And Then You Die

by Michael Dibdin

  ‘It was rather more serious than that.’

  ‘Who cares? The only thing that matters is that you’re still alive. Alfredo isn’t. Plus you have enough evidence to send me away for life, if you could ever get anyone to believe you.’

  ‘I couldn’t. You know that.’

  ‘No, I don’t I’d like to think so. I’d even go so far to admit that it’s probable that no one would believe you. But it’s not certain. And I want certainty at this point in my life, Zen. I’ve been eking out an existence of sorts with my relatives in Pisa, but sooner or later my savings are going to run out, and you know what I can expect then? At best some dead-end job as a private guardia giurata standing like a target outside a bank all day.’

  Zen took two more steps to his left.

  ‘Stay put!’ Lessi yelled suddenly, raising his pistol.

  Zen shrugged self-deprecatingly.

  ‘It’s my feet. Bunions. Runs in the family. If I have to stand still for any time, they start acting up.’

  ‘Fine. Just don’t try acting up yourself. Can you imagine how I’ve felt? Fired from my job, my partner killed, and meanwhile your career is all set to go into orbit just as soon as the injured hero of the Mafia wars decides that he’s sufficiently rested to trudge back to the office and tell the press and some keen young investigating magistrate with a reputation to make that his memory has suddenly come back and the true story of what happened that night in Sicily is rather different from what everyone has been led to believe.’

  Lessi gestured with the pistol.

  ‘Up against the wall again,’ he said. ‘It’ll be easier for both of us.’

  Zen gestured frantically.

  ‘But what about Signora Santini?’ he said. ‘She has nothing to do with any of this.’

  ‘She does now. I’ve been monitoring your cellphone conversations, you see. Quite easily done, if you have access to the equipment. So I knew when you were expected this evening, and got here in plenty of time. Your girlfriend seemed quite surprised to see me, and naturally we got chatting once I’d tied her up. I needed to tell someone, you see, and I knew there wouldn’t be time once you arrived. So I’m afraid it has to be both of you. It would anyway, if that’s any consolation. I’m a pro, just like you, Zen. We don’t leave jobs half done.’

  That was it, then. Still over two metres to go, and the clock had apparently run out. Lessi had explained everything he had to say to Gemma earlier, and now had no further need to talk. Which left only one very risky possibility, totally dependent on Lessi being the ‘pro’ he claimed to be, in control of the situation, his trigger finger relaxed.

  Zen shrugged helplessly and staggered to his left, in the direction Lessi had indicated. His shoe caught the base of a sideboard leaning against the wall, and he went tumbling down to the floor, a comic buffoon unable to make his way about the room without falling over.

  Lessi laughed.

  ‘Maybe I’ve been overestimating you,’ he said. ‘Come on, get up! On your feet and up against the wall.’

  Zen clambered up again, then slumped on to his knees.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ he whined.

  ‘Well, it is.’

  Zen lurched up once more, glancing about him as though totally in shock. He had now made up the circular distance. All that remained was the final and most dangerous move, and the question of whether Gemma had understood. But there was no point in worrying about that.

  Turning, he took two long, slow steps towards Lessi, his hands outspread in a gesture of appeal.

  ‘Look, can’t we just …’

  Lessi instantly stepped backwards, so as to maintain the distance between them. He was just starting to say something when Gemma kicked him viciously in the back of the knees. A shot went off, wide to the right, and then Zen sprang forward as Lessi crumpled, kicking him hard in the groin and following it up with a blow to the man’s chin. He grabbed the hand holding the pistol, swung Lessi around and fell heavily on top of him.

  For a moment Lessi lay limp on the floor, groaning. Zen raised his weight slightly off the man’s body and went for the pistol. Instantly Lessi swirled up and around. In desperation, Zen grabbed a handful of the scattered roses and rasped the thorny stems across his opponent’s face. Lessi screamed and instinctively brought up his hands to cover his eyes. Zen sank his teeth into the hand holding the gun, prised it loose by the barrel, and hit the other man again and again over the head with short, rapid blows, drawing blood from the scalp.

  Lessi groaned and collapsed, murmuring something Zen didn’t understand. When he was finally still, Zen transferred the butt of the pistol to his hand, crossed himself rapidly, stuck the barrel into the base of Lessi’s skull and fired three times.

  A long time seemed to pass. Finally Zen stood up, thinking of the time he had put up some shelving at the family home in Venice, years ago. He felt the same calm, quiet satisfaction now, the same modest pride at a job well done. That house must be worth a fortune now, he thought.

  He was brought out of this complacent mood of professional satisfaction by a savage kick to his calf which almost brought him down on top of his victim. He immediately bent over Gemma, tore the metallic tape off her mouth and then kissed her impulsively. Some of the adhesive backing remained on her lips, and even when the kiss was over it took a moment for them to unglue themselves.

  ‘Hang on,’ Zen told her, heading for the kitchen. He returned with a bread knife with which he cut through the cord binding Gemma to the chair. Then he helped her to her feet, rubbing the sore patches on her wrists anxiously.

  ‘Let’s just make sure the bastard’s dead first,’ said Gemma, pulling herself free.

  She bent over Lessi’s body while Zen stood back, the pistol in one hand and the knife in the other.

  ‘There’s no pulse,’ Gemma commented, standing up again.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘All registered pharmacists have to take first aid courses and refreshers. Believe me, he’s dead.’

  She sighed loudly and turned towards the living room.

  ‘I’ll call the police.’

  ‘No!’

  Zen’s tone was so peremptory that she looked at him half in startlement and half in anger.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We mustn’t do that.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? This man came here and tried to kill us. Instead you killed him and I’ve got a corpse on my floor. Of course I must call them. You’re a policeman yourself, he told me. You of all people should realize that.’

  ‘Did he tell you that he was a policeman too?’ Zen asked.

  Gemma looked irritatedly confused.

  ‘No, but what’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she almost shouted.

  Zen placed the knife on the sideboard, put the gun in his pocket and took her arm.

  ‘The situation’s a bit more complicated than you think. Or maybe it isn’t. I’m still slightly in shock. Isn’t adrenalin great stuff? Come into the next room and I’ll explain. It won’t take long. Then go ahead and call 113 if you want.’

  Gemma shook him off.

  ‘We can do this right here,’ she said, confronting him. ‘First, a few questions. Your name is Zen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What sort of name is that?

  ‘Venetian.’

  ‘And you’re a policeman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So everything you’ve told me up to now was a lie.’

  Zen shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know about everything. But I lied about quite a bit, yes.’

  ‘Then why should I believe anything you say now?’

  ‘Because now I don’t need to lie. And I won’t, Gemma. I won’t ever tell you any more lies, whatever happens.’

  She looked for a moment as though she wanted to believe him.

  ‘But why now? Why not then?’

&
nbsp; Zen hesitated for a moment. Then he recalled the phrase that one of his escorts had used when they drove him to Pisa airport after the shooting on the beach.

  ‘I was not ordered to tell the truth. If you like, I’ll explain why. But first we have to decide what to do about this.’

  He gestured at Lessi’s corpse.

  ‘We call the police,’ Gemma answered. ‘We explain what happened. You shot him in self-defence after he’d threatened to kill us both. I’ll testify to that. There won’t be any problems.’

  Zen shook his head.

  ‘It’s not as easy as that. Come and sit down and I’ll try and explain. Afterwards, if you still want to call the police, I won’t try to stop you.’

  He started towards the living room.

  ‘Not in there,’ Gemma snapped. ‘If you insist on boring me, come into the kitchen. We’re a couple of murderers, for God’s sake! There’s no point in being formal.’

  In the bright, modern kitchen she gulped down a large glass of water, then another. Then she produced a bottle of white wine from the fridge and poured a glass for each of them. For the first time, Zen noticed what she was wearing. The same bare legs, the same sandals, but for this evening at home a very simple sleeveless dress in some soft pale-green material, tied at the left side of her waist. She wore flat gold earrings, but her hair looked less studied this time, her nails were unpainted and her make-up minimal. She looked fabulous, he thought, as if that mattered.

  ‘I’ll try and make this brief,’ he told her, ‘because if you’re going to call the cops, you’ll have to do it in the next few minutes. But we’re safe here for the moment. Lessi was almost certainly operating alone. An anonymous break-in and two dead bodies was his idea, hence the wig and moustache. Even if one of the neighbours had seen him enter, the description wouldn’t have been recognized. He was counting on no one knowing what had really happened, and therefore he almost certainly didn’t tell anyone else about it. He may have had friends who would help him out in minor ways, like giving him the odd tip as to my whereabouts, but he couldn’t count on them backing him up when a double murder was involved.’

  He paused, smiling ingratiatingly and hoping that Gemma believed all this.

  ‘It’s unlikely that anyone heard the shots, but if you decide to make this official then the time of death will be established more or less accurately. So we can’t dither around too long. Here’s all I have to say, and I’d just ask you to hear me out before making a decision. Lessi’s dead, but he was a member of an elite unit with a very strong esprit de corps. He admitted himself that he still had …’

  A voice sounded out in the courtyard outside. Gemma went over to the open window.

  ‘Ciao, Antonella!’ she called down.

  The other woman said something Zen didn’t catch.

  ‘No, no, I was just opening a bottle of spumante,’ Gemma replied. ‘I have an old friend over to dinner.’

  ‘Bene, bene,’ the other voice replied. ‘Allora buon appetito.’

  ‘Altrettanto.’

  Gemma turned back to Zen.

  ‘You were saying?’

  ‘I said that Lessi must have still had “a few friends in the business”, as he put it. They’ll have friends too. Lessi may have been regarded as a rotten apple, but if they find out that I killed him all that will change. The ranks will close. Believe me, they’ll get even, one way or another. They may not kill me, but the prospect will be something I’ll be living with for the rest of my life. You too, if we’re still together.’

  Gemma looked at him in a startlingly new way which he couldn’t interpret at all.

  ‘But what’s the alternative?’

  Her voice had changed too. Zen shrugged wearily, suddenly aware how absurd it was to even be making this appeal.

  ‘He’d have to disappear. If we’re ever going to go back to leading normal lives, we’d have to dispose of the body in such a way that it would never be found, and would be completely unidentifiable if it were. That would, of course, make you an accessory. So you’re right, come to think of it. Call the police. You’d be crazy not to.’

  He turned away and took a swallow of wine.

  ‘How could we do that?’ asked Gemma.

  Zen tightened his grip on the glass, but didn’t turn round.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Hide the body in the way you mentioned.’

  He laughed lightly, as though she had posed some theoretical philosophical problem of no real concern to either of them.

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ he said, turning to face her but not looking her in the eyes. ‘I suppose there must be places up in the mountains where it might not be found for a while. Some abandoned mine or old railway tunnel. But I don’t know of any, and I don’t expect you do either.’

  ‘What about at sea?’

  He looked at her now, but laughed again.

  ‘That would be perfect, of course, but how are we going to manage it? We can’t very well take the corpse down to Livorno in the car and dump it over the rail of the Elba ferry.’

  Gemma finished her wine and set her glass down with a distinct clink.

  ‘Tommaso has a boat. Well, it belongs to both of us, theoretically.’

  This time, Zen didn’t laugh.

  ‘We can hardly drag Tommaso into this.’

  ‘We don’t need to. The marina has a set of keys. They’ll give them to me.’

  Zen stared at her in total perplexity. Gemma opened the refrigerator.

  ‘It’s all right, you don’t have to decide right away,’ she said. ‘Shall we have something to eat?’

  Zen pointed to the dining room, where Roberto Lessi’s head was just visible.

  ‘But what about …?’ he said.

  Gemma looked at his vaguely pointing hand, then turned back to the fridge.

  ‘Fuck him, he’s dead,’ she replied. ‘I bought this fabulous red mullet specially for tonight, but I can’t face cooking it now. Would some starters and a little pasta do? It’s about all I’m up for, frankly.’

  She set a dish of antipasti di mare and a loaf of bread on the small table near the window which must have served her and her husband as their breakfast nook, then turned up the heat under a cauldron of water on the stove. Zen noted that the pasta water had been started but then turned off.

  ‘So he arrived about a quarter of an hour before I was due,’ he said. ‘Twenty minutes, more like. He had plenty of time to talk.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I’m a detective. I’ll explain later.’

  ‘Very well. Shall we eat?’

  Zen just stood there staring.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded Gemma, sitting down.

  ‘Nothing. It’s just … I don’t know. One moment you’re all for telephoning the police, the next you’re asking me to sit down and eat with the corpse of the man I’ve just shot lying in the next room. It seems a little sudden, that’s all.’

  Gemma smiled at him over a forkful of marinated anchovies.

  ‘It was something you said.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said, “It’s something I’ll be living with for the rest of my life. You too, if we’re still together.”’

  Zen looked at her indignantly, as though she’d faulted his logic.

  ‘Well, you will!’ he said.

  Gemma laughed.

  ‘That isn’t the point, silly.’

  ‘Then what is?’

  ‘Never mind. Shame about the mullet. It was gorgeous. Fresh off the boat.’

  ‘We could still cook it.’

  ‘It won’t be the same when we get back.’

  ‘Get back from what?’

  ‘Disposing of the body, of course. We’ll have to get out into deep water. That’ll take hours. We couldn’t be back here until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.’

  ‘Back from where?’

  A sudden hissing behind them announced that the pasta water had boiled over. Gemma got up and busied hers
elf with the stove. The odours of garlic and oil filled the air.

  ‘Portunciulla. That’s where Tommaso keeps his boat. Our boat. It’s near La Spezia. About an hour on the autostrada, depending on traffic.’

  ‘But how are we going to get there?’

  ‘My car has a back seat that folds down to make luggage space. He’ll fit in there.’

  Zen sat there, nibbling squid, sipping wine and thinking all this over with a clarity he found alarming.

  ‘Can you operate the boat?’ he asked.

  Gemma waved impatiently.

  ‘No, but you must be able to. You’re Venetian, you told me.’

  ‘Of course I can!’ Zen retorted proudly. ‘What sort is it?’

  ‘A motor cruiser. The latest model, all the latest gadgets. Even I could probably drive it if I had to. A child could.’

  Zen considered some more.

  ‘We’ll need to wrap the body. Do you have any spare sheets or anything like that?’

  ‘Tons.’

  Gemma did more things near the cooker and the sink, then returned with a broad dish which she set down on the table with the air of someone who is quietly satisfied with her work. Just like I did after killing Lessi, thought Zen. The dish contained a heap of penne rigate dressed with chopped aubergines, green olives, basil, capers and anchovies in a light tomato sauce tangy with garlic and chilli. Zen suddenly realized that he was famished.

  ‘So how much did he tell you?’ he asked as Gemma served the pasta.

  ‘Pretty much everything, I think. He seemed to want to tell someone, to show off how brave and clever he’d been.’

  ‘But that was all?’

  ‘All?’

  ‘I mean, he just tied you up. He didn’t …’

  Gemma laughed.

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. I don’t think he was interested in women, to tell you the truth. You can usually tell, even if you’re dealing with a maniac. No, the one he wanted was you. Apparently he’d tried five times, but you hadn’t come across. So he was getting pretty frustrated and desperate.’