Lovers and Liars (39 page)

0-ey were in a long narrow corridor. There were bare floorboards kiderfoot.

crafter twenty or thirty feet - in the darkness she lost all sense of “nce - the walls either side gave out. There was no door, just n archway hung with a heavy curtain. Pascal eased the drapery wde. She heard the rattle of wooden rings on the rail above her iead. She stopped, clutching her mouth.

Later, she would tell herself that she must have known what ey would find. But at the time, her n-dnd was working slowly:

0 she could think of was that this space, wherever they were, Was terrible, filled with the sweetly sour smell of rotten meat. ,,Pascal, having worked in war zones, knew precisely what it “s. He knew what they must inevitably find. He switched on he flashlight and directed its beam away from the centre of the bom, towards the walls. He ran the beam along them, until t pin-pointed a light switch.

, In a quiet voice, he said, ‘Gini. I want you to turn away. I’m joing to switch the light on. Don’t look.’

VShe closed her eyes, and felt the light against her lids. Behind ker somewhere, she could hear Pascal’s footsteps, the creak of the

floorboards. She heard him say something, under his breath. She turned, opened her eyes, and looked.

There were two bodies in the room. Their wrists and their ankles had been bound tight with tape. They had been positioned in a macabre proximity, seated side by side, their backs propped up against a chest. Apart from a table and a chair, it was the only furniture in the room.

The body nearest her she could scarcely bear to look at. She saw the fividity, the discolouration in the face, and glanced away, then forced herself to look back.

This body was male, a middleaged man, fair-haired and slightly built. He was well dressed, in casual but expensive clothes, the condition of his body in stark contrast to the elegant sports jacket, silk tie and button-down shirt. He wore jeans, loafers, and yellow socks. His body was bloated. Gini covered then uncovered her face.

The other body, also male, was virtually naked. It was goldenhaired, and wore only a pair of blue briefs. There was a single gold ear-ring in its right ear. One of his hands was outstretched, frozen in some last convulsive gesture towards his partner in death. He lolled against his partner’s shoulder in a parody of affection, his head slumped forward. At the base of his skull where his longish hair had fallen forward there was a neat hole the size of a quarter or a ten-pence piece.

There was very little blood, just a small encrustation around the wound. Averting her eyes, Gini saw that before he had been killed, this man had been made to undress. His clothes lay on the bare floorboards a few yards from his body. They had been neatly folded and stacked in a pile, the two discarded shoes balanced on top. The clothes outraged her. Had he been made to fold them and stack them, then made to sit down to be shot? Or did someone take the trouble to stack them, as if for a military inspection, after the man was dead?

Pascal was kneeling on the floor beside the men. He examined their wounds, both alike at the base of the head. He examined the inch-wide sticky tape which bound their wrists and ankles. He straightened. He turned to her with a white face. ‘They were professionally killed. One shot each.’

‘But they didn’t die at the same time .

‘Oh no. This one has been dead a day, perhaps two. The other … ‘ He gave a gesture of anger. ‘Longer. Considerably longer. It’s cold in here, no heating … I’d say ten days. Maybe

weeks.’ He bent to the clothed man’s body, and examined fair hair, the signet ring he wore on his left hand.

cM u I len,’ he said. ‘And he’d been dead for some time before other man was shot. A pleasant way to kill someone, to make sit down next to that.’

e frowned, as if an idea had just come to him, and looked nd the room. ‘The parcel,’ he said. ‘Where’s the parcel? Don’t see, Gini? McMullen must have been dead before it was even . So where is it? Someone took it in … ‘

e moved quickly across the room, and opened a door at its far Gini could see into a small bedroom. Its only contents were a ss and rugs on the bare floor. Pascal went into the room; she the sound of cupboard doors being opened and shut. She

t down on the floor next to the two bodies. The smell made retch. She examined the clothed man’s signet ring, and forced elf to look at the distortions decay had made to his face. Easing k his sleeve, she saw he was wearing a gold bracelet, and that naked man wore another, identical in design. She gave a low an, and rose to her feet.

scal did not hear her reaction. He came back into the room, ned a cupboard door to reveal an electric kettle, some moulderbread, a few cups and plates. He closed it again.

‘Where is it?’ he said urgently. ‘The parcel was received all ht - by someone. The wrapping is still on the floor in the room. The box is empty.’

‘I know what they sent him, Pascal/ she said in a low voice. ‘It’s there on the floor, just by those clothes. Whoever killed Them made use of it. Look. They’ve applied it … ‘ Her voice was Ohaking. With a muttered exclamation, Pascal bent and-retrieved

small gold object. He opened it, and held it up. b ‘A lipstick? They sent McMullen a lipstick?’

‘I think so. Look. They’ve smeared that man’s face with it. It’s Orribie, I’ascal. Look.’

k, Pascal bent. Gently, he lifted the naked man’s head. Someone kad applied the lipstick, a bright scarlet one, to his lips. They had Orawn a crude Cupid’s bow around his mouth; they had used it ka rouge his cheeks. It gave him a cruel femininity. His blue eyes Prere still open. Pascal swore under his breath. ‘Who would do this? Who is he? If that’s McMullen, who’s thisT

‘It’s not McMullen.’ Gini turned back. ‘I know who they are. both of them. The one wearing the clothes is Johnny Appleyard. think the other one is his friend. Stevey.’

‘Stevey? It can’t be. You spoke to him two days ago - in New York.’

‘I think it is him. Do you see - the tape half hides them, but they’re both wearing bracelets. They’re love-tokens, Pascal, look.’ She turned away. ‘They have their names on them, and two hearts pierced with an arrow. Johnny and Stevey, Stevey with a “y”. It’s him.,

Pascal’s face grew hard. He said nothing. He examined the bracelets, straightened.

‘We have to check this place/ he said. ‘Thoroughly. McMullen could have been here… ‘ He paused. ‘McMullen could have done this, come to that. Gini, won’t you wait outsideT

‘No.’ Averting her eyes, she crossed the room. ‘I’ll check through here. There might be something you missed.’

There was nothing in the bedroom she could see, just that mattress, a few blankets. She lifted them to one side, but they concealed nothing. They smelled of decay, and damp. Beyond the bedroom there was a primitive bathroom: a lavatory, a leaking shower, a cracked wash-basin. No towels, no soap.

She returned to the main room. Pascal was kneeling beside the dead Appleyard; she saw him reach inside his jacket, and extract a wallet. She averted her eyes; sickness rose in her stomach. She crossed to the cupboard Pascal had already opened. A kettle, some bread, cups and plates - Gini noticed they were all washed. There was a small sink, and above it two wooden shelves, with some battered containers.

She opened each one in turn: instant coffee, tea-bags, sugar, a packet of salt, some rice, some pasta. She stared at these objects, trying to read them. Someone must have meant to stay here for a while. If you were staying just a night or two, would you provide pasta, rice? Had McMullen meant to stay here, then changed his plans in a hurry? She moved the box of damp salt an inch or so, and then she saw that behind it was a paperback book.

She took it down, and stared at it. Milton’s Paradise Lost. That book, that same book, had been one of those on the desk in his London flat.

Her hands trembling now, she began to turn the pages, but there was no piece of paper concealed inside the leaves of the book, nothing written there that she could see, no name, no markings of any kind.

‘Gini.’ Pascal called to her in a low voice. ‘Come here. Look at this.’ He had been kneeling by that neat pile of clothes. Now,

stood. ‘Both their wallets are here, with money, credit cards, hing. I thought there was nothing else. Then I found this. was under this pile of clothes. Look.’

e held out to her something small, which glinted. Gini saw it s a button, a brass button, possibly a regimental button, or one e kind worn on blazers. It was decorated with a garland of ves.

MilitarvT -Possibi%. It’s not from either of their jackets. It belongs to eone else. The man who shot them, perhaps.’ He saw the ‘What’s thatT

told him, but the instant he realized it contained no message ved away from her, then bent to his camera bag.

o and stand in the corridor, Gini/ he said. ‘Don’t move. I’m , but I have to do this.’

ini did as he said. She leaned against the wall, and clutched book. She closed her eyes; the floor felt as if it moved; the vy, decay-laden air was making her faint. Against her closed she saw light flash as Pascal took his photographs. She knew d to be done, but the flashes made her want to be sick. Pascal s swift. Only minutes later he was back at her side.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘I have some proof. Now we leave. Gini, e on.’

ini hung back. ‘Leave?’ she said. ‘We can’t just leave them. have to do something. We have to call the police.’

‘There’s nothing we can do for them. They’re dead. Doctors, bulances, police - they’re not going to make any difference to

‘We can’t leave them! Not like this. It’s horrible. It’s obscene. eone should stay here-2

Pascal began to push her towards the archway. He said, ‘If we I the police, we’re involved. They’ll question us. We’ll be stuck Venice days - maybe weeks. How do we follow up this story

? Don’t you want to find out who killed them, Gini? If we e them anything, don’t we owe them thatT

‘Yes, but it’s still not right - just to leave them alone here.

1, it’s so cruel and so sad.’

t/ Pascal said. He switched off the light. He began halfing, half-pulling her down the corridor. In the doorway, he ped.

on’t you see, Gini? Think. We come here earlier - the door’s d and locked. We come back this evening, and it’s been

opened. While we were chasing around Venice half the afternoon, someone came back. Came back and opened the door. They left it open - for us. Now will you come with me? Or do you want to wait here fill they come back againT

They went down the stairs. They crossed the silent courtyard, and paused by the canal. Gini gave a low cry: somewhere in the distance, a fearsome wailing began.

The sound was magnified by water. A siren had started up. The wail rose in pitch. Peering into the darkness, they glimpsed approaching lights on the water, through the mist.

‘Of course. Of course. I’m a fool … ‘ Pascal caught hold of her and drew her down a dark alleyway out of sight.

‘Call the police, GiniT he whispered. ‘We don’t need to call the police, don’t you see? Someone’s already called them. Someone with a very accurate sense of timing, too. They gave us just enough time to get into that apartment and do what we had to do. Then they gave us just enough time to get out. Look.’

The lights were drawing nearer, their brilliance made a haze by the mist. Closer, then closer; they heard shouts. Pascal held her pressed back against damp stone: she could just see the quay outside the Palazzo Ossorio, then, emerging from the mist, the white prow of a launch. Suddenly light dazzled her eyes. Pascal dragged her further back into the shadows. She heard the slither of ropes as the police-launch tied up. She heard the sound of booted feet running across the quay, then their echo on the flagstones of the courtyard. Boots rang on the stone staircase, then the sound became muffled and died away.

Pascal stood silently listening, an intent frown on his face. ‘Now why should they time it that way?’ he said, under his breath. Then suddenly his face cleared. ‘Of course. Of course,’ he muttered. ‘They don’t want us arrested or held for questioning. We’re too useful to them. I understand, Gini. I begin to understand … ‘

There was silence then, the only sound the wind, the drip of the rain on stone, and the slap of water against the sides of the canal.

Gini dosed her eyes. She let the rain wash her face.

Pascal took her back to her room. When Gini could not stop shivering, he wrapped the eiderdown around her like a cloak. He went downstairs, and persuaded the desk clerk to provide some brandy, and some food: soup and bread. He brought it back to the room, and locked the door. He went to close the interior

tters, but Gini said, ‘No, leave them open. I want to watch the and the sky and the water. It helps.’

scal turned back to look at her. Only one dim lamp was .ed; it threw shadows and stripes against the ceiling. Moonpatched the floor by the window. Gini’s eyes were shadowed her face white. She was still trembling. Gently, he crossed to side; then, with some firmness he made her eat. He produced brandy, poured a small glass and made her drink.

at’s better.’ He crouched down in front of her, took her hands s and chafed them. He looked anxiously into her face. ‘Much r. You’re still cold, but there’s some colour in your cheeks.’ e hesitated, then drew her closer. ‘This changes everything/ began, in a quiet voice. ‘You must understand that, Gini. re it was ugly, threatening - all right. But now … ‘ His

hardened. ‘Now it’s murder. Someone killed those two in blood. And we were intended to find them. I’m certain of t.’ He paused, holding her gaze. ‘Gini, I was right - someone

side us, every step of the way. We’re being used. Maybe they we’ll lead them to McMullen eventually. Well, enough. I won’t you continue to work on this. Tomorrow I’m going to talk to .ns, and I’m going to tell him just that.’

ini lowered her eyes; she said nothing. It was better to let s pass, and besides, she could not think about tomorrow, or kins, or a newspaper office. They had no reality: she could not bevond the room they had just left.

Wh killed them, Pascal?’ she asked. ‘Who would do that in h a terrible way? Appleyard was just a gossip-column tipster, vey had nothing to do with this. What could anyone gain from .r deaths?’