like you not to cal him." She laughed, a little abashed. "I know, I'm being sil y."

"Not at al . In fact, if you'd like, I'l take you back home first. I daresay I won't get a stroke of work out of you until we've set your mind at rest." Anna looked instantly relieved. "Would you? Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Of course not." I put her bag in the car boot I had already checked to make sure it was empty and we set off for her flat. At first we chatted about her trip, but as we drew nearer she fel silent. I felt tense myself. I could not be entirely sure that Marty had left nothing behind to indicate where he had gone. There was no reason why he should, but I would be happier once I knew for certain.

I had never been to Anna's flat before, and once we reached Camden she had to give me directions. "This is it," she said. I parked outside the terraced house.

"Shal I stay here?" I asked, hoping she would not say yes.

"No, it's okay. Come on in." I fol owed her around the back of the house and up a flight of wooden steps to a first-storey door. Anna unlocked it and we went inside.

"Marty?" she cal ed. I stayed in the kitchen while she went through into the rest of the flat. It smelt pleasantly of herbs and spices, with a rather sour under-odour of stale coffee from a dried filter cone. A dirty cereal bowl, beaker and spoon lay in the sink, testimony of Marty's last breakfast.

Anna came back into the kitchen. She looked more worried than ever.

"There's no note or anything. I can't understand it. He knew I was coming back this morning."

"But he wasn't expecting you to come straight here, so he wouldn't have left you a note, would he? Why don't you try the university again?" I smiled, reassuringly. "While you're doing that, I'l pop the kettle on, shal I?" She went back into the lounge to make the telephone cal . I fil ed the kettle and was searching for the tea when she returned, moments later.

"I've just spoken to the head of the department. He was going to ring here himself. Marty was supposed to be meeting him half an hour ago, and he's not turned up. No one knows where he is." I looked a little concerned. "Wel ... perhaps he forgot about it."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Now calm down, Anna. Don't work yourself up over nothing. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation."

"But he knew I was going to phone last night. When I spoke to him the night before, I told him I was, and he said, "I'l talk to you the same time tomorrow"!"

"Wel , sometimes things crop up unexpectedly. You said yourself that the line was engaged when you first tried. So he must have been here then, mustn't he?"

"I suppose so."

"And as far as he was concerned, I was going to pick you up from the airport and take you straight to the gal ery. So if he's going to get in touch with you, he'l try there rather than here, won't he?" She nodded, clearly not convinced. "We'd better be getting back, anyway. I'm taking up al your time." I waved the objection away. "Let's have that cup of tea first. It'l give you a chance to calm down a little. And if he cal s the gal ery in the meantime, he'l leave a message on the answer machine." I was in no rush to leave. I liked the sense of intimacy of being with Anna in her home, surrounded by her belongings. It was my first excursion into her private life. The kettle boiled.