Chapter 31

    The cicadas sensed that they had a part to play in this and brought in a whole new chorus so that there wasn't a moment's silence. Four tired people looked at each other, no longer careful to disguise their irritability. Clifford sat forward, the shadows of the fan blades slapping over' his grey head. Something sharp, hard and cold was coming in my direction from Kershaw who was getting the same from his wife. Kate was close to tearing the back of the chair off. Clifford had some anxious body language but it was difficult to tell about what. Maybe it was his furniture, maybe he just wanted to get to work.

    'Nina's snorting enough of that stuff to get the snow ploughs out,' I said. 'And topping it off with enough downers to leave a big gap in her weekend. Any reason for this, Steve? She shouldn't be doing that kind of thing, especially if she's preg-'

    The chair cracked and I came off it fist-balled and fast. Steve was faster. He flipped himself off the desk and buried his knuckles in my bruised belly. Air hissed out of every orifice and I hit the floor like a truckload of logs.

    I was making a big fuss down there on the carpet, cycling my legs, hoping to remind myself how to breathe. Nobody took any notice. Their words flashed above my head while I contributed some constipated heaving noises until a crack of air slid into a lung and gave me something to hold on to.

    Breathing crawled back like a wounded soldier from no-man's-land. I flopped around and got myself on to all fours and hung my head. Kershaw was a few feet from me and I decided it was time the cocky Londoner found out what it was like to have a meaty shoulder in his diaphragm.

    'Don't even think about it/ said Clifford.

    My left eye swivelled to see Clifford leaning over the desk with the rifle in one hand, the barrel a foot from my cheek. Jack's brains exiting from the back of his head was still a clean print in my current stock of ugly clips. I stood up. I didn't bother to listen to the Kershaws, who sounded like any married couple having a fight in the kitchen at a cocktail party. I sat in the chair which had a wobble in its back legs like mine. The Kershaws finished their exchange of diplomatic gifts and split. I was nearly halfway there.

    Clifford laid the rifle across the desk, the barrel pointing at me. Kate lit a cigarette which Clifford thought about requesting her not to, until he saw her sharp, irritated breasts daring him. From my angle I could see how pointed her elbow was and I liked the idea of it finding its way into her husband's gut.

    'I'm not a pro, as you'd put it, Steve,' I said. 'I'm a greenhorn when it comes to nailing crims. Never done it. Don't have the psycho's brain. Dead in the head for clues and motives. I thought the whole business was Charlie's. I thought Charlie told Nina.'

    'Shut it!' roared Kershaw. It was good to know Nina was such a sensitive spot.

    'I thought Charlie told Nina to feed me about your taste in bondage. But now I can see that's what you were into all the time. You had to be, didn't you, Steve, or did you?'

    Kershaw picked up my gun and took two steps towards me.

    'I'm going to do it now, you big fuck,' he said, and Clifford stood up, concerned at the future mess on his carpet. Kate came between us, and, biting her bottom lip with her front teeth, floored Kershaw with a swift dig in the solar plexus. That elbow must have been honed on a whetstone of pure spite because it didn't stop until it got to his spine. Kershaw's eyes came out on stalks, his tongue wagged like a gargoyle's and he kissed the carpet like the best Muslim in the mosque.

    'Carry on,' said Kate, picking up the gun by the barrel and holding it by her side.

    'When I realized Charlie was in the clear, I started thinking about Nina. When I saw Steve's name was missing off the paintings in the photographs, I knew that he set the whole thing up with Nina's help. The first time I spoke to her she told me he was a pervert, but at that stage nobody knew how Perec had been killed. Nina was prepping me for when I found out. That means that either Steve was a pervert or Nina was in on it from the beginning. Which?'

    'Both,' said Kate.

    'Why was Nina in on it from the beginning, Steve? Don't get up, I'll answer for you. Nina's pregnant, she told me on Sunday. I thought it was yours but you were dead. Then I thought it might be Charlie's and he didn't want it, or Nina was trying to persuade Charlie that he was responsible. Then I followed Nina and got lucky when she went to get her test. I didn't understand why the first person she called was Elizabeth Harvey but things have got a little clearer in the last hour.

    'Nina's packed, four suitcases ready to go. I dropped by. She was trying on her new clothes. They look great. She was wearing her most expensive perfume. Had a nice hat on. New shoes. She'll be a credit to you. That's what all this is about, isn't it, Steve?' Kate's face fractured, the bitterness in her gut finding its way to her mouth, her tongue pushing through her stained teeth as if forcing a mouthful of grounds out. The lines on her anorexic face which had never met with any grace before, now looked horrific, as a freak's. 'You want to get away from her!' I said, and Kate's face which had started to break up, stilled.

    'But there's one thing that nobody knows about in here except you and me, isn't there, Steve?' Kershaw's mouth was wide open and most of his tongue was out on the carpet. I could hear Clifford listening now. 'Old Clifford's sitting there smugging for America. He knows all about Nina. He's known it all the time. He doesn't give a damn. He's colder than a North Sea cod on ice. He does care about money though, Steve, and that's where you haven't been so straight with Cliff, isn't it? We all know you're a greedy bastard, we all know there's only one number one, but only I know how greedy. It wasn't Clifford who came up with the idea of framing Gildas for the Perec killing, it was you. You wanted to get rid of Gildas as soon as possible. And it wasn't Clifford's idea that you didn't drown him in the bath, it was yours. You wanted it to look like suspicious suicide because you were trying to persuade somebody that you'd been done and the killer had run away with' - Clifford was leaning forward, his slack neck hanging over the collar of his shirt - 'with the million dollars.'

    'Who's the somebody and what million dollars?' asked Clifford.

    'I've had a couple of blindfolded interviews with a big man in the Togolese government who gave Steve a million bucks of his kick-back money to trade with, except Steve died and the million bucks got lost and the big man's very upset.'

    Clifford was on his feet leaning over the desk to see if there was any chance of a word from between Kershaw's clenched teeth. I began to think that the big man had given up waiting by his answering machine. Kate looked as if she had indigestion. Some more time crawled past while three brains chewed their way through the lean meat I'd just thrown. Kershaw was still jawing with the carpet. Kate was rubbing her heartburn. Clifford's pink body stood encased in its white shirt like saumon froid en papillote. He looked out of the cone of light. Honour, that miraculous thing which is supposed to exist amongst thieves, was nowhere to be seen.

    'Who's the big man?' he asked anybody who was prepared to answer.

    'I don't know,' I said. 'Steve?'

    Steve wasn't feeling so tiptop. It was good to see him on the floor mopping up his cockiness. He didn't look like somebody who'd been at boot height for some time. We watched him as he pulled himself up on an invisible rung, stepped back and held on to the desk facing Clifford. Clifford showed the anxiety of a man who is about to get puked on by an overdrunk friend, but Steve rolled on his hip and sat on the corner of the desk.

    'Who is he?' asked Clifford again, and still Kershaw didn't speak. I glanced over my shoulder. Kate had left the room.

    'I've got a couple of clues,' I said. 'He likes to wear expensive buckskin shoes and his assistant is…'

    I didn't need to say who the assistant was because Clifford stiffened as if someone had eased an ice cold shiv in between ribs three and four of his back.

    'You stupid fuck,' he said to Steve, the clubby banker suddenly out to lunch, the language dropping a hundred floors of the World Trade Center to the street. 'You custard-brained, Limey fuck. Jeez, I thought Jack was a headless fuck, but you, I fucking told you when I introduced you to that guy not… to… fucking… touch! We gotta get outa here,' he said, quickly opening the drawer and taking out the plastic cuffs, a handkerchief, some gaffer tape and a gun. He got to me in three strides, lifted me off the chair, spun me round and cuffed me. Kershaw, still rubbing his gut, picked up the rifle, leant it against the chair and took the handkerchief off Clifford.

    'You had your chance,' he said.

    'As much as Jack did,' I said.

    'You fucked up like him 'n' all.'

    'Even if he hadn't, he still wouldn't be here.'

    'He only had eyes for the money. That was Jack's problem… and keeping trouble outside his garden wall. That's no way to be in this business.'

    'Especially with you two for partners.'

    'He thought he was running the show - getting you to look for me, cuddling up to Awolowo, fucking Cliff's wife

    'Maybe you should have told him you were going to disappear.'

    'Too big a mouth,' he said, taking hold of my jaw. 'Like you.'

    'You knew I'd talk about the women, didn't you? You wanted me to talk about the women. You wanted it to hurt, you sadistic little shit. You just didn't know I knew about the money.'

    Kershaw grinned, letting a bit of insanity into his eyes. 'I've been looking forward to this,' he said, and grabbing my jaw he stuffed the handkerchief well down my throat until I gagged. Clifford stuck the tape across my mouth and wrapped it around my head. Kershaw clapped me on the shoulder like a good old boy and sat back on the desk.

    'I'm going to kill my wife now,' he said.

    'Not in the house,' said Clifford. 'No killing in the house. You've fucked up enough as it is.' He pushed me to the door and before we went down the corridor he took a last look at Kershaw. 'When you're finished, go to Nina's and get outa Togo and don't fucking come back.'

    The corridor was dark and hot. The bedroom where there'd been the steaming bath was in darkness. There was no sound of Kate Kershaw and there was no sound of the big man's goons coming to the rescue. Clifford took me down to his Mercedes in the garage. He opened the boot and folded a duvet up into the back underneath the rear shelf. I got in and he jammed me in with another duvet so that I was hot and immobile. He loaded crates of wine in front of me.

    The lid came down. The garage door opened. The wrought iron gates squealed. The car huffed as Clifford got in and the motor seemed to come on without any ignition. We rolled out. The gates shut like two guinea fowl calling.