Barry Maitland: No trace

Tait guffawed.‘Oh, come on. What on earth do you mean?’

‘You’re in the art business. Don’t you get presented with work like that? Your head says it should be okay, but you know it doesn’t really feel right.’

‘Maybe you should tell me what doesn’t feel right about it, then.’

‘First of all, Gabe knew what was going on. He was involved in it, right to the end, but with somebody else. You remember the etching? There are two people observing the hanging of Justice and Liberty-Voltaire and Rousseau, the two students of “monster humanity”. And there were two people involved in the deaths that happened here, in the square-Gabe and a partner, a controlling partner.’

‘Len Nolan,’Tait said.‘He admitted that they were in it together.’

‘He admitted the removal of Tracey, yes, but not the murders. I don’t believe that Gabe planned them at all, but he got drawn into it, couldn’t stop it. From the way Poppy described him, I’d say he was both appalled and fascinated by them, until finally he became the last victim.’

‘You’re not suggesting that Poppy was this mysterious partner, then?’

‘No, no. The thing about the killings-especially Betty’s, but the others too-was their callousness, their deliberation, their cruelty. The Nolans simply weren’t like that. Neither was Poppy, nor Gabe. In the end, that’s why I couldn’t believe the science.’

‘I see. Well, who is this amazing specimen of monster humanity then, Mr Brock? Don’t keep me in suspense.’

‘I think it’s you, Fergus.’

There was a moment’s silence, and then Tait chuckled. ‘What is this, some kind of entrapment scheme? Do you expect me to blurt out a confession, like the villain in a cheap novel? Are you wearing a tape recorder or something?’

‘No; no tape recorders, no witnesses, no evidence. I simply wanted you to know.’

‘Well…’ Tait put his hands behind his head and rocked back in his chair, examining Brock’s face. ‘I’m not sure whether I should feel affronted or flattered. You’d better tell me what I did, exactly.’

‘I imagine it might have begun quite casually. Maybe Stan had been telling Gabe about his friend Pat Abbott’s interest in Tracey, and Gabe said something about wishing sometimes that he didn’t have Tracey on his hands. Then you might have made a joke about what a publicity coup it would be for him if she became the next missing child- Jane’s suicide all over again. And just out of idle curiosity perhaps, over a few drinks, the two of you speculated on how it could be done-without hurting Tracey, of course; in fact, really, in her best interests. Then Gabe put this to the Nolans, and realised that they would go along with it, and with your encouragement he decided to go ahead. Am I warm?’

‘Fascinating. But why should I have been involved? Surely Gabe could have done all that on his own?’

‘I don’t think he had the nerve. I think he needed to be organised and pushed.’

‘I see. So what happened then?’

‘I think you discovered that Tracey had spoken to Betty before she went away. She gave her the self-portrait as a memento, and you couldn’t be sure what she’d told her. The publicity was working really well, and Gabe’s exhibition opening was a huge success, but you must have realised just how disastrous it would be if we began to take Betty’s wild hints seriously and the truth came out. Apart from any criminal proceedings we might bring, both Gabe and your gallery would be utterly discredited, his work valueless.

‘Did you tell Gabe that you’d only intended to question Betty about what Tracey had told her, and her death was an accident? At any rate, you convinced him that you’d had to make it look as if Stan had done it in order to cover your tracks, and that meant that Stan had to die, too. I imagine that wasn’t too hard after you told Stan that the police would put him back in the asylum when we caught him. Did Gabe work on him too, or did you do that alone? I think a joint campaign, myself. The great compensation for Gabe was that all this was providing incredible material for his No Trace project in the gallery. That would have eased his conscience no end, especially when you pointed out that there really was no alternative.

‘But there was another problem, both practical and aesthetic. How the hell were you going to bring No Trace to a convincing, satisfying conclusion? You couldn’t have the police finding Tracey, but you also couldn’t have the whole thing dragging on for ever. I think Gabe had been thinking about this from the start. He planned sixteen banners, at the end of which he would expose his in-laws and get Tracey back, to everyone’s relief, denying the Nolan’s claims that he’d been involved in Tracey’s abduction. Better still, with the two killings in the square you and Gabe could now stage a failed murder attempt, against him, with watertight clues pointing to the Nolans.

‘That was all right as far as it went, but from your point of view it didn’t really go far enough. It left Gabe alive to expose you one day if the fancy took him, and it didn’t have the necessary climactic force. The punters want real drama, real tragedy, real pain, isn’t that right? They don’t want Van Gogh pretending to commit suicide, they want the real thing. They don’t want Modigliani recovering from his drugs and TB, they want the tragic corpse, and the distraught pregnant mistress throwing herself out of the window after him.

‘And that’s really what this has all been about, isn’t it? The price of Dead Puppies. Gabe Rudd and Stan Dodworth weren’t making enough money for you any more, so you decided to enhance the market, give the punters what they really want.’

Tait had become very still, his eyes narrowed in thought.

‘You’re not saying much,’ Brock said, draining his glass. ‘Are you thinking of the killings? The moments of death? You enjoyed those, didn’t you?’

‘I don’t find this conversation very amusing any more,’ Tait murmured. ‘If you’ve finished what you had to say, you’d better go.’

‘Right. There is one thing I can’t work out-how you got the photograph from the Nolans’ house, and the things from Len’s workshop. He swears there’s only the one key.’

Tait gave a grim little smile.‘Well, for your peace of mind I could suggest a hypothetical answer. Len Nolan once made the mistake of lending Gabe his car to ferry Tracey somewhere. While he was at it, Gabe had copies made of the other keys on the ring, the ones to the Nolans’ house. He thought they might come in useful if things between him and the Nolans got nasty.’

‘I see.’ Brock got to his feet. ‘I’m not going to let this go, Fergus. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Good luck, Chief Inspector. And can I say that if this little visit was intended to rattle me, it was a waste of time. You see, I know I’m smarter than you are. I won’t be losing one minute of sleep over you. Enjoy your holiday, won’t you.’

Tait stepped into the outer office and then stopped short. Beyond him Brock saw one of Gabe’s computer girls standing by the photocopier behind the door. She was clutching a sheaf of paper to her chest as if for protection. She stared hard at Tait then spun on her heel and ran out. As Brock passed the door to the gallery he saw her with the other two girls, deep in whispered conversation.

‘That took a long time,’ Suzanne said as he got into the car.

‘Yes, I’m sorry, it took longer than I thought. I had to get one or two things off my chest.’

‘That’s all right. I went into the gallery to see the show. I’ve been reading about it, of course, but I suppose seeing it in the flesh brought it home to me how big this thing has been. I think it’s taken more out of you than you’ve been prepared to admit.’