The Bullet Trick

'Mr Wilson, I’ve listened to this with great interest but it’s patently clear even to one of my failing abilities, that you’ve nothing whatsoever to do with publishing.' He gave me a mild look over his glasses, offering me the chance to contradict him. I sat silent and he smiled as if he approved of my lack of protest. 'Perhaps now lunch is safely ordered you’ll do me the courtesy of telling me who you really are and what it is that you’re after.'

I grinned.

'No flies on you, eh, Mr Manson?'

He gave me his donnish smile and I gave him my backup story. It involved schooldays and Bill and I don’t think he believed it any better, but he was satisfied that I wasn’t writing a book, and perhaps there were enough contradic tions in my pose to spark his curiosity.

Manson reached into his jacket.

'Right, as you’ve dragged me here on false pretences I think I’m entitled to claim some expenses from you.'

He laid his train ticket in front of me. I fished awkwardly in my pocket for the money to cover it then opened my wallet and added an extra tenner.

'Get a taxi from the station at the other end.'

He slid the note back across the bar-room table.

'The fare is sufficient thank you, and …’ He took a sip of the Pouilly Fumé and nodded his head. '… Very good. I’m happy to discuss the Gloria Noon case with you, in return for one simple promise.'

'What?'

Manson’s bookish aspect slipped slightly; there was a tinge of estuary to his accent now.

'That you share any new material you find with me.'

I hesitated, as if carefully considering his proposal.

'There’s no guarantees I’ll uncover anything new, but if I do I’ll be happy to tell you all about it.'

'Good,' Manson took another sip of his drink. 'So we understand each other?'

I nodded and we sat in a silence that wasn’t quite companionable, drinking our wine and tearing at the bread until the food arrived.

The waitress set Manson’s steak down first then slid my ravioli in front of me and sprinkled it with Parmesan over its top. Manson looked at my lunch with distaste then lifted his knife and sliced into his steak. Blood seeped across the white plate, resisting mixing with the dark-brown gravy that pooled around the meat. Manson put the piece of steak in his mouth and started to chew, then he started to talk.

'Cases where the body remains unfound are always intriguing. In an instance like the unfortunate Mrs Noon’s we know that she’s probably deceased, and yet a scintilla of doubt remains. Maybe she simply walked away from an unsatisfactory marriage.'

'And her child?'

'It does happen.'

Manson speared a piece of broccoli, added a small roast potato to the fork and smiled tenderly at the arrangement before putting it in his mouth.

'I suppose it does, not often though.'

'More often than you might think, anyway,' he put a small piece of steak in his mouth and kept on talking. 'I wasn’t saying that was what had happened, just that it’s a possibility.

No body, no certainty of death.'

'Like Lord Lucan.'

'Exactly.'

Manson’s strong jaws set to work and I glanced away to avoid seeing the food churning between his teeth.

'What do you think happened in Gloria’s case?'

'You read my book?'

'Yes.' I’d read it on the train down from Glasgow, half-disgusted by the ease with which I was drawn into the minutiae of Gloria’s disappearance. It had told me nothing that the press reports hadn’t. 'It was fascinating, but though the evidence pointed in certain directions you didn’t come to any definite conclusions. I wondered what you thought had happened.'

'Off the record?'

'Sure.'

'Off the record I think Bill Noon killed his wife.'

Manson slugged back the last of the wine. He smiled, savouring the vintage, or maybe the crime. I nodded to the waitress for a second bottle.

'How can you be sure?'

'Ah,' he held up his fork. 'I didn’t say I was sure, I said that was what I thought had probably happened. There’s a difference.'

'I take your point.'

'A crime boils down to three classic things — means, motive and opportunity. Bill Noon had all of these.'

'What about her lover?'

'The mysterious lover.' Manson pushed aside his empty plate and smiled as the waitress placed the second bottle on our table. 'Maybe he’s on a beach in Acapulco drinking mai-tais with Gloria Noon, maybe he was a figment of her imagination, maybe he killed her or maybe Bill did him too.' I topped up his glass and he grinned. 'Of course that would assume that there was no one except Gloria who cared for him, because no one who fitted the bill was reported missing.'

'But he could have murdered her, disposed of the body and disappeared back to where he came from.'

'In theory, yes.'

'But unlikely?'

He shrugged.

'If you really were a publisher I’d spin you a line about the chapter I’d write about the possible lovers of Gloria Noon, all completely within the libel laws you understand, but no I don’t think so.'

'So where’s Bill Noon’s motive if there’s no lover?'

Manson knocked back more wine and levelled his stare at me.

'Doesn’t every husband have a motive?'

'I don’t know. I’ve never been married.'

'No,' he grinned. 'Me neither, but if I were…'

'You’d be divorced?'

'I was going to say I imagine I’d have a motive for murder.'

He laughed, serving himself more wine and I asked the question that had been in my mind ever since I’d seen the picture of the two men standing beside the loch’s edge.

'Do you think that Bill Noon could have had someone helping him?'

Manson looked up sharply, half-cut but able to spot a lead when it was twitched in front of him.

'What makes you ask that?'

'It was just a thought. I saw a similar case a while back.'

Manson didn’t bother asking me which case because he knew I was lying. His voice was hesitant; he put his glass on the table, though his fingers still touched its stem.

'It’s not impossible; it would certainly make the disposal of the body easier. The main problem …’ He smiled. 'Laying aside the usual difficulty of finding someone willing to help you get rid of your wife’s dead body, the main problem would be finding someone you could trust to keep schtumm. If there’s any trouble, or the possibility of a reward, they might grass you up to take the heat off themselves. Then there’s the Raskolnikov effect. You mustn’t underestimate the confessional instinct. It’s very strong.' He took off his glasses, massaged his temples then looked at me, his small eyes pale and tired. 'But the basic fact is, the more people in on a crime, the more likely you are to be caught. Bill Noon would know that.' He belched softly. 'Unless you have evidence to the contrary I’d say you were barking up the wrong tree there, old mate. Bill Noon would have had to find an accomplice he could trust absolutely not to hand him in and one who wouldn’t have an attack of conscience, start boasting or get drunk and start blabbing to all and sundry.' He turned his gimlet eyes on me, and now he looked faintly like his author photo, though there was an insistent tone to his voice that was close to pleading. 'If you come up with anything, tell me. I’ll give you a credit in the book.'

I told him he’d be welcome to whatever I found out. Drew Manson nodded, satisfied he’d got as good a guarantee as he was ever going to get from me. He replaced his glasses on his nose and looked around the bar in search of our waitress. She caught his eye and tripped prettily across the room towards us. Manson gave her a very unacademic glance and a smile that showed the traces of broccoli trapped between his teeth.

'That was delicious, darling.' He grinned. 'I think we’re ready to see the dessert menu now.'

Berlin

I’D BEEN LEANING against the desk smoking a cigarette and watching Sylvie sleep when Ray knocked on his office door and put his head cautiously into the room. Ray’s moustache looked sadder than I’d ever seen it, but his dark eyes were sharp as polished dice and his cheeks flushed. I ventured a smile, but there’d been a lot of calls on my charm recently and I could feel that my reserves had grown slim. Ray hesitated, then, satisfied that the violence was over, turned and said something soft to someone standing beyond my view. He nodded to say he’d be safe, then slid into the room and closed the door.