The Last Darkness Read online

  ‘Is Wee Louie angry?’

  ‘Fuck that Wee Louie dreck.’

  ‘You’re all grown-up. I forget.’

  ‘Bannerjee said you invested money for him. Illegally. Says you told him you were good at it. You’d done it hundreds of times.’

  ‘Sweet Jesus. You don’t grasp the truth about money, do you, old son? There’s one and only one objective when you have it, Lou. To keep it. Nothing else matters. You vanish it. You put it where nobody can find it. You place it beyond the law, beyond the tax authorities, you stick it inside a trick cabinet, and when you open it – abracadabra, what cash? Where the hell did it go? It was here a minute ago, right? Illusion. There was no money. You only thought you saw it. I’m a fucking magician, Lou. I’m the kuntzenmaker. Years later, when you reopen the cabinet, the money’s appeared again. Only this time it’s more than you remembered. You put x into the cabinet, you get x-plus back. What a trick.’

  ‘You’re a crook, Colin.’

  ‘With manicured nails. You’re the cop, and your nails are all bitten down. What does that tell us?’

  ‘Villains have more money to spend on their vanities.’

  Colin smiled. The fetching smile, the charmer. ‘I’m no villain. I manipulate the system. That’s what it’s there for.’

  ‘You lied about Bannerjee, Colin. It comes back to that.’

  ‘Amnesia happens.’

  ‘Aye, right. I suppose you don’t remember your association with Nexus either?’

  ‘Again with the questions. It’s like the Chinese water torture listening to you go on and on.’

  ‘Take a gander at this, Colin. Refresh your memory.’ Perlman took the clipping from Pax out of his pocket, hesitated a moment before he tossed it on the bed.

  Colin picked it up and looked at it without expression. ‘You dig up an old picture. So?’

  ‘You told me to my face you had no connection with Nexus. You could hardly even remember the name when I brought it up.’

  Colin let the clipping drop from his hand. ‘I was somewhat preoccupied with my surgery, Lou. Let’s say my mind was elsewhere. Do you understand that? Or are you too damned obsessive to grasp the idea that people don’t concentrate all the time?’

  ‘So this just sort of slipped your mind as well, Colin. It must be like a ski-slope in that head of yours. Look. See picture. Big dinner in London. Monkey suits. Friends of Nexus. Part of the prosperous Glasgow contingent. You were a cog in the Nexus machine.’

  ‘I raised some money for them.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Oh, come on. Who remembers now? Lou, huge sums go through my hands all the time. I don’t remember every transaction.’

  Perlman picked up the clipping where his brother had dropped it on the bedcover. ‘Tell me how well you know this man,’ and he pointed to a figure in the picture.

  Colin peered at the shot. ‘He falls directly into the acquaintance department.’

  ‘And no more?’

  ‘Why? Do you expect more, Lou? You want me to say we’re bosom buddies? You want me to say we’re joined at the hip and participants in evil schemes? That would satisfy you, would it? That would please your wee police brain, eh?’

  I don’t know what would please my wee police brain, Lou Perlman thought; and he looked at the photograph again. Slightly shadowed on Colin’s left stood a fifth figure in the shot of the Glasgow contingent: Leo Kilroy, dressed in whale-sized tux and enormous cummerbund and outsized bow-tie. Kilroy’s face was big and bloated, and his eyes were like slits made by a knife in a lump of pizza dough.

  Lou glanced back at his brother. ‘You know this man’s rep? It’s as rank as a barrel of bad herring, Colin.’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours.’

  ‘Rumours? Do me a favour. You worked with him to help raise funds for Nexus.’

  ‘Our paths crossed. We attended some fund-raising dinners in Glasgow a few times, then Edinburgh. I think we went down to Newcastle and Leeds once or twice. It’s fuzzy. We were never friends, Lou. And even if we were, I wouldn’t fucking apologize for it.’

  Lou Perlman took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘Let me get it straight. The money you raised for Nexus went into accounts you set up in funny places. Instead of transferring this money directly to Nexus, you took it and you played with it. You and your little gang. The Famous Five.’

  ‘Are you saying I stole it, brother?’

  ‘I imagine that’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘You disappoint me.’

  ‘It’s reciprocal. And don’t give me that soulful hurt look, Colin.’

  Colin Perlman sighed. ‘I think I need to rest. I’d prefer it if you took your arse out of here.’

  ‘A minute more, that’s all.’

  ‘No, now –’

  ‘You didn’t transfer the funds where they were supposed to go, and a man called Yusef Barzelai was suspected of having embezzled them. As a result, he was shot dead by some of his more rabid Nexus associates, who seem to have been judge and jury and executioners –’

  ‘Barzelai? I don’t know if that name rings –’

  ‘Shut the fuck up. I’m not riding that old tramcar of yours, Colin. I know its destination. Feigned ignorance. You remember nothing, your head is fuzzy, it’s all such a long time ago, yack yackety yack –’

  ‘Go shit in the ocean, Lou –’

  ‘Barzelai died because you and your wee gang cheated him.’

  ‘Have you been smoking whackybaccy you confiscated in a drugs raid?’

  Lou ignored his brother. He ignored the cold smile that was meant to be derisory. He had that certain tremor he always got when he suspected he was rushing towards truth; it had to be the same kind of shock that went through the hands of a man with a divining rod when he discovered a deep source of water.

  ‘I had an encounter with Barzelai’s son,’ Lou said.

  ‘His son?’ Did Colin show just then a flicker of interest? Some movement of eye, or eyebrow, corner of mouth? In the bad light, it was hard to tell.

  ‘The boy was sent here from Israel to eliminate Lindsay, Wexler, and Bannerjee.’

  ‘Then you’ve caught your killer?’

  ‘I wish I could say so. But I can’t.’

  ‘You just said you’d encountered this kid –’

  ‘Encountered, aye. But I didn’t say he was the killer, Colin. He wanted revenge for the people directly responsible for his father’s death. Somehow he learned they’re in Glasgow. He came all this way ready to do deeds. Except all the deeds were done for him, but in such a way it looks like he’s the villain. He was here to be the fucking patsy, Colin … Then one of my diligent constables provides me with this picture, and here’s my own brother photographed alongside a character who’s rotten to the marrow, somebody who certainly wouldn’t be beyond arranging a few killings, if he had to.’

  ‘Kilroy? Haul him in for questioning then.’

  ‘He’s been hauled in half a dozen times in the past couple of years, Colin.’

  ‘You couldn’t nail him.’

  ‘Not on anything. He’s always got alibis up to here. Takes a shite, he’s got an alibi.’ Lou paused. ‘Here’s my next question, Colin. If three men are dead, what’s keeping you alive?’

  ‘Why would anyone want me dead?’

  ‘Easy. Because of your associations with the victims.’

  ‘I’m sleepy.’

  ‘Stay awake, Col. I have other questions. Who told the kid to come to Glasgow? Who give him the names?’

  Colin Perlman kept his eyes shut. ‘You’re asking me?’

  ‘What if I eliminate Kilroy as a candidate, who does that leave?’

  Colin Perlman turned his face to his brother and smiled. ‘You’re serious?’

  ‘Everything’s possible.’

  ‘I can’t laugh in this condition,’ Colin said. ‘It hurts.’

  ‘You were all taking bites out of the Nexus apple, right? You were all sucking on the same juice. So why
are you alive and the other three dead?’

  ‘Kilroy’s alive also.’

  ‘Play along with me, Colin. Take a short stroll through possibilities.’

  With some difficulty, Colin Perlman manoeuvred himself into a sitting position, but kept his shoulders hunched. ‘Let’s nail this down. I’m your brother, your blood, and you’re suggesting I might somehow be responsible for the deaths of these men? No, Lou. No fucking way. This is all about something else and we both know what it is, don’t we? You’ve been waiting for years to get a shot at me. Years and years. All your life.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You know what it means. Jealousy, wee brother. Jealousy that’s eating your heart out. I got the looks. I got the brains. I got the girls. What did you get? Our father’s melancholy turn of mind? What a gift. Thanks a lot, Tata. Fuck, ever since you’ve been a kid, you’ve resented the hell out of me, and now you see a chance to get back at me by pulling me into this bloody investigation. I’m not going down that avenue with you, Lou. You want to punish me, I say fuck you. I say get some treatment. Go for counselling. You need help, and you need it fast.’

  Perlman felt his face flush, and wondered if he looked red. Where was all this bile coming from? What quarry was Colin digging in to produce this explosive outburst? ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this.’

  Colin said, ‘Better believe it. It’s not just the fact I’m rich, is it? It’s not just my success, is it? No no no no, oh no. It’s more than that.’

  ‘Colin, stop there, just stop right there.’ Stop before what? Before you go too far? But the door of Colin’s mind was wide open and Lou found himself looking into a room he’d never visited before, and it wasn’t very well-lit in there, and odd shapes stirred in the murk.

  ‘You think I’m blind and don’t notice, Lou? You drool like an idiot every time you see her. When you’re in her company you’re like some fucking eunuch anxious to obey his empress. You wear that big sick sloppy heart of yours on your bloody sleeve, Lou. You think I don’t see? It’s written all over you, bruder.’

  ‘I like her, fine, I admit –’

  Colin Perlman wagged a finger so firmly that his whole arm shook. ‘No, no, you love her, Lou. You can’t wait to get me out of the way so you can move in on her. Here’s a laugh. She wouldn’t want you. She finds your doting attention amusing. You’re quaint, she says. Isn’t Lou quaint? Isn’t it funny to see a grown man so smitten?’

  ‘Oh, Christ, Colin, give me a break, I don’t want you out of the way. And I don’t want Miriam. I like her. Maybe I love her, okay, maybe I do, it’s possible. But I’d never dream of stealing her.’

  ‘Stealing her? You’re dreaming. Even if I wasn’t around, do you think she’d fall into your arms? She wouldn’t look at you twice. Unless it was to have you light her cigarette or scurry to freshen up her drink. You’re a joke, Lou. You’re like the cuddly toy every kid grows out of and abandons in some dark corner where the spiders live. You are pathetic.’

  Lou Perlman fell into silence. He gazed at his brother. They locked eyes, and suddenly Lou felt all their shared history was rubble, like a town bombed by crazed pilots, and howitzers randomly discharged. He wanted to reach out and touch his brother’s hand, but he understood that something had changed for ever between them. In one short rant of crazed accusation, Colin had razed their relationship, fragile and uncertain as it was at times, to the ground. Nothing after this could be the same. Everything in the future would be clouded by Colin’s harsh discharge. The room had the tense atmosphere of an electric storm, or that menacing aftermath when you think the lightning has passed away, but you can still hear thunder and you know the heavy sky will crackle with light again.

  ‘Your IV,’ Lou said. His voice sounded flat and unfamiliar to him. His words meant nothing. They were just sounds. He got up and walked round the bed. ‘It’s popped out of your vein. I’ll stick it back.’

  Colin Perlman didn’t speak.

  Lou caught hold of the plastic tube and looked for the entrance in Colin’s arm. He slid the needle into the vein and then found himself gazing at the space between the edge of the pyjama jacket and the bandage. A strip of bandage, perhaps disturbed by Colin’s agitated movements, had come undone, and was peeling from his chest. Colin Perlman, his mind elsewhere, made no move to adjust it.

  Lou stared until his eyes felt dry: some things dawn on you badly. Some perceptions come through warped glass, and you’re not sure you’re seeing them properly.

  ‘I’ll fix that,’ Lou said, and he reached for the bandage.

  Colin Perlman pushed his hand away. ‘No, call Rifkind, that’s his job.’

  ‘I can do it,’ Lou said. There was a small tremor in his voice.

  He reached out again and the dry bandage looped down over the back of his hand, and he caught his brother’s eyes, which were the colour of iron. The bandage unravelled another couple of inches and Lou held his breath and listened to the way his heart motored. Colin put his hand over Lou’s and gripped it tightly. The bandage, as it unspooled a little more, draped the hands of both men.

  Lou thought: The world is inverted. It had become a somnambulist’s universe, a place of spectral images. Truth was crucified in this world. Everything was shadow play.

  Everything was the work of the kuntzenmaker.

  ‘How did you think – how in hell did you even think you could get away with this, Colin? Jesus Christ.’

  ‘I lie here. It’s perfect. I’m immobilized.’

  ‘It’s not perfect,’ he said. ‘It’s flawed, Colin. Because now I know.’

  ‘I’m your brother, Lou.’

  ‘And that makes a difference?’

  ‘It has to.’

  ‘After what you said?’

  ‘I spoke out of turn, I’m sorry, I really am sorry, believe me, I lost control.’

  ‘What are you sorry for? Which particular act? Which particular fucking act?’

  Lou Perlman lowered his head. He was burning up, seized by a sudden fever. I am falling sick, he thought. This world is sicker still. Sham, everywhere you looked. Dishonesty. You were surrounded by deception and its master practitioners. He looked at the exposed area of his brother’s chest.

  No cuts, no stitches. The bandage was dry and free of bloodstain. He felt a strange drift in his mind, druggy.

  ‘Was there ever a better alibi?’ Colin asked.

  Lou wasn’t sure he heard the question. He was burning, his brain dry timber. He looked into his brother’s eyes and for some reason he remembered how Colin would occasionally deign to play lead soldiers with him on the black and yellow chequered lino in the kitchen. Little men at war. Bam bam. Highland regiments. Cannon. Riflemen. Cavalry. Battles were fought.

  Colin’s men always won. Colin still wanted to win. Always.

  ‘You set that kid up,’ Lou said. ‘You brought him here.’

  ‘Passport. Money. Created a phony clandestine organization to smuggle him into Europe. He was so pumped-up with hatred he was just waiting to be hooked and reeled in.’

  ‘Why have three men killed, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘What we think are complicated questions often have really simple answers, Lou.’

  Lou repeated his question. ‘Why have three men killed?’

  ‘They couldn’t be trusted.’

  ‘Why couldn’t they?’

  ‘You want a catalogue?’

  ‘The whole thing.’

  ‘That silly old fart Wexler was having dangerous attacks of conscience that I attributed to the premature onset of senility. Couldn’t sleep at night. Jittery. Coming undone. As for Lindsay, he was under investigation by the Scottish Law Society for certain improprieties unrelated to Nexus, and he was ready to confess all his wrongdoings as a bargaining tool to keep his practice. Poor fool.’

  ‘Bannerjee?’ Lou asked.

  ‘He was angling for sainthood, and we all know saints can’t be trusted to stay silent. Not when heaven is within sight. H
e’d talked about making appeasing overtures to the tax authorities concerning some of his hitherto undiscovered misdemeanours. Wipe the slate clean, start afresh. Shiv had had a sniff of the sweet narcotic of good works, you see, and he was stoned on the buzz of charitable acts, and no man is ever quite the same after that. He’d stopped seeing the world clearly. He wanted to sup with the Gods, Lou. He thought he’d found a way to freedom from his past. But it isn’t that easy.’

  And they had to die, Lou Perlman thought. ‘Who did you hire to do the killings? Tell me.’

  ‘Who did I hire? I went to a shop called Rent-a-Killer, of course. Where else do you go in Glasgow?’

  ‘Don’t do this, Colin.’

  ‘Lou, Lou, little brother, you’re not getting it. It’s not coming through to you loud and clear, is it? There must be some static in the air. Or else you just don’t want to believe.’

  ‘Believe …?’ Lou felt a slowing down inside, a languid rearrangement of his thoughts.

  ‘I had a little help now and again,’ Colin Perlman said.

  It struck Lou with the force of a jackhammer. The heart of the conspiracy was cold and twisted. This hospital charade, this ‘operation’, allowed Colin Perlman liberty to move in the city after dark, to slip away from the Cedars and do what he felt he had to, then come back to his sick-bed. No nurse would enter his empty room, because Rifkind, certainly an accomplice, would have issued instructions: Patient not to be disturbed.

  But the patient was elsewhere.

  Colin said, ‘Naturally, I was worried about exposure any one of those three morons might have caused. And Leo Kilroy, well, he’s a private man. He doesn’t like coming out in the light. Something had to be done, Lou. Something had to give.’

  ‘Did you have to …’ He felt a catch at the back of his throat. His saliva was trapped there. What was he going to ask? Did you have to be so brutal, Colin? If you had to kill, couldn’t you have murdered with stealth and compassion? A painless poison. Overdose of sleeping pills. But these matters were of no relevance. Cocaine forced into Lindsay, the sword used to slice Wexler, the screwdriver into Bannerjee’s ear: it was as if these deaths had become abstractions, like sepia photographs of unidentified First World War soldiers dead in muddy trenches.