Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

His cheek muscles worked. “Perhaps not.” He sounded grudging. I pushed my advantage.

“Besides which, what is there to possibly link him with you? How many people know about... well, about your earlier activities? As far as most people are concerned, you’re the epitome of masculinity. So why should anyone link you with a gay club in Soho?”

“What about Anna? If the police get my description, she’ll know it’s me.”

“Of course she won’t! Zeppo, as far as the police are concerned, Marty has run away. Voluntarily. They’re not worried about him. They won’t be issuing an all-points bulletin on the six o’clock news with a photo fit picture of you. All it will be, if it’s anything at all, will be a description. Of someone everyone will assume is a homosexual. And since Anna doesn’t think of you like that, she won’t make the connection. Think about it. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, to link you with someone who met Marty in a gay nightclub. No motive, no reason. Nothing.”

He was calmer now. “You better be right.”

“I am.” In fact, I had rationalised it so well that for a moment I felt as confident as I sounded. Then I remembered Marty’s notes, and the sudden wash of fear instantly undermined my new confidence. In that second I knew I was not going to tell Zeppo about them.

But whatever I felt, it could not have shown in my face. At any rate, Zeppo seemed completely reassured. “In that case I think I’ll let you give me a drink now I’m here,” he said. He began to walk toward the lounge. Suddenly I could not stand the thought of him being there a second longer.

“No. I’d like you to go now.”

He turned and looked at me in surprise. “What?”

“I said I’d like you to go.”

An astonished smile spread across his face. “Getting a little tetchy, aren’t we, Donald? What the fuck’s eating you?”

“Nothing’s eating me. I just want you to leave, that’s all.”

“What about your duties as a host? You insist I come here, and then five minutes later you want me to go again. That’s not very hospitable, is it?”

“I’m not in a very hospitable mood.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked me over, should you?” I could see he was beginning to enjoy himself. That only irritated me more.

“I asked you over because I had something to tell you. Now I have, there’s no reason for you to stay.”

“Donald, you mean you dragged me all this way just for that, and now you want me to leave without even having a drink? You could have told me on the telephone and saved me the journey.” He held up his hand. “Sorry I forgot. The phones are all bugged, aren’t they? You don’t like the CIA listening in.”

“For someone who was having a panic attack a moment ago, you’ve suddenly become very blasé. And no, I don’t like using the telephone for something like this. I have no desire to end up in prison because a housewife in Tooting Bee happened to get a crossed line.”

“You’re getting very agitated all of a sudden.”

“Perhaps that’s because I’ve had enough of your attitude. I’m tired of having to put up with your tantrums. I didn’t force you to get involved. You chose to of your own accord, for money, not as a favour to me, and I’ve had enough of you holding me responsible whenever anything doesn’t go quite according to plan! We knew there would have to be some kind of investigation, and it’s me who has to bear the brunt of that, not you. So I can well do without having to contend with a... a homicidal model threatening violence every time there’s the slightest hiccup!”

Zeppo had listened with his head slightly tilted to one side. “Does this mean you don’t love me any more?”

“It means I would like you to leave!”

“Okay, Donald. If that’s the way you feel about it.” He went to the front door, an amused expression on his face. He opened it and turned to me.

“By the way,” he said. “Your flies are undone.”

I simply stared at him. Smiling, he went out. I looked down.

They were.

There was no way I could stay at home for the rest of that evening. I had to get out. More specifically, I had to go to Anna’s. The thought of what might be contained in Marty’s notes, the possibility that he might have made some reference to Zeppo in them, made it impossible for me to idly sit in and wait. Only minutes after Zeppo had left, I was in my car and driving to her flat.

She was not expecting me. But she had been angry and upset after the policemen’s visit, which gave me an excuse to see how she was. I had no idea if she would even be home, but I was willing to risk a wasted journey. Anything was better than sitting alone, running through permutations of discovery.

There was a light on in her window. I felt relieved, then anxious. I told myself it was too soon for her to know anything, but the possibility was enough to make my heart thud as I climbed the steps to her flat. I tried to prepare myself, rehearsing how best to react, and rang the doorbell. I waited as footsteps came towards the door. Then Anna opened it.

I saw at once that something was wrong. Her face was set, closed as stone. She did not even seem surprised to see me.

“Hello,” I said, blustering past my doubts. “I thought I’d call and see how you were.”

“I’m all right, thanks.” Her voice was carefully guarded. She stood back. “Come in. Marty’s father’s here.”

She held my eyes with hers as she spoke, and I immediately understood the reason for her mood. A weight was lifted from me.

“Shall I go?” I asked, almost whispering.

“No, it’s all right. I don’t think he’s staying much longer.” She made no attempt to lower her voice. I raised my eyebrows, questioningly Her lips tightened and she gave a short, disgusted shake of her head as she turned away.

I closed the door and followed her into the lounge. Westerman was standing in the centre of the room with his coat on. His mouth was even more pinched than usual. The open end of their quarrel gaped obviously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in,” I said to him. “I had no idea you were here.”

“Mr. Westerman just called around to let me know he’s going back to America tomorrow,” Anna said. Westerman’s lips pinched a little more.

I looked at him enquiringly. “Really? I thought you were going to stay another week?”

Anna cut in before he could answer. “He was. But now he’s spoken to the police, he’s decided to leave early.”

He shot her a quick, furious look, before addressing himself to some indeterminate point between us. “I can’t see any point in wasting any more time. As far as I’m concerned, I know all I need to. Or want to.”

“Mr. Westerman wasn’t happy to hear that Marty’s been to gay nightclubs.” Anna was speaking to me, but never took her eyes off him. He turned and looked directly at her.

“I doubt any father would be pleased to learn his son is a homosexual.”

“Oh, for God’s sake!” Anna erupted, “How many more times? Marty’s not homosexual! He went there as part of his research, that’s all!”

Westerman snorted. “Dress it up however you like, I can only see one reason for anyone going to those sort of places. You might be able to ignore that, but I certainly can’t.”

“Ignore what? There’s nothing to ignore! And even if there was, would it really matter? He’s still missing, isn’t he? That’s what’s important!”

“It might be to you, but it certainly isn’t to me. Not any more. If he’s going to mix with people like that, he can count without my help to get out of any trouble he’s got himself into.” Westerman’s mouth twitched. “If I’d known about this I would never have come here in the first place. I’ve made an effort to accept the things he’s done in the past, but this...!” He shook his head, mutely outraged.