Now the quiet voice in Feeling Man’s mind speaks the final words while Action Man lowers his left foot, and Observing Man, rather to his surprise, has time to see the ball of shot burn its way up through jaw and palate, squirting blood from mouth and nostrils and punching out the eyes before emerging through the top of his skull in a fountain of bone and brain which spatters floor and desk and open book. Caressed a Trigger absently and wandered out of Life
For a millisec reason and sensation and observation are reunited in one consciousness.
Then the empty body slumps to one side, the record dies away, the fine ash from the wastepaper bin slowly settles, the candle gutters.
Pal Maciver exists no longer.
Except in the hearts and minds and lives of those he leaves behind.
2
Sue-Lynn Maciver stretched her naked body languorously against her lover’s hand and laughed.
“What?” said Tom Lockridge.
“I was thinking, first time I felt you inside me, it cost me a hundred quid.”
“Wait till you get my bill for this.”
He spoke lightly but she knew he didn’t like being reminded he was still her doctor. When Pal had dropped him, his first reaction had been that her husband suspected something. Once reassured, his second reaction had been that this was a good opportunity for her to come off his list too.
“Don’t be silly,” she’d said. “Why give up the perfect cover for me visiting your surgery, you coming to the house?”
“It’s just that, if it ever came out, the GMC don’t take kindly to doctors screwing their patients.”
“Really? How else do they expect you to become stinking rich?”
When he didn’t laugh, she said, “Relax, Tom. It’s not going to come out, not from me, anyway. I’ve got even more reason to keep it from Pal than you have from your precious Council. Or your precious wife for that matter.”
She’d meant it. But nonetheless it wasn’t altogether displeasing to feel she had a hold over her lover that went beyond his desire.
He removed his hand from between her legs and pushed back the duvet.
She glanced at her watch and said, “What’s the hurry? We’ve got another hour at least.”
“Just going to the loo,” he said, rolling out of bed.
“Why do men always have to pee after sex?” she called after him.
He paused in the doorway and said, “I’ll draw you a diagram when I get back.”
She made a face at the prospect. Sometimes it wasn’t altogether comfortable screwing a man who knew so much about the internal workings of the human body. She reached out to the cigarette packet lying by the phone on the bedside table and lit one. He’d probably give her the anti-smoking lecture, but it was better than a conducted tour of his innards.
The phone rang.
She picked it up and said, “Hi.”
“Sue-Lynn, it’s Jason.”
She stiffened then forced herself to relax.
“Jase, shouldn’t you be chasing a little ball around a squash court with my husband?”
“That’s why I’m ringing. He hasn’t turned up. My mobile’s on the blink and I thought he might have left a message with you.”
She stubbed her cigarette out, swung her legs off the bed, found her panties on the floor and started tugging them on one-handed as she replied, “Sorry, Jase. Not a word. But I shouldn’t worry. Probably a customer showed up as he was on his way out. You know Pal. He’d miss his own funeral if he thought there was a deal to be done. How’s Helen? Must be close now. Give her my best. Look, got to go. ’Bye.”
She put down the phone and was crouching on the floor searching for her bra when she heard the toilet flush. A moment later, Lockridge came through the door. He was smiling and there was evidence he was having serious thoughts about how to spend the next hour. The smile faded as he saw her rise on the far side of the bed with her bra in her hand.
“Pal’s loose,” she said before he could speak. “Get dressed.”
“Shit. You don’t think he’s on to us? Jesus wept!”
He’d started dragging on his trousers with more haste than care and done something she didn’t care to think about with the zip.
“Shouldn’t think so, but better safe than sorry… oh hell. Did you hear that?”
“What?”
“I don’t know. A noise. Downstairs. No… on the stairs.”
They both froze, mouths agape, eyes staring, she with her bra round her neck, he with his hand on his fly zipper, like a tableau vivant of Guilt Surprised, and were both in a state to take the flash of light that came through the open door as the harbinger of one of heaven’s avenging angels.
3
The mist was definitely getting thicker. Much more and they’d be calling it fog, which was bad news. There were enough idiots out there who couldn’t drive properly in broad daylight without making things even more problematic for them.
Ignoring the obvious impatience of the cars behind her, Kay Kafka drove her Mercedes E-Class down the quiet suburban roads at five mph under the permitted speed limit and signalled a good hundred yards before she turned into the driveway of Linden Bank.
With the mist and encroaching darkness toning down the unfortunate shade of lavender the Dunns had chosen for their outside woodwork, she was able to re-experience her feelings on first seeing the house. Helen had rung full of excitement to tell her that she and Jason had found a place they both liked but she wanted Kay’s approval before committing. Kay had gone along prepared to lie, and had instead been delighted. She’d liked the clean modern lines, the harmonious proportions, the use of rosy brick under a shallow-pitched roof of olive tiles. The prepared lies had come in useful later, however, once the newlyweds had moved in.
At the door Kay only had to ring once before it was flung open by a young woman hugely pregnant.
“You’re late,” she said accusingly.
“You too by the look of you.”
The young woman grimaced and said, “Still a couple of days to go-Kay, it’s lovely to see you.”
The two women embraced, not without difficulty.
“Jesus, Helen, you sure it’s only twins you’ve got in there?”
“I know-it’s terrible-I may have to let out my smocks.”
They went into the house. Outside the evening temperature was dropping fast. In here as usual the central heating was set a couple of degrees above Kay’s comfort level. In anticipation she was wearing only a sleeveless silk blouse beneath her chic sheepskin jacket.
As Helen hung it up she brushed her hand over the fleecy collar and said, “Hey, have you been on a building site? This is a bit dusty.”
“Is it? You know these old houses. I wish Tony had bought somewhere modern like this,” said Kay removing the silk square with which she’d protected her short black hair from the mist and shaking it gently. “He sends his love.”
“Give him mine. I really love that blouse,” said Helen enviously. “Wish I dared let people see the tops of my arms.”
In fact pregnancy became her. Big she was, but with the roseate carnality of a Renoir bather. In the glow of that aura many other women would have been reduced to attendant shadows, but Kay Kafka, pale faced and pencil slim, was not diminished.
They went into the lounge. The first time Kay had come into this room and found it full of light from the huge picture window overlooking the long rear lawn, she had known exactly how she would furnish and decorate it. Now, even after many visits, she had to make an effort not to react to the heavy furnishings, the fitted pink carpet, the gilt-framed Canaletto reproductions and the Regency striped curtains which, closed, at least concealed the Yorkstone patio running down to a solar-powered fountain in red-veined marble with which the Dunns had replaced half of the lawn. The only thing that won her approval was the Steinway upright occupying one corner, which, if Jason had had his way, would probably have been replaced by an electronic keyboard in dazzling silver. Strange, she thought, how people could be so beautiful without having any inner sense of beauty.