‘How far had he got?’
‘He said he was nearly finished.’
Francis raised his eyebrows. ‘So what do the paintings mean?’
Ben shrugged.
‘I didn’t ask him. When he said he was talking to people involved with the occult I panicked. I warned him off because of what happened to …’ He trailed off, censoring himself, unwilling to talk about Diego Martinez. ‘I didn’t want Leon being so reckless.’
‘But he didn’t listen?’
‘No, he said people were approaching him via the internet. I know for a fact that he’d seen a medium—’
‘Bloody hell.’
‘He was grasping at straws. They had a seance, you know.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Francis said drily. ‘They got through to Goya.’
‘I think my brother actually believed that they could.’ Ben sighed. ‘The medium’s a friend of Gina’s, a man called Frederick Lincoln. She told me he was trustworthy. But even if no one gossiped outright, people knew that Leon was researching the Black Paintings and had found a skull which he thought was Goya’s—’
‘It was.’
They both looked at the skull, Ben the first to speak. ‘Did you tell anyone?’
‘No,’ Francis replied, his tone injured.
‘I had to ask.’
‘No you fucking didn’t.’
Carefully, Ben picked up the skull again. ‘Can you put it into storage? Mark the box CAUTION – ANIMAL REMAINS so that no one will open it?’
Francis nodded. ‘Easy. But what are you going to do now?’
‘Clear my brother’s name. I know what people are saying about Leon – that he was unstable, that he killed himself. Why not? He’d tried before, it’s an obvious conclusion to jump to. If he hadn’t been my brother, maybe I would have said the same. But he was my brother, Francis, and I loved him and knew him better than anyone on earth. And I know he was murdered.’
‘If you’re right,’ Francis said quietly, ‘then you might be in danger too.’
‘I know … But someone killed my brother and they’re not getting away with it.’ He gestured to the skull. ‘Hide it, Francis, and then forget about it. Forget everything I’ve told you. Everything.’
27
Madrid, Spain
The following day dawned thick with the threat of a storm. Sapping heat clung heavy on the air, the breeze swamped, hardly able to move the dust. Composed, Gina walked into Leon’s study and sat at his desk, fingering the pen he had last used. In front of her some papers were torn, others piled high in no particular order, a few rough drawings tossed into the waste-paper basket. Idly, she reached into the bin and smoothed out a piece of paper, an amateur drawing of a bull staring inanely at her. Leon had never been a gifted artist. He had wanted – longed – to be able to paint, but it wasn’t his forte.
Holding the paper to her lips momentarily Gina turned as she heard footsteps behind her. ‘Are you all right?’
Nodding, Ben moved over to the desk, avoiding her eyes. ‘They’ve finally agreed to do an autopsy on Leon.’
Her voice was dull. ‘Why did they change their minds?’
‘I insisted – called on some of my medical contacts.’
‘Why an autopsy?’
He paused, staring past her into the hall beyond. Childhood memories came swinging back – Leon running down from the hot summer playroom into the hallway and slipping on the floor which Detita kept as shiny as a plate of black glass. Leon as a child, struggling like a netted fish against the suffocation of his instability. Leon as a young man, passionate but muted with medication. Happy at times … Ben kept staring, almost seeing his brother coming from the back garden with a handful of soil.
We have to keep this, Ben.
What for?
If you keep the soil from the place you love most, you’ll never leave.
And now Leon as Ben had last heard him on the phone, panicked, his voice urgent. Running down the same stairs, skidding on the same black-ice floor, racing for safety. And not finding it.
‘Ben?’ Timidly Gina reached out her hand and brushed his. ‘Ben, I’m sorry …’
He looked down at her, his voice puzzled. ‘What for?’
‘For not being here. For leaving Leon,’ she answered, tears beginning hot and slow like the Manzanares river beyond. ‘I should have stayed that night.’
‘So why did you go, Gina?’
‘He was angry with me for disturbing him. He wanted to be left alone to work.’
‘But he’d stopped taking his medication. Why didn’t you make him take it?’
‘You couldn’t make Leon do anything he didn’t want to!’ she snapped back. ‘You know that as well as I do.’
Her hand reached for his again, but again he didn’t take it. He couldn’t offer comfort because he wanted to blame her, punish her, even though it wasn’t her fault. And he knew that. Had always known that one day Leon would go too far, drop too fast, before any of them – parent, brother, lover – could catch him. His decline had been inevitable, as much a part of him as his expressions and habits. The rapid reflexes, the way he put his feet up on his desk and clasped his hands behind his head. The way he gobbled up information and then passed it on, his hands working with the words as though – if either paused – the whole conversation would evaporate.
‘I loved him, you know.’
Ben nodded but didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, his tone was incisive.
‘You should never have put him in danger—’
‘I didn’t hurt him! How did I endanger him?’ she hurled back.
‘You encouraged him with his book about the Black Paintings. You let him get involved in the occult, when you knew it would be bad for anyone as fragile as my brother. You shouldn’t have introduced him to people like Frederick Lincoln. You knew how vulnerable he was. Didn’t you realise he might be in danger?’
‘From whom? Frederick is a friend. I told you, I’ve known him since I was a kid. His family lived in America for a while, near us. We used to play together, then they went back to Holland when Frederick was in his early teens.’ She took in a ragged breath. ‘I would trust him with my life—’
‘You certainly trusted him with Leon’s.’
Stunned, she leaned forward in her seat, her eyes hostile. ‘I would never have done anything to hurt your brother! If you were so worried about Leon, why didn’t you come over to Spain more often? I was always there for him—’
‘Except when you walked out.’
‘We had a fight! Couples do. We were no different.’ She was openly hostile. ‘You were certainly relieved when we got back together. It took some of the pressure off you, didn’t it, Ben?’ She kicked out at the chair in front of her. ‘Don’t try to attack me to cover up your own feelings of guilt!’
Shaken, Ben struggled to breathe, Gina’s words resonating in his head, their accuracy damning. It was true, he had been glad that Gina was back in his brother’s life. He had wanted a breathing space, time to work on his own relationship with Abigail. Time to catch up on his own life.
‘I’m sorry for what I just said,’ Gina murmured, shamefaced. ‘I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.’
‘Maybe we should both have looked after him better.’
She took a breath, choosing her next words carefully. ‘I have to know something … Will you tell me the truth?’
‘If I can.’
‘Why was Leon in danger?’
‘There was someone in the house. Leon heard them. He thought he was going to be killed.’
Incredulous, she shook her head. ‘Killed? Why?’
‘You know why.’
‘No, I don’t!’
‘Didn’t Leon tell you what had been happening lately?’
‘Like what?’
He couldn’t tell if she was lying and continued warily. ‘D’you know someone called Diego Martinez?’
She shook her head.