The Grave of Truth

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Authors: Evelyn Anthony
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Stanis.’
    The thin man hesitated. They were the best in the business. Reliable, efficient: a perfect killing mechanism. He took out the envelope, opened it and handed the sheet of paper to Kesler. There was silence in the room for a minute while Kesler read the list and then read it again. He looked up and frowned at Paul.
    â€˜Who are these people?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ the thin man said. ‘What do you care—just find them and get rid of them. You’ve got a month to do it. But no fuss, no publicity.’
    â€˜Don’t try teaching us our job,’ Franconi snapped. He came over to Kesler and studied the list. He shrugged. ‘It’s a fortune,’ he said softly. ‘Just one month, Stanis. Think what we could buy for ourselves with money like that—’
    â€˜I am thinking,’ Kesler said. He looked at his lover. ‘You want to do it?’
    â€˜Why not? One month and we’ve got enough money to have everything we want. There’s nothing in this—’ he tapped the paper with his index finger. His nails were manicured and lightly polished. He had sensitive, well-kept hands. ‘It’s a package deal, that’s all. No problem.’
    Kesler turned back to Paul. ‘Some have no address,’ he said. ‘Just relatives. This makes it complicated.’
    â€˜That’s why you’re being paid so well,’ the man said. ‘You find them, get rid of them nice and quietly, every one an accident—that’s important.’ He waited, looking at Kesler for confirmation.
    â€˜We’ll do it,’ Kesler said. The thin man nodded, gave the grimace which was meant to be a smile, and left them.
    Franconi waited for a moment, and then, crossing to the door, opened it suddenly. There was no one in the corridor. He turned back to Kesler.
    â€˜I don’t trust that little bastard—and I don’t trust that list.’
    â€˜Then why did you make me agree?’ Kesler seldom got angry with Maurice but his face had reddened. ‘I didn’t want to touch it—we’ve got two hundred thousand besides the money we’ve saved! Why did you have to be so greedy?’
    â€˜Because it’s the biggest chance we’ll ever have to be really rich!’ Franconi’s voice rose. He hated quarrelling with Kesler: rarely as it happened, it unnerved him and he felt sulky for days afterwards. ‘You talk about living in Tangier—yes, all right we can go there and hole up and watch the pennies for the rest of our lives, not being really in —if we do this last job we can be rich —we can buy a lovely villa, do it up nicely, entertain.… Oh, Stanis, don’t you see it’s worth it?’
    â€˜I suppose so,’ Kesler said slowly. ‘But something about it stinks. Come on, let’s not row about it. We’ve said we’ll do it and we will. Let’s put that case in the hotel safe till we can bank it, and get something to eat. Then I want to watch the TV news. I have a gut feeling that we’ll learn something more about that list.’
    For the first time in years, Ellie Steiner surprised her husband. He had rehearsed the scene, every line of dialogue already spoken in his mind, his own attitudes and hers plotted out. He was ready for tears, appeals to his responsibility to her and the children, followed by the patient arguments which so infuriated him because they were full of surface logic. When he came into the apartment, the children were at school, and his wife was alone, watching an educational programme on TV.
    She got up slowly and stared at him for a second or two, before coming across very quickly and putting her arms round him.
    â€˜Oh darling,’ she said. ‘Thank God you’re back.’
    She made them both tea and they drank it together in the kitchen. The kitchen was Ellie’s kingdom, gleaming with copper and pine, equipped like a spaceship

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