by J. L. Merrow
Sands looked a little uncomfortable. “I, er, I hope Dr. Pawlaczek wasn’t upset by me giving out her address? I haven’t seen her today, and I was a little worried—”
Both of them jumped as Nadia’s voice cut him off. “Hmm. We shall talk later, Mr. Sands, about this nasty habit of yours of letting sensitive information get into the hands of the enemy. Nick, lovey, you look absolutely ghastly. Come and have a coffee and tell me all about it. And yes, that is an order.”
Nick didn’t resist as she clasped him in an iron grip and dragged him back up to his rooms.
“Now, Nick Sewell, tell me this,” she said, frowning at a couple of mugs and then spooning instant coffee into them nonetheless. “Why would a man whose young lover has just been found safe and—one presumes—well, be sitting there looking like he’s just had his grant slashed?” She paused in the act of switching on the kettle, fixing him with a stern eye. “He is all right, I take it?”
Nick didn’t answer. He felt his hands clasped between her own. “Nick, talk to me. Is Julian all right?”
A bitter smile twisted Nick’s lips. “Was he ever? Christ, Nadia—I just don’t know.” He flung himself out of his seat, pacing restlessly to the window. “Am I what he needs? Or am I just part of the problem?”
“Well, dearie, an alternative suggestion is that you’re making no sense whatsoever. Now. Start with some facts. Is he in hospital?”
“No, he’s with his parents. At the hotel.”
“Well, that’s positive, at any rate. So what did your young man say about where he’s been?”
Nick stared at her. He’d almost forgotten that what had gone on with Schräger wasn’t, couldn’t be, common knowledge. “He…was with an old boyfriend.”
“Oh, Nick!” A hug from Nadia, whilst undoubtedly well-meant, was rather like being embraced by a pit bull terrier. Thankfully, she backed off after a moment. “So what’s happening now? Has he come back begging forgiveness?”
At this point, Nick knew, he ought to protest that there was nothing to forgive. Somehow the words stuck in his throat. Christ, was he actually blaming Julian for what had happened? “He…it’s a bit more complicated than that. The boyfriend wasn’t very stable. Julian was…” He trailed off.
Nadia’s eyes narrowed. “Why, Nick Sewell, do I get the impression there’s a lot you’re not telling me?”
Nick flopped back into the chair. “Because it’s true? I’m sorry, Nadia. I just can’t. It’s…it’s not just me. There’s Julian, there’s…other people.”
“Nick, I don’t want to worry you, but there’s also Detective Inspector Phillips.” She was silent for a moment. “Is this business with Julian connected to that poor young man’s murder?”
Nick buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know,” he lied, hating himself. “Nadia…I really don’t know.” At least the confusion he felt was genuine.
“Oh, lovey. You do know how to pick them, don’t you?”
An arm draped itself rather heavily over Nick’s shoulder, and he breathed in Nadia’s familiar, comforting scent composed of equal parts Lifebuoy soap, peppermints and cat. “I think Julian’s the one you should be saying that about,” he said, his voice somewhat muffled.
“Nonsense, Nick. You’re a damned fine catch and I won’t hear another thing about it.”
He managed a wry smile at that. “I’m not sure you’re really qualified to judge, but thank you, all the same. And likewise, by the way.”
She coloured faintly. “Hmph. Are you going to see young Lauder? Or is he going to be back in college soon in any case?”
Nick took a deep breath. “I’ll go and see him. I promised—” He broke off, realising he’d almost betrayed himself. “I promised his mother I would, when we spoke on the phone,” he finished.
“That’s the spirit. Now, Nick, dearie, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but a shave first wouldn’t go amiss. And whether or not you’re hoping to get back together, I have a feeling you don’t really want Julian to see you with your hair looking quite such a fright. Tame the old savage beast, hmm?”
“Yes. Right.” Nick realised she was looking at him oddly.
She probably hadn’t expected him to flinch at the last part of her statement.
After she’d gone, a glance in the mirror convinced Nick that Nadia had had a point about his appearance. He’d aged ten years in the last few days. He set about making himself look presentable: flattening down his hair with water and, when that didn’t work, sticking his head under the shower for a minute then towelling it dry again, remembering this time to use a brush afterward. There wasn’t a lot he could do about the deep circles etched under his eyes.
He picked up his razor and began to scrape away the stubble. Tame the savage beast, Nadia had said. As if a bit of window-dressing could change who he was. What he was. Nick winced as the razor caught, then found himself staring at his reflection, mesmerised by the blood welling up from the cut. Christ, there had been so much blood. Blood on his hands, in his hair…filling his mouth. He remembered the taste of it: hot and thick, spiced with adrenaline and fear.
It had been good.
Nick’s hand shook and he lowered the razor, still unable to take his eyes from the trickle of blood on his chin. He was a killer, just like Schräger. An animal.
No. No, he was better than Schräger. Willing the tremors in his hand to cease, Nick wiped his bloody face on a towel and determinedly scraped away the rest of his beard.
Before going out again he changed his shirt and, as an afterthought, his trousers. He couldn’t see any blood on them, but there was no sense in taking chances. A curious lethargy seemed to set in then, and he had to force himself to open the door, to walk down the stairs to Main Court. The autumn sun seemed unusually bright and he stood for a moment, blinking.
“Ah, Sewell. Coming to lunch? Splendid.”
Startled from his reverie by Angus Lemon’s self-satisfied tones, Nick stared at the man for a moment then checked his watch. One o’clock. Had he eaten today? Nick couldn’t remember. Perhaps he should go for lunch before he went to see Julian.
“Cat got your tongue, Sewell?”
Funny how you never really thought about common phrases. Nick’s mind conjured up a visceral image of a tongue being torn out by the roots, and he fought a wave of nausea. “Ah. Sorry, Dr. Lemon. Yes. Lunch.”
“I hear it’s good news about your young, ah, yes,” Lemon offered with his usual clarity of expression as they made their way to Hall.
“Julian. Yes. He’s back safely.” Although that was really rather relative, wasn’t it?
“Bad business. Still, only to be expected, really.”
“Really?” Nick wondered what Lemon would look like having his tongue torn out. Astonished and outraged, probably. He’d most likely write a stern letter to the Daily Telegraph about it.
“Young people never think of these things, do they? Make their choices with no regard for consequences. Well, here we are.”
As Nick stepped into Hall, the cacophony of a couple of hundred students hit him. Talking, laughing, scraping chairs over the polished floor and clashing plates and cutlery. The air was filled with the bland scents of canteen food—and people. Mashed potato on an industrial scale, and students still sweaty from riding their bikes to lectures. How on earth had Nick never noticed before how loud it all was?
“Are you all right, Sewell? Looking a bit queer, there—no pun intended, of course.” Lemon laughed heartily at his own joke, and Nick’s stomach roiled.
“I’m—not hungry.” Conscious of a dozen or so curious stares, Nick turned on his heel and half-ran out of Hall.
Once outside, the turmoil receded and all Nick could think of was just how bizarrely he was behaving. Get a grip, Sewell, he told himself angrily. Christ, if he couldn’t even make it into Hall for lunch, how the hell was he going to get through town to see Julian? Resting his hands on his knees, he forced himself to take a series of calming breaths.
“Master’s Lodge?” Nick asked, trying to rein in his hostility.
“No. Dr. Earle isn’t aware that I’m here today. Perhaps we could go up to your rooms?”
“Of course.” Nick forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look more like a grimace or, worse, like he was baring his teeth. “Although I was on my way to see Julian—perhaps we could do this later?”
“No, I think now would be best, Mr. Sewell.” Strange, how eyes so pale, so like the waters of the Cam, could stare with such penetrating force.
“All right, then. This way.” At least it would get it over with. After a moment Nick forced himself to make conversation. To try to seem, at least, somewhat normal. “Obviously you’ve heard that Julian’s home safe,” he began.
“Yes. We had a call from the Markhams. Curious business, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ah, really?” They’d reached Nick’s door, and he let Phillips in, fighting down the instincts that screamed at him to chase the enemy off his territory. “Coffee?” he asked sharply. He would not allow the wolf to take over and damn them both.
“No, thank you. This isn’t, after all, a social call.”
“So what is it, Inspector?” Nick snapped, his patience at an end.
Phillips looked at him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I’ve been having a little chat with some colleagues in Nottingham.”
Nick felt the colour drain out of his face. He wished like hell he’d invited the bastard to sit down so he could have done likewise. “And?” he asked, dreading the answer.
“And it appears to be a bit of a high-risk occupation, becoming involved with you, Mr. Sewell. Do you remember a young man called Matthew Innes, by any chance?”
“Of course I remember him!” Nick’s voice was startlingly loud in the small room.
“Yes, I thought he might have stuck in your mind,” Phillips continued, unperturbed. “Apparently you took Mr. Innes to A&E one night, where he was found to be suffering from a broken nose and three cracked ribs. He was interviewed by police but refused to name his assailant.” Phillips paused by the windowsill, picking up a small figure of a fertility god with a grossly enlarged phallus and examining it briefly before putting it down again. It had been a joke gift from Nadia, and Nick kept it around to startle the students. No doubt Phillips could think of a way to have him locked up for that too. “And now we have young Mr. Lauder, who disappeared for several days, and on his return showed signs of having been beaten. He, too, is refusing to say anything about his attacker. Odd coincidence, wouldn’t you say?” Nick was silent, frozen in place. Phillips continued. “And then, of course, we have the unfortunate Mr. Wilson, who died of his injuries—”
“I never met Andrew bloody Wilson.” Nick’s heart was racing, and he realised his fists were clenched by his sides.
“No? Are you quite sure about that, Mr. Sewell?” Phillips’ tone was even and conversational, damn him.
Nick took an involuntary pace forward, and only sheer force of will stopped him from advancing on the man. “Yes! I—look, obviously you’ve got no evidence whatsoever linking me to the murder, or you wouldn’t even be here. We’d be down at the police station with you reading me my rights.” Thank God, the inspector didn’t seem to have picked up on Nick’s distinct lack of a denial that he’d been the cause of Matthew’s injuries.
Phillips’ eyes narrowed. He’d stood his ground throughout. “A word of advice, Mr. Sewell. If I were you, I’d make damned sure no other young men around here end up injured. I’ll be watching you, make no mistake on that.”
Nick’s hackles rose and, when he spoke, his voice was a little too much like a growl for comfort. “Oh? Better be careful, Inspector. You might see more than you bargained for.”
A curious expression crossed Phillips’ face, as Nick became aware of just how appallingly inappropriate—not to mention dangerous—his behaviour was. He’d felt like he was about to change—Christ, had any of it showed in his eyes? His teeth, for God’s sake? “Inspector—I’m sorry,” he managed, forcing a smile. “I don’t know what came over me. Must be the tiredness. It’s been a bit of a strain, these last few days.” He laughed, cringing internally at how false it sounded. “I’m afraid I hardly know what I’m saying.”
“Indeed, Dr. Sewell. Well, that’s to be expected.”
Nick stared at the man. His manner had completely changed. He’d backed off a good two paces, the overt hostility replaced by a strange kind of watchfulness. “Right. Well, I, ah, thank you for being so understanding. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Inspector? I think perhaps I need to, ah…”
“Of course, Dr. Sewell.” Phillips fished in his pocket for something. “Just one final thing. Would you mind taking a look at this?” He stepped forward once more and held out his clenched fist. Nick automatically stretched a palm out for whatever the man was holding.
A silver necklace—a crucifix on a chain—dropped into his hand. It was warm with the inspector’s body heat. Baffled, Nick brought it up to his face for a closer look. “Was this found on the crime scene? I’m afraid I don’t recognise it.”
Something like disappointment seemed to cross the inspector’s bland features. “Oh, just an idea. Not to worry.” He retrieved the necklace and put it back in his pocket. “Well, I’ll be going. I’m sure you won’t be offended if I say I hope we won’t be meeting again.”
Bloody relieved, more like. “No, of course not, Inspector.”
Phillips moved swiftly to the door—and then turned. “I wonder, Dr. Sewell, do you think we’ll ever find Andrew Wilson’s murderer?”
Nick froze. “I—I really couldn’t say, Inspector.” His guilt must have been so bloody obvious that Nick was amazed Phillips didn’t arrest him there and then.
But Phillips just nodded and left.
It was only after Nick had stood at the window and watched the man leave college that the significance of the silver necklace penetrated his adrenaline-fogged brain. Nick sagged into a chair, his legs weak and his stomach churning. Christ, what next? Peasants with pitchforks?
Maybe it’s what you deserve, a voice in his head seemed to say. What right did Nick have to get so outraged at Phillips’ hounding? Phillips thought he’d killed a man. The only thing he was wrong about was the identity of the victim. Phillips disapproved of his relationship with Julian. He was right about that too.
The best thing Nick could do for Julian was stay well away from him. Else how long would it be before he, too, started abusing the boy?
He had to tell him, Nick realised. It wasn’t fair just to leave him. Nick would have to go and see him and tell him why.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The walk through town was a blur of faces. Pale faces, dark ones. Young, pretty faces, and old ones lined with bitterness and regret. Stupid faces, intelligent faces, and those that knew what life was really like. Human faces. All of them going about their lives without the slightest notion that there were monsters running around among them. Nick wondered what would happen if he were to change now, to reveal the beast that lurked inside him. He could see them now: running, panicked, their faces twisted in fear. Or would their minds simply refuse to accept the truth of it?
Nick’s eyes met those of a small child, walking listlessly next to a woman chatting upon a mobile phone. She stared at him—then flung herself upon her mother’s legs.
“Lucy! What on earth are you up to? Come on, sausage, Mummy can’t walk with you wrapped round her legs.”
Nick hastened past them.
When he got to the University Arms, Nick opened the gate to the lift, but couldn’t bring himself to enter. Was this where he should be? In a cage? He shook his head. Dangerous animals were put do
wn. Should be shot like dogs, wasn’t that how Markham had put it? Nick felt physically sick at the thought of getting into the lift and bolted for the stairs, running up to the third floor.
He’d hoped the exercise would clear his head, calm his nerves a little. But even as he stood at the door to suite 321, Nick’s hands clenched convulsively. Could he do this?
He had to do this.
He knocked and waited.
“Ah, Sewell. Come in.” Markham didn’t look particularly overjoyed to see Nick. That was fine. Nick wasn’t exactly thrilled to be here.
Julian jumped visibly as Nick walked into the hotel room, and pain ripped through Nick at the sight. He must have had time to think things through, to realise Nick was no better than Schräger. His mother sat by his side, one hand resting on his arm. Yes, she knows it too.
They’d just had lunch, he noted by the plates that lay on a sideboard waiting for a maid to clear them and throw away the leftovers. Julian was dressed in casual, smart clothes that were obviously new. The pale pink cashmere sweater was presumably an attempt to bring out a bit of colour in his face, but it really didn’t have a lot to work with. It, and the grey trousers, fitted him beautifully, though, and Nick’s throat felt tight at the thought of what he was about to say.
Lili stood. “Hugh, will you take Julian into the bedroom for a moment, please?” Her tone was unwontedly firm, and Markham bristled, but obeyed. Nick found himself wondering just who was the alpha in that relationship as Julian cast him a fleeting look before disappearing with his stepfather. Lili waited until the door had shut behind them before she spoke again. “Dr. Sewell, I hope you won’t be offended by what I’m about to say, but my husband and I think it will be best for Julian if he comes home with us. Perhaps defers his education for a year. We can look after him there, protect him.”
“Protect him from whom? Me?” Nick asked bitterly.
Lili’s eyes widened. “Of course not. My—Julian’s father—I believe he wishes Julian to return to Germany with him.”