‘Gabino Ortega?’
‘I’ve read about the Ortega family.’ She paused, staring at Ben. ‘What have they got to do with any of this?’
‘Leon didn’t kill himself. There was more to it than that.’
She shook her head impatiently. ‘You can’t make a conspiracy out of this, Ben. You have to admit the truth. Your brother was only ever a danger to himself. We both know he’d been suicidal before—’
‘Leon didn’t kill himself.’
She stiffened in her seat, her eyes suspicious. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because my brother was on to something. He had the one thing he’d been searching for all his life. A way to make the big time. He would never have killed himself.’
‘He was hyper, manic,’ she blundered on. ‘I kept telling him to go back on his medication. I begged him, but he refused. And then he told me was taking it again. I didn’t believe him, but I didn’t want to argue with him in case he did something stupid.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like go away. Cut me out entirely.’
‘Leon would never have gone away,’ Ben replied dismissively. ‘He was committed to what he was working on. He was excited about it—’
‘He was sick!’
‘He was winning,’ Ben insisted. ‘You knew him, Gina, but I knew him better. When he attempted suicide before, it was because he was lost, drifting. But when he got that skull, Leon knew he was on the edge of a triumph. That’s why I know he didn’t kill himself.‘
‘But if he didn’t commit suicide, that means someone killed him.’ She shuddered. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
Unnerved, she struggled with the idea. ‘But why would anyone kill Leon?’
‘I don’t know that either.’
He wasn’t sure of anything any more – whether Gina was in some way culpable, or whether she was also in danger. He couldn’t read her.
‘Leon told me that he was talking to people on the phone and over the internet.’
‘He was,’ she agreed. ‘And a man came to talk to him last week … What’s all this about? The skull?’ She turned to Ben, her face as white as a dying moon. ‘Does someone want that skull?’
‘Gina—’
‘But he didn’t have it!’ she shouted, suddenly panicking. ‘He was having it authenticated in Madrid. You know that. He didn’t have it.’
‘Gina, try and calm down—’
But she was scared, getting to her feet and moving around restlessly. ‘I don’t know where it is now. God, what if someone thinks it’s here? They could come here … Could they hurt me?’
‘No one’s going to harm you—’
‘How d’you know that?’ she countered. ‘You’re talking about Leon being murdered, and going on about that bloody skull. Well, I was involved. Jesus, I was involved.’
Levelly, he held her gaze.
‘It might be safer if you left here. Go home to the USA, Gina. Let me sort this out.’
‘I can’t go away! I can’t just up and leave. This was my home too. Leon was my partner – how can you expect me to walk away?’
‘It would be safer for you—’
‘Why don’t you just find the skull?’ she asked, impatient and rattled. ‘Don’t you know where it is?’ Suspicious, she stared at him. ‘You do, don’t you?’
A beat passed between them. Ben saw the hesitation and noted it. Did she think he was lying to her? And if so, why? Did she think he suspected her of something?
‘Well, do you know where the skull is?’
‘No,’ he lied.
‘But surely you could find out? You could ask around, track down Leon’s contacts. They would talk to you … Find it, Ben. Please. I’ll help you.’
Her voice dropped suddenly, as though she had lost power. Moving to the window, she closed the shutters, the house stifling and silent around them.
‘You don’t trust me, do you?’
He ignored the question and returned to something she had said earlier. ‘What did the man look like? The man who called here?’
She closed her eyes to help herself remember. ‘He was dark-skinned, maybe African, tall, about thirty-five.’
‘What was his name?’
She shrugged. ‘I dunno.’
‘Did he come by car?’
‘Yes, a cab.’
‘And he was on his own?’
‘Yeah … I showed him into the library and called for Leon.’
‘How did he react when he saw him?’
‘Fine. Said hello and offered him a seat. They seemed to get on.’
‘As though they already knew each other?’
She thought for a moment. ‘No, not like that. But the man was very charming, easy to like. In fact I could hear them laughing when I went to make some coffee. When I took it in to them the man was saying that he would contact Leon by email.’
‘Then what?’
‘A little while later Leon came to bed and fell asleep.’
‘He didn’t seem upset? Afraid?’
‘No. He fell asleep almost at once,’ she replied. ‘Is the visit important?’
‘I don’t know. But I want to see Leon’s emails.’
Surprised, Gina stared at him. ‘He never mentioned any emails from this man—’
‘You said he was being secretive.’
‘About some things!’ she snapped. ‘But not everything. Your brother always told me if he was worried. There was nothing he was scared of, nothing that spooked him. He would have told me.’
‘I still want to see the emails,’ Ben repeated. ‘Please.’
A low, dark headache beginning, he followed Gina as she moved into Leon’s study and flicked on the light. The memory was almost unbearable … Leon passing the skull to Ben that first day; Leon standing in the doorway, listening and watching, as astute and nervous as a child … Turning on the computer, Gina accessed the emails and then drew up the list of incoming messages, some with names as a heading, others completely anonymous. Unknown people from anonymous places, Ben thought uneasily. But they had all known where Leon Golding had been and where to find him.
Carefully Ben read every email. Some were in answer to Leon’s enquiries, others obvious cons.
I agree that the painter was not in his right mind. That is why the paintings are not to be trusted, or believed. However, if you send me $400 I can forward some original, and insightful, information.
‘Crazy.’
Over his shoulder, Gina was also reading the emails, her finger suddenly jabbing at the screen as an address came up: Gortho@3000.com.
‘That rings a bell.’
The message read:
I could call by on Thursday. The gallery would be most interested and would give you full credit.
‘No name on it,’ Ben said. ‘Anything kosher would have a proper name.’
‘Unless they were trying to make sure no one else could contact them.’
Ben glanced over his shoulder. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in a conspiracy?’
‘I don’t know what to believe any more,’ she replied crisply, turning her gaze back to the screen. ‘What was it referring to?’
‘The skull, I suppose.’
She chewed the side of her fingernail thoughtfully, watching as Ben typed a note in reply to the email and pressed the SEND button. A moment later a reply came back stating that the message could not be received as the address no longer existed.
‘Dead end,’ he said bitterly.
‘Damn it! Do we have to wait until the authenticator of the skull gets in touch with us?’ Gina asked, her tone wary. ‘I mean, can’t we approach them?’
Inwardly, Ben flinched, thinking of the skull he had left at Francis’s laboratory in London. The skull Gina thought was still in Spain.
‘They would come back to us with the results, wouldn’t they? Or would they contact the Prado direct, now that Leon’s …?’ She stopped, fighting emotion. ‘You have to talk to them.’
‘I’ve been in touch already.’