‘And we’re done,’ says Pauline, with a final flourish. She gives Viktor a last once-over, looking from every angle. ‘You look terrible.’
It was Joyce who had spotted the original mistake. Pauline had first painted an entry wound on Viktor’s forehead. The recording heard by the Viking would leave him in no doubt that Elizabeth had shot Viktor from behind. Which is why Pauline was now kneeling beside him in a grave, turning an entry wound into an exit wound. If Pauline had been surprised at how accurately both Viktor and Elizabeth could describe the exit wound of a bullet, it didn’t show in her face.
Ron and Bogdan help Pauline out of the hole. Mainly Bogdan, Viktor notices, but done in such a way as to make it look like Ron is doing most of the work. Viktor sees the faces peering down at him.
Bogdan is now throwing down more earth onto Viktor’s body. The idea is to give him a ‘just-dug-up’ look. Ibrahim has his phone out, and now trains it on Viktor at the bottom of the hole. ‘Landscape or portrait?’
‘Landscape,’ says Viktor. ‘Is grittier.’
‘Portrait,’ says Elizabeth. ‘I’m taking the photo, and I prefer portrait.’
‘You are insufferable, Elizabeth,’ shouts Viktor from the bottom of the hole.
Ibrahim has another question. ‘Close-up of the face, or the whole body?’
‘Both,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But not too close to the face, just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ says Pauline. ‘You zoom in all you like, Ibrahim, that’s good work.’
‘Yeah, zoom in,’ says Ron, and squeezes Pauline’s hand.
‘Of course we will need to talk about filters,’ says Ibrahim. ‘Personally I think Clarendon would be perfect, because of the earthy browns.’
‘If it is not too much bother,’ says Viktor. ‘Perhaps we discuss this after?’
Ibrahim nods. ‘Hypothermia, I understand completely. I also want to speak to you about Heather Garbutt’s poem, but that can also wait until you are clothed.’
Viktor looks up at the faces peering down. Elizabeth, his great love, how happy he is to spend a little more time with her. People drift in and out of your life, and, when you are younger, you know you will see them again. But now every old friend is a miracle.
Ron and Pauline. They are holding hands now. Viktor remembers Ron’s name from many years ago. He was on a list. It was a long list, but he was on it. Someone, at some point, would have spoken to him, ‘sounded him out’， seen if he was sympathetic with the Soviet way. Meeting him now, Viktor wouldn’t fancy their chances. Bogdan, leaning on his spade, waiting patiently to fill the hole back in. Ibrahim, trying to find the perfect angle. Joyce, his flat-mate, his new protector, currently trying to stop Alan jumping into the hole.
Looking up, Viktor realizes just how lonely his penthouse is. How lonely his life has become. Young, beautiful people taking photos in a pool that everyone could see, but no one could visit. Where were his friends?
Perhaps he could just stay here? Perhaps this photo will be enough to satisfy the Viking, and Viktor can just change his name, leave his old world behind and move down to Coopers Chase? Nothing like lying in your grave with a bullet hole through your head to make you think about your life.
Did he really need multibillion-pound deals, when there was Joyce and Elizabeth and Alan, and a whole gang to be a part of? Perhaps they will solve this murder? Perhaps he can walk Alan through the woods? And Ron had mentioned snooker. Viktor had no one to play snooker with any more. He used to play with an old Kazakh who had a jeweller’s in Sydenham, but he had died, what, three years ago. He looks up at the faces above him once more. Maybe he just got lucky.
‘For God’s sake, Viktor,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Stop smiling and shut your eyes. You’re dead.’