Down Cemetery Road Part 29

'Other people have been trying to kill me.'

'There was some debate as to whether Mark was among their number.' He sat down heavily. 'There were traces of blood, apparently. On the carpet? But it turned out not to be yours.'

'That wasn't in the papers.'

'I didn't say it was. I made it my business to find out, Sarah.'

'Really.'

'n.o.blesse oblige? I did warn you, after all. I was worried you'd had it out with Mark, and he'd reacted badly.'

'You warned me?'

'You were rather drunk. Maybe you don't remember.'

She shook her head. 'I wasn't drunk.'

'I told you you'd be wishing you were bored again. That trouble was coming. A bit cryptic, but what could I say? That your husband was a crook? You'd have broken my legs.'

'Batten down the hatches,' Sarah said.

'Do you know,' Gerard mused, 'he even tried rifling my palmtop? He wanted me to think that was you.'

'Imagine. So you thought he'd killed me.'

'I wasn't that worried. I'd have backed you against him. You might as well sit down, you know. Is he always like that?'

Michael was by the door, head c.o.c.ked for company. But his gaze never left Gerard.

'Yes.'

He didn't pursue it.

'What was he doing?' Sarah asked. Part of her didn't want to know. The other part had to.

'He was laundering money, Sarah. Not criminal money, sanctioned money. Emanating not a million miles from the Persian Gulf. He was channelling it through a series of offsh.o.r.e trusts he'd set up in Jersey, Liechtenstein and the Cayman Islands, and when it came out the other side, a tiny percentage stayed in an account with his number on it, and the rest, which was by now to all intents and purposes stateless money, was funding arms purchases. He's going to claim he was duped, but he left a paper trail a boy scout could follow. And I always investigate before I take on investment advisers. Mark should have known that.'

'So you turned him in.'

'To the police? No, I didn't. I don't approve of what he did, but the thought of taking it to the police, do you know, I just couldn't stomach that either? Too many Boys' Own stories as a kid. n.o.body likes a sneak.'

'You told his boss though.'

'A weasel called Mayberry. I tipped him the wink, yes. You might call that a duty. If somebody working for me went fast and loose through the regulations, it'd be nice if I got to hear about it.' His mouth twitched. 'Not that I'd need to be told. That man's in charge? He couldn't run a tap.'

So there it was. Mark wouldn't be making a fuss about her disappearance, because he'd have been told not to, in very direct terms.

Now Gerard's voice gentled somewhat. 'I wish it hadn't turned out like this. You must feel dreadful.'

Sympathy from Gerard was a new horror. She preferred him savage, chopping other people's beliefs. 'Not that dreadful. He was having an affair. Woman in the office. Did you know that? Or would that be sneaking?'

'Are you sure you won't sit down?'

She was tired suddenly. Tired of fencing, tired of company. Tired of Gerard already. 'I didn't come here for a rest.'

'What for, then?'

She didn't answer. She was registering a change in the area; some subtle difference she couldn't put a finger to. Then realized it was the sprinkler, changing direction.

'I'd be happy to help, but I don't know what you need. Do you have money?'

'She needs a gun.'

'He talks,' Gerard said, but didn't look at Michael. 'Is that right? You came here for a gun?' He seemed amused.

'I told you. People have tried to kill me.'

'Which people?'

She couldn't trust this man. Or didn't that matter now? 'You remember Rufus?'

'That rather strange friend of '

'It was his blood. On the floor.'

Gerard raised an eyebrow.

'You collect guns. You said so.'

'But I never lend them to '

'Don't try to be funny,' Michael said suddenly.

Gerard ignored him. 'Are you seriously telling me Rufus tried to kill you?'

'The guns,' Michael said, 'are in that case over there.'

They both looked at him now.

'Some of them,' he added.

Sarah looked at the case he meant. She'd thought it some kind of dresser; an upright wooden coffin, that when you opened its doors would surprise you with willow pattern plates. But saw now that its doors were padlocked, which was a little uptight even for this neighbourhood. Unless Gerard knew something about crockery futures.

'I can get in there if I have to,' Michael said.

'No you can't.' Gerard rose, and Michael stepped towards him. The heavier man froze.

'Michael,' she said.

He didn't step back, but relaxed somewhat. Gerard brushed past, and found a key in the drawer of his desk. 'Be my guest.' He tossed it to fall short, but Michael's hand snapped it from the air.

The padlock opened easily. Behind the door was a sheet of gla.s.s, bordered by a metal strip, in the top corner of which a small red light winked facetiously. Behind the gla.s.s, an array of, even to Sarah's eyes, ancient-looking guns.

'These should be in a museum,' Michael said.

'Of course they should. I'm a collector, not a psychopath. And working handguns, these days, are very much against the law.' He looked at Sarah. 'Interesting friends you have.'

'This isn't a game.'

'That doesn't mean there aren't rules. Are you seriously planning on shooting people?'

'Somebody tried to kill me.'

'And wound up with their blood on your floor.' He nodded at Michael, still studying the rows of weapons. 'I suppose Superman had something to do with that.'

Michael, busy tracing a finger down the metal strip round the window, ignored him. As they watched, he drew his arm back suddenly, as if to slap a fist into the gla.s.s.

'I hope he does that,' Gerard said. 'My money's on the gla.s.s.'

Michael lowered his fist.

'Wired into the alarm, too.'

'They're antiques,' Sarah said. 'It's a waste of time.' She should have known: why would Gerard even Gerard collect lethal weapons? These were simply expensive items of violent history.

'So who was he then?' Gerard asked. 'This Rufus?'

'If I was you,' Michael told him, 'I'd mind my own business.'

Gerard glanced at him with contempt. 'I may be a physical coward,' he said, 'but I have no intention of grovelling before implied threats in my own home.'

'He wasn't threatening you,' Sarah lied. 'Gerard, I know you don't like me but '

'If I didn't like you, you'd know about it. I'd have set the dogs on you the moment you arrived.'

'Dogs?' said Michael.

'Figure of speech. Can I bring you a comic or something? A rubber ball?'

'You want to keep those teeth?'

'You should have him on a leash, Sarah.'

Why didn't they just drop pants and compare? 'Are you finished?'

Michael shrugged; Gerard nodded a short apology. Behind his back, Michael mouthed a word. Kitchen.

'Do you think,' she asked, 'I could have a cup of tea?'

If the switch fazed him, he didn't show it. 'If you don't mind bags. I've never mastered this leaf business.'

'Gerard, it's the twenty-first century. n.o.body minds '

He gave her his superior smile. If wrongfooting were an Olympic event, he'd be drowning in sponsorship money.

He led them to the kitchen, filled the kettle, switched it on. Michael picked a mug from the draining board, and filled it with water from the tap.

'Help yourself,' Gerard invited him.

Michael set the mug on the bench by the kettle, and stood there with his arms folded. Looking at him, Sarah remembered boys she'd known, in her teenage years. The ones who turned encounters with her parents into embarra.s.sment-endurance ordeals; not actively offensive, just obstinately sullen, as if their presence were the only favour you'd ever get.

'This isn't just about Mark, is it?' Gerard was saying.

'Well, hardly '

'You were caught with drugs, weren't you?'

'They were planted.'

'By, er, Rufus?'

'Yes!'

'Who then tried to kill you.'

'Look, I know it sounds '

'It sounds absolutely b.l.o.o.d.y ridiculous, Sarah. Which is the only reason I'm prepared to hear you out. Because you're intelligent enough to concoct a better story than that if you needed to.'

This was hearing her out?

The kettle began breathing steam. Gerard opened a cupboard and pulled teabags from a box. 'Wanting a gun, though, that's absurd. I'm hardly going to let you leave with one even if I had one you could use. A cup of tea, that's different. You certainly look like you could use it.' The kettle snapped off even as he spoke and, plucking it free of its lead, he poured hot water into the teapot. In the sudden blush of steam, neither realized what Michael was doing till he'd done it: picked the lead up, still jacked live into the socket, and dropped the end in his mug of water. A blue bang tugged at the hair on Sarah's neck. Then the fridge hiccuped off, along with the overhead light.

Gerard said, 'What?' But Michael was already leaving the kitchen, Sarah tagging at his heels.

The light on the gun cabinet's metal frame had stopped blinking; was a dead red eye fixed on nothing. Michael was aiming a chair when Gerard arrived. Another two seconds, and he'd have breached security the hard way.

'Don't bother,' Gerard said.

He lowered the chair.

'Lateral thinking,' Gerard said. 'He'll be doing long division next.'

'Give him the key,' said Sarah.

Not a key but a piece of credit card-shaped plastic with a pattern punched into it: when Michael slid it into a slot on the frame, the window swung open. Michael reached in and pulled out an ancient pistol; probably a musket, Sarah thought. It didn't look any younger than the Civil War, that was for sure.

Gerard said, 'Now, I'd like you to be very very careful with '