And Then You Die (22 page)

‘A whole
porchetta
. Some friends of ours are having a party at their villa up the coast and this is our contribution. Slaughtered a couple of days ago and then slow-roasted over a wood fire by a real artisan up in the mountains.’

The man adjusted the bikini bottom and sniffed loudly.

‘Mmm! I can smell the stuffing from here. Wish I had friends like that. All mine have passed out, one of them on the lavatory. Hence the public display. Care for a drink?’

‘No thanks, Arnaldo,’ Gemma replied. ‘We want to make an early start.’

‘Suit yourselves.’

He pointed an admonitory finger at Zen.

‘She tends to slew to one side a bit when the revs are low. Can make getting in and out tricky. Get all lined up and then give her all you’ve got. A word to the wise.
Buon viaggio
.’

He staggered down the companionway and disappeared.

Zen climbed aboard and looked at Lessi’s body lying collapsed on the deck.

‘Let’s get this stowed inside,’ he said.

Gemma opened the doors to the main saloon. They carried the body through and laid it out on a row of bench seating. Zen placed Lessi’s pistol in a knife drawer in the galley, and they returned to the afterdeck.

‘All right,’ said Zen. ‘Time to go. Tell me when to cast off.’

Gemma regarded him with a puzzled expression.

‘Me? I told you I don’t know how to drive this thing. Tommaso
always did that, when he did it at all. He would never let me near any of the little knobs and levers.’

Zen gave a world-weary smile.

‘Wonderful,’ he said.

Gemma leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Never mind! You’ll do just fine. You’re from Venice,
remember
? It’s in your blood. You drank it in with your mother’s milk.’

Zen glared at her.

‘Give me the keys and let go the mooring ropes.’

In the end, handling the boat turned out to be quite simple. All the controls in the cockpit mounted above the aft deck were marked with large metal plates clearly designed with the sort of people who bought these floating mobile homes in mind. Zen turned on the navigation lights and then the engine, which
started
immediately and settled into a low, reassuring growl. Gemma threw the lines on board and then scampered up the ladder,
hauling
it up after her. Once they were clear of the dock, Zen applied just enough reverse thrust and port wheel to bring the bow round, then engaged forward gear and minimal throttle while they glided slowly down the twin lines of moored boats. Once they were in the channel beyond, he brought the vessel round and revved up slightly. He didn’t notice any tendency to slew to either side. Or had Arnaldo been referring to something else?

He steered past the end of the breakwater and out into the open sea beyond. The darkness was suddenly immense.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Gemma, appearing in the cockpit beside him and lighting a cigarette.

‘Somewhere the water’s deep. I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as a chart aboard.’

Gemma clicked her fingers decisively.

‘Ah! Now that I do know about. Tommaso got it a few months before we split up. In fact I think it may well have been one of the reasons why. You know, those little niggly details that suddenly make you realize what you’ve known all along, namely that you’re living with a complete jerk.’

‘The chart,
cara
. You can tell me about your love life later.’

Gemma pushed a button on a video screen mounted to Zen’s left It flickered and then settled into a discreet glow.

‘
Il mio caro
sposo
was a boy-toy fanatic. If he’s talked me
through this box of tricks once, he must have done it a dozen times. He just couldn’t get over the fact that I couldn’t get as
excited
about it as him.’

‘I’m not interested in video games! I want a chart to the waters we’re in, before we hit some reef and end up as dead as our
stowaway
.’

‘This is a chart. I mean, all the charts are on here. There’s a menu, but the default one – the one that’s showing now – will be the one you want. You jiggle this button here and then click this, and lo and behold a blob appears. That shows where we are. Then you move the cursor to where you want to go, like this, and click again. The dotted line shows you the course you’ve chosen.’

‘That one cuts across the tip of the peninsula.’

‘Then choose another. After that you press here, where it says “Set Course”, and then here, “Engage Automatic Pilot”. After that, it’s just a matter of deciding how fast you want to go and keeping an eye out for other boats. Would you like some coffee?

‘I’d love one. With a shot of grappa, if there is any.’

Of course there is. Tommaso was a complete bastard, but he didn’t cheap out. There’s everything. Microwave, Jacuzzi,
satellite
TV, sound-surround stereo, DVD player, computers with Internet access, and of course a fully stocked bar.’

She turned to leave. Zen stopped her with one finger placed just above her left breast.

‘Won’t he be angry when he finds out?’ he asked.

‘Finds out about what?’

‘That we’ve taken his boat without his permission.’

Gemma smiled radiantly and kissed him very briefly on the lips.

‘I certainly hope so,’ she said.

Zen throttled back, leaving just enough power to maintain steerage way, and studied the video screen more closely. It showed a detailed nautical chart of the Gulf of La Spezia, the white blob indicating their current position just off the coast at Portunciulla. He wiggled the button until the arrow lay over the entrance to the gulf to the south-west, then clicked the button Gemma had showed him. The dotted line reappeared. He inspected it closely. There were no marked rocks or other obstructions. He pressed the other two buttons. The dotted line
became continuous, and the boat nudged round gently to
starboard
, then settled on the new course. ‘SSW 15.8’ read the display on the screen. Zen checked the compass. That was indeed the heading. He increased the engine power until the wavelets under the bow produced a healthy smacking sound, then settled back and lit a cigarette.

Gemma brought Zen his
caffè corretto
and seated herself in the other leather – clad stool in the cockpit.

‘Aren’t you having anything?’ he asked.

She shook her head.

‘Actually, I think I might take a nap, if that’s all right with you. I’m pretty exhausted.’

As yet there was no sign of daybreak, but the jagged
promontory
to their right and the imposing mountain chain on the other side stood out velvet black in the incisive moonlight. All around, the undulating surface of the water stirred and shifted restlessly in continual permutations of some underlying pattern always alluded to but never stated. There were no other vessels in sight, and the only light was the insistent blinking of a lighthouse on the Isola del Tino at the very end of the peninsula.

‘Well, I’m going to lie down,’ said Gemma.

‘
Sogni d’oro
.’

Zen settled back into the comfortable chair, sipping his
stiffened
espresso, and watched the coastline slide past. Unlike Gemma, he didn’t feel tired at all, but exhilarated and about twenty years younger. They’d done it! He’d never really believed they would until now, but they had. The boat was at sea, Lessi’s body safely on board, and as far as he knew no paper trail behind them. Once they got into deeper water, he would detach one of the boat’s anchors, hitch it up to a spare rope, tie that around the corpse and heave the whole issue overboard. Then he’d toss the gun in after it, and they would be in the clear. No one could ever find out what had really happened.

Despite his apparent wakefulness, he must have dozed
slightly
, because he was summoned back to full consciousness by a beeping sound. At first he thought it was the secret
communication
device he had been given at the Ministry, but when he checked in his pocket the unit proved to be dormant. Then he realized that it was coming from the navigation screen on the
ledge in front of him, signalling that they had arrived at the
position
previously entered.

By now it was almost light, one of those long, slow, summer dawns full of promise. Zen picked a point at random on the chart, far out in the Ligurian Sea, then confirmed the course and clicked the autopilot button. The boat obediently bobbed round to the west and thudded forward into the slightly steeper seas. He checked the horizon. A few sets of navigation lights were
showing
out in the main sea lane, but all at a considerable distance. He rubbed the slight chill of dawn off his hands and went below.

Inside the saloon, Gemma was lying quietly asleep under a blanket on the row of seating opposite Lessi’s bundled body. They both looked very cosy. With the boat’s computer systems apparently doing all the work, Zen was strongly tempted to join them, but resisted the impulse. Instead he found the bag of
groceries
and took it into the spacious galley, where he made himself a salami roll. He then removed a couple of cans of beer from the fridge and made his way back to the cockpit.

And it was just as well he did, for around the time he finished the roll and the first can of beer, the engine’s reassuringly sexy murmur became raucous and intermittent, and shortly after that stopped altogether. The boat came to a halt, slurping and
sloshing
around at random in the shallow waves.

Zen grabbed the second can of beer and took a long pull. His knowledge of engines of any kind was strictly limited to knowing how to turn them on and off. This one had already turned itself off, though, and showed no inclination to start again no matter how many times he twisted the ignition key or pushed the starter button. He had no idea how to work the marine radio, either, still less what frequencies to use. Which left them adrift on a lee shore a couple of kilometres off the Tuscan coast, in water too shallow to risk disposing of Lessi’s corpse. Sooner or later it would turn up in a fishing net or washed up by the currents on a beach, and then the investigation would begin. If that ever happened, Zen had no illusions about how it would end. His only hope –
their
only hope – was to ensure that it never started in the first place.

He tried his mobile phone, but couldn’t get a signal. Using the Ministry’s much-vaunted emergency device was clearly out of the question. The same applied to putting out a Mayday call on
the radio, even supposing he could get it to work. The
coast-guards
would eventually send someone out to tow them into port, but with Lessi’s body still aboard. But if he didn’t, they were bound to be spotted in the end by some passing boat or plane, with the same result. And if even that failed, the wind and waves would eventually carry the boat ashore.

Shallow water or not, then, the first priority was to get the murdered man overboard. He ferreted about in various drawers and cupboards until he found a heavy screwdriver that would serve as a marlinspike, then made his way out on deck. One of the vessels he had spotted earlier was a lot closer now. Not only that, but it seemed to be coming directly towards them. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

The twin anchors, of the modern plough design, were stowed inboard at the bow. Both were attached to lengths of neatly coiled chain. Neither showed any sign of ever having been used. If you couldn’t plug in the electrics and step ashore to restock the fridge, Tommaso wouldn’t have been interested. Zen inserted the
screwdriver
into the shackle holding one of the anchors to its chain and heaved, without the slightest effect. He looked up. The oncoming vessel was a lot closer now. It looked very much like a coastguard cutter.

He moved over to the other anchor and twisted on the
screwdriver
with all his might. Finally the screw gave and reluctantly started to turn. Zen forced it round until it finally cleared the shackle, then pulled out the pin, releasing the anchor. Bending his knees, he gripped the anchor with both hands, lifted it with difficulty and began to make his way back aft. As he was
negotiating
the narrow passage between the saloon decking and the guard rail, a freak wave hit the port bow, causing the boat to corkscrew and sending him headlong on to the deck, falling on top of the anchor with a jolt that made him cry out.

He lay there, wondering if he had cracked his newly set ribs and then realizing that he could very easily have fallen overboard and drowned. I can’t do this alone, he thought. It’s all too
difficult
. I need help.

‘
Do you need help?
’

The voice seemed to have come from everywhere and nowhere. Deafening, raucous and only just comprehensible, it
was not a kind or a pleasant voice, but it was the voice of power. Zen raised himself up on one elbow and looked over the canvas screen at the base of the guard rail. A fishing boat of some kind was lying some ten metres off to port. A man on the bridge had a large yellow megaphone in his hand.

‘
Do you need help?
’ he repeated.

Zen got up quickly.

‘No, we’re fine, thanks,’ he yelled back, cupping a hand to his mouth. ‘Thanks all the same. Much appreciated.’

A sign from the man on the bridge indicated that he couldn’t hear. A moment later, the trawler reversed engines loudly, then went ahead at a slight angle to come alongside. A man dressed in a filthy green sweatshirt and jeans leapt nimbly across to the
afterdeck
of the motor boat.

‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.

Zen smiled largely.

‘Oh, nothing really. Just a little trouble with the engine. Once I’ve sorted out the gear I’ll anchor and take the appropriate action.’

The man looked at him incredulously.

‘How many metres of chain have you got?’

Zen, of course, hadn’t a clue.

‘Well…’ he began.

‘It’s over fifty metres to the bottom here. The hook would never hold. Where’s the motor? Let me take a look. It might be
something
quite simple.’