Free The Death Pictures by Simon Hall Page A

a minute to get a couple of details of number nine and I’ll be with you.’
    ‘So what do you want to ask me?’ said McCluskey, putting an arm around Abi who looked up to him in the most adoring way Dan had ever seen.
    ‘I suppose I want to know how you’d like to be remembered,’ Dan replied, surprising himself. So his brain had finally come up with an idea. ‘And also about the last months of your life, the Death Pictures and your reconciliation with your enemies. All that sort of thing.’
    ‘Fine,’ McCluskey said, drawing himself up slowly. ‘That’s exactly what I wanted to talk about. Abi my love, please don’t stay with us for this, it’ll be too upsetting for you. I’ll come and find you when we’re done.’ She turned without a word and walked out through the door.
    Nigel positioned McCluskey so they had a backdrop of the last three pictures. He clipped a microphone onto his shirt and Dan took his position by the side of the camera.
    ‘The first question, I’m bound to ask,’ said Dan, bringing a wan smile to the artist’s face. ‘Can you offer any help to the thousands of people who are trying to solve your puzzle?’
    ‘No,’ came back the instant reply. ‘Except to assure them the solution is in the pictures here and may come as a surprise. I certainly hope it will.’
    A word in the answer surprised Dan.
    ‘You said ‘here’. Do you mean here in the gallery, with all the pictures in their position in the series is the place to solve the riddle?’
    McCluskey nodded. ‘You’re listening. Very good. Or shall we say… I’d consider the studio by far the best place to solve the riddle. All the information you need is here in front of you. If you were to buy some prints of the pictures elsewhere, it may not be. It may, but then again, it may not.’
    What did that mean, wondered Dan? That the answer may not be just in the pictures, but there was something here in the studio as well? He was tempted to look around, to see what it could be, but stopped himself. I’m thinking like I’m trying to solve the puzzle, not an interviewer.
    ‘Could you explain what you mean by that?’ Dan asked.
    ‘No.’ A shake of the head, the smile still there. ‘It’s all part of the mystery.’
    Dan nodded. He’d been expecting that, knew he wouldn’t get any further, had his next question ready. Time to move the interview on, he had lots to cover. But what did McCluskey mean? Was it part of this lesson he had to teach?
    ‘You were given up to a year to live when you started the pictures. That time is almost up now.’ Dan heard the whirr of the camera’s motor next to his ear as Nigel zoomed the picture in for the powerful close up of the artist’s face. ‘What’s it like feeling your time is running out?’
    He’d expected some defensive reaction to that, probably even wanted it, but McCluskey remained inscrutable.
    ‘It’s like feeling the driest, most powdery sand slip through the fingers of your hand. It feels strangely beautiful. It looks beautiful. You’d like to stop it but you know you can’t. You’d like it to go on for ever, but you know it won’t. You know each passing second brings you closer to your hand being empty. And with that is the certainty that soon it will be empty.’
    Dan tried to disguise the shudder he felt run across his shoulders. He looked down at his notebook to check his next question.
    ‘You’ve made a point of reconciliation with all your enemies in these last few months. Why?’
    McCluskey spread his arms, as though appealing to the sky.
    ‘I want to go to the grave content. I want my soul to fly unburdened.’ His words came softer now, and Dan wondered if he could see the cover of his preparation for the interview thinning, the real feeling starting to show. ‘I don’t want the nagging weight of unfinished business to bind me. I don’t want the drag of regret to inhibit me. I want to leave this beautiful planet calm and at peace with