Unearthing the Bones (3 page)

‘They can do that?’

‘Yes,’ Leon said distantly. ‘They can do that.’

A silence fell between them. Diego spoke first.

‘And if it’s the right date, and it turns out to be Goya’s skull – would it be worth a lot?’

‘Priceless,’ Leon replied, reaching into the middle drawer of his desk. ‘I can pay you—’

‘No!’ Diego replied, uncharacteristically sharp. ‘You helped my father when he needed it. This is my way to repay you.’

He could see that Leon wasn’t really listening, that his attention had wandered, his interest fixed on the head in front of him. Uneasy, Diego stood up to leave. The sun had moved behind clouds and it seemed it might rain. It was as though the morning had sobered up.

Walking to the door, he turned. ‘I wish you luck with it.’

Leon looked up. ‘What?’

‘The skull. I wish you luck,’ Diego repeated kindly. ‘I hope it brings you everything you want.’

London
,
11.30 p.m.

Glancing at his watch, Jimmy Shaw hesitated outside the hotel on Park Lane. As each car pulled up at the entrance he watched, checking the passengers as they alighted, disappointed when he didn’t recognise anyone. Perhaps his invitation had been ignored? Perhaps the teasing missive had failed to ignite the expected interest? But then again, the others he’d contacted had been excited, almost maddened with lust.

Shaw smirked to himself. He had a theory that art dealers and connoisseurs thought about art more than sex. Instead of chasing a woman, they chased a painting or a relic. Instead of bedding some whore, they bought an object they could hog, gloat over, knowing that others wanted it. But
they
possessed it.

As for Goya’s skull, Shaw thought, amused, what a fuss for an old fucking bone.

Disgruntled, Shaw stayed for another thirty minutes, checking his texts and his watch repeatedly and wondering why the dealer hadn’t arrived for their meeting. Perhaps he hadn’t said enough to tempt him? But then again, why would he advertise finding Goya’s skull? He hadn’t told anyone
to
whom
the object had belonged, just that it was an infamous relic. And that had been enough to get the foreplay started.

Of course, it was still in Madrid, but that wasn’t going to be a problem. All Shaw had to do was to ensure his fee and then go and pick up the prize … He had a sudden memory of the note left on his car.
Had his rival got to the dealer first …?
The thought made Shaw queasy as he turned his steps away from the hotel and towards the narrow warren of streets. Cutting behind the back of the building, he passed the opened doors of the kitchens, their swamp of vapour clouding the alleyway, his steps disembodied in the mist.

An uneasy feeling made Shaw stop. His own footsteps seemed to have an echo … Straining to see into the fog, he stared ahead. Nothing. Then suddenly a shape came into view. The shape of a man. But instead of approaching further, the figure stopped walking and paused, watching. For an instant they faced each other, then a porter came out of the kitchen pushing a trolley, its wheels clattering on the street and startling Shaw.

When he looked back, the figure had gone. Uneasy, Shaw hurried away, turning at the corner into another alleyway. He was getting too old for this, he thought grimly. Too old, too fat and too slow. His heartbeat sped up, his palms sweaty as he moved on. But although he could hear no footsteps, and the path was empty ahead, he knew without looking that someone was following him. Someone who had the advantage of knowing who Shaw was while they remained a stranger.

And then Jimmy Shaw realised
why
he was being watched. Not because of his meeting with the dealer, who, he suspected, had been scared off, but because if they followed him they would be led to the skull of Goya. And after that, Shaw was redundant. Dead men never fought back.

The hairs rising on the back on his neck, he paused. He could hear nothing unusual, see nothing strange. Just his own future, as dark and unavoidable as a tomb.

*

As he walked into his mother’s shop, Dwappa looked round. ‘Where’s Hiller?’

‘He left.’

‘I wanted him to help me empty the car,’ Dwappa went on, frowning as he looked at his mother. ‘
Left?
When did he leave?’

She straightened up, gross in a print dress.

‘Yesterday.’ Her eyes fixed on her son. ‘You’ve been out late. Business?’

‘Yeah, business.’

‘Business to get me that big house?’

He nodded wearily. ‘Yeah. Is he coming back?’

‘Who?’

‘Hiller.’

‘Nah. He’s gone.’

‘Why?’

She moved around her son, fingering the lapel of his jacket. ‘Nice cloth. I could do with some new clothes. Something good quality. I’d say I’d earned that, wouldn’t you?’

Suddenly he was afraid of her. Her mood was shifting, she was baiting him, working herself up to a fight. Someone had displeased her, some debt had not been paid on time, and now here she was, past midnight, barefoot, poised.

‘What’s in the car?’

His voice came out thin. ‘
What?
’

‘The car. You said you wanted the car emptying. What’s in the car?’

‘Booze,’ he said, clearing his thoughts. ‘I’m selling on some booze.’ His gaze moved around the shop, then back to his mother. ‘Hiller never said he was leaving.’

‘He was useless.’

‘He was OK.’

‘How would you know?’

‘He’s got relatives …’ Dwappa said quietly, reading his mother’s expression. The thought amused her, he could see that.

‘Boys run away all the time,’ she replied, knowing her son understood that
Hiller would never be coming back. Not to the shop, or anywhere else. ‘His mother should
have protected him more. That’s where you’ve always been lucky, Emile – your mama’s
devoted to you.’ She paused, breathing in through her mouth, terrifyingly still. ‘He was
saying bad things about you, Hiller was. Repeating gossip. Nasty little boy, with a
nasty little mouth.’ She touched her son’s cheek. ‘You owe me so much. And I know you’ll
look after your mama. Always.’

He swallowed hard. ‘They’ll look for Hiller. They’ll look for him—’

‘They’ll look, but they’ll never find. No one finds anyone who crosses us. You know that.’ She smiled like a wolf, sizing him up for the kill. ‘No one finds
anyone
who crosses me.’

*

In Madrid, away from plots and meetings, from threats and machinations, Leon Golding sat in his study and stared at the skull of Goya.

He had no idea of the rumours that were circulating. No notion of his
rivals, of Emile Dwappa or Jimmy Shaw. No intimation that the relic in his possession
would cause mayhem.

If he had known the events to come, he would have wished it back in its unkempt grave. Back under the concrete and the flagstones of the past. Away from light and lust and the greed of men. Had he been gifted with prophecy, Leon Golding would have rid himself of a relic so notorious and valuable it would inspire butchery.

But instead he stared at the skull of Spain’s greatest painter, gazing into the black caverns of its eye sockets. And he thought of the Goya he had studied and admired. Of the man who had painted war, murder, madness and death.

Never knowing that the skull, once resurrected, would incite more of the same.

Can’t forget what you’ve discovered in
Unearthing the Bones
?

Read the rest of the story in
Memory of Bones
, from bestselling author Alex Connor

“Truly superb” Euro Crime

“Connor displays a deep knowledge of the art world … Marvellous” Crime Squad

Out Now
alexconnorthrillers.com
www.quercusbooks.co.uk

Also out in ebook:
The Rembrandt Secret
,
Legacy of Blood
and the free title
Blood on the Water

A sixteenth-century conspiracy
A modern-day murderer

CITY OF SPLENDOUR

In October 1555 the Italian master Titian painted the portrait of Angelico Vespucci – a Venetian merchant whose cruelty words could not capture.

CITY OF SECRETS

When Vespucci was revealed to be the elusive monster who had been flaying young women across the city, he vanished inexplicably, along with the painting. All that remained was a chilling warning:
when the portrait emerges, so will the man
.

CITY OF THE SKIN HUNTER

Now the lost Titian masterpiece has surfaced in modern-day London, and skinless corpses are amassing across the globe. And it will fall to an unlikely man from the fringes of the art world to unravel half a millennia of myth, mystery and murder.

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