Next of Kin

by John Boyne

  He ran to the back door and unlocked it just as Keaton arrived and he stepped inside, rubbing his hands together briskly. ‘Chilly night, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Is it?’ said Montignac. ‘I’ve been in here for hours. I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Well it is. So how did things go with our young friend?’

  ‘Very well, I think,’ said Montignac. ‘He was pickled by the time we left the pub and he’s gone back to mine as arranged. I made sure the taxi driver would remember that I was staying behind.’

  ‘Good, good. Well I’ve organized your alibi for the next few hours so you’ve nothing to worry about on that score. It came quite cheap too. Decided where you’re going to sleep yet?’ he asked.

  ‘I thought I’d just come straight back here,’ he said. ‘There’s nowhere else I can go. A hotel would be too risky in case someone remembered seeing me there.’

  ‘True. Well it won’t be a very comfortable night for you but there we are. That’s the price we pay to get the things we want,’ he added pleasantly. ‘Shall we get on with it?’

  Montignac nodded and led the way up the stairs towards the mezzanine level, where the small storeroom was. ‘He’s in here,’ he said, unlocking the door and pulling it open.

  The man stared inside at the body of Raymond Davis which lay on a plastic sheet on the floor, and grimaced. ‘Poor chap,’ he said. ‘He looks quite peaceful, doesn’t he? How much longer do we have, do you think?’

  ‘Not long,’ said Montignac. ‘I think we need to get him back to Bedford Place as soon as possible.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Keaton. ‘Well let’s get on with it then. I don’t want to be late home, I have an early start in the morning. Should we untie him first?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Just to be safe.’

  They removed the masking tape from his arms and legs and, with one quick pull, from his mouth. The action of doing this seemed to jolt Raymond for a moment and he emitted a loud groan, although his eyes remained firmly shut. Montignac and Keaton stared at him for a moment before judging it was safe to continue.

  They picked him up under each arm and walked him carefully down the stairs and out into the laneway, where they propped him up in the back seat of the car as if he was simply a passenger, and drove on towards Bedford Place.

  ‘Poor bugger,’ said Keaton at one point, catching sight of him in the rear-view mirror. ‘What did he ever do to you anyway?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ asked Montignac. ‘You said we needed a victim. He got the job.’

  ‘Well it doesn’t matter to me. I’m just interested, that’s all.’

  Montignac breathed heavily through his nose and considered it. ‘He was an unwelcome intruder,’ he said finally. ‘Someone I should have taken care of a long time ago but never thought would become such a regular fixture in my life.’

  ‘Well he’s not going to be now,’ said the man.

  ‘No.’

  ‘As long as we both get what we need, that’s all that matters,’ said Keaton. ‘It’s been very convenient that we can help each other out like this. First with the Cézannes, you made a nice little bundle out of that, didn’t you?’

  ‘It came along when I needed it, certainly,’ admitted Montignac.

  ‘And now we get to help each other again. What’s this Gareth fellow like anyway?’

  Montignac shrugged. ‘He’s all right, I suppose,’ he conceded. ‘One of life’s losers. No goals, no ambitions. But fairly harmless. Looks at me like I’m some sort of god. Every time I turn around he’s standing there, desperate for my approval. I think he just lacked direction in life. Positive role models, as they say. Still, he won’t have to worry about it now, I suppose.’

  ‘No. I blame the parents of course,’ said Keaton. ‘And they’ll be paying for it. It’s unfortunate for the lad but it was the only way I could be sure of influencing his father. If only he wasn’t such a stickler for formalities I wouldn’t have had to take things this far. If he was just corruptible, just a little bit, then none of this would have been necessary. Most of them are, you know. I’m one of the more honest judges in the system.’

  ‘That says a lot.’

  ‘Don’t be sarcastic,’ said Keaton quietly. ‘There are greater principles involved here.’

  ‘Do you really hate this American woman that much?’ asked Montignac. ‘I’m just interested, that’s all,’ he added, echoing Keaton’s earlier phrase.

  ‘Wallis Simpson doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,’ said Keaton with a shrug. ‘In fact I’ve never even met her. Personally I couldn’t care less if the king wanted to marry a donkey. It doesn’t make a blind bit of difference to me. But the man has a way about him that has to be stopped. All this business with the miners in the North-East. The little visits he makes. This nonsense of “something has to be done”. He thinks the monarchy is there to be shared with the people. He understands nothing about our ways. It’s as simple as that. But Baldwin … now he understands. He can see the damage the man is doing.’

  ‘But the people love him,’ said Montignac.

  ‘The people!’ snorted Keaton, shaking his head as he drove along. ‘Who cares what the people think? The people, as you put it, are an ill-educated, senseless mob. They look for leadership, they need it, and they see this prancing fellow going up and down the country, patting them on the heads, looking terribly terribly sympathetic, drinking mugs of tea in their tiny cottages and they think he’s one of them. Or that they’re one of us. And by extension that makes me one of them, and I’m not. You know what the last king said about him, don’t you? His father? He said that six months after he was dead his son would have destroyed the monarchy. And believe me, if he’s not stopped that bloody man will tear down all the palaces in the land and share out the wealth among every poor man and woman in the country, every starving tramp on the streets.’

  ‘And would that be such a bad thing?’ asked Montignac with a smile.

  ‘You know damn well it would,’ he replied. ‘So don’t pretend otherwise. No, the man has to be stopped and this ridiculous infatuation of his with Wallis Bloody Simpson has given us the perfect artillery. Still, the PM needs the judiciary to back him up. I help him and he’s ready to help me in return.’

  Montignac frowned. ‘Help you with what?’ he asked. ‘What’s he going to do for you?’

  ‘Have you ever had anything stolen from you?’ asked Keaton after a lengthy pause, feeling that perhaps he owed his co-conspirator an explanation.

  ‘I’ve had things taken away from me that I expected to be mine.’

  ‘Then you’ll know how I feel,’ he said. ‘Until you’ve had your birthright taken away from you by people who have no right to it, you won’t understand how bitter it can make you.’

  ‘But I have had that happen to me,’ pointed out Montignac. ‘When my grandfather cut off my father and mother he left us with nothing. The irony of it is that the entire inheritance was not his to decide upon. He’d just come into it like everyone else, it wasn’t as if he’d actually earned it. The right and proper thing was to leave it to my father and then to me. It wasn’t his place to make such a decision. They stole it.’

  ‘Then perhaps you do understand,’ said Keaton thoughtfully. ‘But I’ll get mine back when I put York on the throne.’

  ‘It sounds like we’re back in the Middle Ages.’

  ‘The same principles are involved,’ insisted Keaton. ‘The monarch doesn’t just represent the country, Owen. He’s not just there to open church fêtes and meet with the prime minister for tea and coffee every week and wave from the balcony of Buckingham Palace every so often. Think of your history, boy. The monarch has a greater responsibility than that. Think of all the wars that have been fought for the crown, the lives that have been lost. And your young Mr Davis is just another casualty of that war. No, by Christmas I will have one man off the throne and another man on. And the country will be a safer place for it, you mark my words. The present king wil
l destroy us all if he’s left in charge. He’ll make communists of everyone. He’ll bring the whole system crashing down about our heads and the poor man’s too stupid to see that when it falls, it’s his head that gets crushed in the vice first. Of course my rewards will begin when he’s gone, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m serving a greater cause than just my own.’

  ‘Crowning a king isn’t reward enough?’

  ‘Goodness me, no,’ said Lord Keaton. ‘That will be York’s glory, the poor bugger. And Baldwin’s triumph. Mine will be in all the things he can do for me then. I will have the position that was always owing to me.’

  ‘And will he thank you for it?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll hate me for it,’ replied Keaton with a laugh. ‘He no more wants to be king of England than the man in the moon. But he won’t have any choice and he won’t know that it was down to me. And once he’s installed…’ He shook his head and laughed. ‘Well I haven’t cultivated him for all these years for nothing, put it that way. I will have a great deal of influence at court. The influence my father should have had. And his. But I will have saved the country, can’t you see that? This is patriotism at its finest. What we are doing is in everyone’s best interests. We are protecting our way of life from ignorant princes who know nothing of the real world.’

  Are we only here to avenge the crimes against our fathers? wondered Montignac.

  ‘And Roderick Bentley?’ he asked. ‘You’re sure you’ll be able to get what you want out of him now?’ asked Montignac.

  ‘Oh yes, certainly I am. We’ll have him over a barrel. See his own son hanged when he has the power with a simple word to stop it? You obviously don’t have children, Mr Montignac, or you wouldn’t even ask.’

  Montignac turned to look out the window.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Perhaps if I did I’d understand.’

  Raymond Davis jolted into life suddenly, his eyes opening wide, incredibly alert, before slumping back in the seat, half asleep. His head turned to his right and he tried to focus on the man sitting beside him. ‘Owen…’ he groaned.

  ‘It’s all right, Raymond,’ said Montignac, patting his arm. ‘You had a little accident, that’s all. We’re taking you to a doctor. Just try and relax. Go back to sleep if you like.’

  Raymond groaned again, deeply, and his hand moved to the back of his head, but a moment later he seemed to be immersed in sleep again although his eyes remained slightly open.

  They arrived at Bedford Place a few minutes later. It was entirely deserted and the two men pulled Raymond from the car as quietly as possible. He was more alert now and his feet moved as they brought him up the stairs but he said little, just emitted deep sounds from somewhere within his chest. They went up the stairs and into Montignac’s flat, which he opened with the spare key he kept over the door. Montignac went in first to check on Gareth and, sure enough, the young man was asleep in the bedroom, still in his clothes, wrapped up in the sheets. Montignac smiled and closed the door on him for a moment.

  ‘Sleeping like a baby,’ he said to Keaton as they closed the door of the flat behind them and settled Raymond on a sofa.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let’s throw a few things around. Make it look like there was a struggle.’

  He unsettled a bookcase and broke a vase, then upended the coffee table, resting them on the carpet quietly so as not to disturb the rest of the building, and cleared a space on the floor.

  ‘Now for the hard part,’ said Montignac, taking the candlestick from beside the fireplace.

  ‘Rather you than me,’ said Keaton, turning away as Montignac moved towards his prey and shook him roughly.

  ‘Raymond,’ he said. ‘Raymond, can you hear me? Wake up!’

  He opened his eyes blearily and tried to focus. ‘Stella…?’ he muttered.

  ‘You have to stand up, Raymond,’ said Montignac, enunciating each word clearly. ‘Stand up. The doctor is here to see you.’

  ‘Can’t you just do it there?’ asked Keaton but Montignac shook his head.

  ‘He needs to fall the right way. You don’t attack intruders who are sleeping on your sofa. He needs to be standing up. It needs to look like there was a struggle.’

  He took Raymond’s hands and pulled him to his feet, no easy task as he wanted nothing more than to remain prostrate on the sofa.

  ‘Oh here, let me help,’ said Keaton, taking one side and between them they pulled him upwards and dragged him to the floor.

  ‘Raymond, turn around and look at the door,’ said Montignac, and now the words seemed to have more meaning to him because his eyes opened wider and he licked his lips as he wondered where he was.

  ‘Owen?’ he asked clearly. ‘What…? Where am…?’

  ‘Raymond, over there,’ said Montignac, pointing towards the door. ‘Turn away from me. Look over there.’

  ‘What’s over there?’ he mumbled, turning as Montignac had asked him.

  ‘Stella’s over there,’ said Montignac quietly and as he said that Raymond turned around again, his mouth open, his eyes questioning, and at that moment Montignac brought the candlestick crashing down on his head. He fell to the floor immediately, heavily, his hands going to his temples for a moment before falling at his side. Standing over him, Montignac lifted the candlestick again and brought it down on his forehead with as much force as he could muster. There was a sickening sound of broken bone and Keaton turned away in disgust. Montignac looked down, aware that his hands were trembling now and his stomach churning but the blood did not seem to be pouring quite as much as he would have wished so he hit him again, at which point he was certainly dead. Reaching down with a towel he wiped up much of the blood and carried this into the bedroom, smearing Gareth’s clothes and hands with it. The young man lying in his bed barely stirred.

  ‘Are we done?’ asked Keaton when he reappeared, and Montignac nodded.

  ‘I think so,’ he said, looking around. ‘You’ll drive me back to the gallery?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ he said. They stepped outside and made sure to leave the door ajar so that the first person to leave the building for work in the morning would see the body and alert the authorities.

  They drove back in relative silence. Montignac felt a sensation of sadness at all that had happened but his resolution was firm. He had had no choice, he reasoned. It was kill or be killed. And he was saving Stella from a life with that fool.

  ‘And the forty thousand pounds?’ asked Montignac as they pulled up in the back lane.

  ‘Will be yours when the plan has worked,’ he replied. ‘You’ve got what you want, Mr Montignac, now it’s time for me to get what I want. And it will be money extremely well spent too.’

  ‘I need it by Christmas,’ said Montignac. ‘Or my life will be on the line.’

  ‘By Christmas, I guarantee it.’

  ‘You’ll be ready by then?’

  ‘Oh yes. Certainly if Roderick Bentley plays along. Your Mr Bentley will be saved from the noose and I will have saved the country.’

  ‘Then everyone wins.’

  ‘Except young Mr Davis, yes.’

  Montignac nodded and went back into the gallery as the Rolls Royce drove away into the night.

  9

  ‘THE WHOLE THING IS just such a terrible tragedy,’ said Jane Bentley. ‘Were you expecting Mr Davis to call around to see you that night?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Montignac. ‘He’d never said anything about it to me at any rate.’

  ‘But you were friends, the two of you? It wouldn’t have been unusual for him to call around that late at night? He’d done it before?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that we were friends,’ he said, not wishing to imply something that she could easily discover to be false. ‘As you know, he was engaged to be married to my cousin. I wasn’t entirely in favour of the match if I’m honest.’

  ‘Can I ask why not?’

  ‘No special reason,’ he replied. ‘I suppose I just didn’t know him very wel
l and I wasn’t happy that he proposed so soon after my uncle died. He left rather a lot of money to Stella, you see.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that.’

  ‘I was only looking out for her best interests. I’m sure you can understand that. But I think that in time Raymond and I would have got along fine.’

  Jane nodded and her body seemed to slump in the chair for a moment. ‘And your cousin?’ she asked finally. ‘How is she holding up?’

  ‘It’s been very hard on her.’

  ‘I wish I could tell her how sorry I am.’

  Montignac shook his head quickly. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ he said. ‘She’s down at Leyville at the moment, our family home. I think she just wants to be left alone to come to terms with things.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jane. ‘I wouldn’t know what to say to her even if we did talk.’

  ‘It’s best if you leave her alone for now.’

  ‘That’s what my husband said. I wanted to write to her, to tell her that we were sorry for her loss, but he wouldn’t allow it. He said it might prejudice the case.’

  ‘I suppose it might.’

  ‘Roderick’s a judge,’ she said. ‘But I expect you know that.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Gareth trained for the law too. As a barrister. He should have stuck with it.’

  ‘That’s something I never quite understood,’ said Montignac. ‘Why did he study for so many years and then not take it up as a profession?’

  ‘Children are strange, Mr Montignac,’ she said, offering him a bittersweet smile. ‘At a certain age they want you to be proud of them and so they follow in your footsteps. And then a few years later they want nothing to do with you and reject it all. Even if it causes injury to them.’

  Montignac nodded. He reached across and started tapping a pencil against his desk nervously, wondering how much longer she would be staying.

  ‘I’m keeping you from your work,’ she said, slowly snapping back to the moment and noticing his discomfort.

  ‘Not at all,’ he said and then immediately contradicted himself by saying, ‘I do have rather a lot to do today, though.’