The Girl Inside

by Susan Culligan

  “Not as bold as the perpetrator. Do you know anything about Bray’s areas of academic interest?”

  “A little,” responded Jo recalling her last meeting with Radcliff, “efficient markets, or the lack thereof, and also, as I recently learned, theories related to gambling.”

  “Jackpot!” Andy chuckled at his own pun. He swayed in closer again and Jo did not discourage him this time. “It turned out that Bray was interested in both the theory and the practice, but he was not prepared to use his own money.”

  Jo raised her eyebrows in interest to encourage further revelations.

  “Apparently the Department’s funds were much more appealing. Especially when it came to derivatives trading in high risk bonds.”

  “How did that happen? Did Radcliff know?” asked Jo who was visibly shocked.

  “Not at first. As you know, the Professor was very trusting, and he treated everyone in the Department as family. Bray was almost as senior as Radcliff, and Radcliff was happy to hand over some of the administrative burden, including keeping a tab on the Department’s funding and accounts. It was only when Bray asked him to sign off on some reports for the Department’s audit that Radcliff realized something was amiss. That something being large amounts of cash. I mean, if you’re going to try to cook the books, Radcliff wasn’t exactly the one to try your recipes on.”

  “So what happened? Why didn’t the Professor just fire Bray and disclose the truth?”

  “Who knows, but perhaps his misguided loyalty overruled his logic. He merely told Bray to unwind all the financial positions, make good on any losses and quietly resign. In return, Radcliff promised that he would never speak publicly of the matter and that he would deal with any awkward auditing questions.”

  “So that’s what Bray did?”

  “Pretty much, apart from the fact that Bray’s capital didn’t come close to covering the shortfall, so Radcliff stepped in and made up the balance from his own funds.”

  “I can see why Isabella harbors a certain coolness towards her father’s ex-colleague then.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t the money or even the potential scandal that Bray could have dragged her father into. In fact, the whole incident would probably have blown over, if Bray had let it. But a year or so after Bray left, Radcliff started getting anonymous threats implying that if Radcliff ever disclosed what had happened, then he and his family would be in danger.”

  “Bray was threatening Radcliff?”

  “It wasn’t that direct. Neither the details of the secret nor the threats were ever explicit. But eventually it went too far. Isabella came home one day saying she had been followed, and that when she had started to run the guy had shouted out that her father had better keep quiet.”

  “Wait a minute. How do you know so much about this, Andy?”

  “Well as it so happens, the Professor came to me for help.”

  Jo raised her eyebrows again, this time in skepticism.

  “OK, he came to me to enlist the help of my father. He’s a barrister in London and Radcliff wanted some legal advice, but from someone he could trust to keep the matter private. I was there when the Professor relayed the whole story.”

  “So did your father tell him to go to the police?”

  “Well, that was a little tricky. Technically, in helping Bray cover up the pilfering of the Department funds, Radcliff was an accomplice, or at least guilty of concealing a crime. No, my father recommended that Radcliff confront Bray.”

  “A kind of showdown?”

  “Yes, pistols at dawn. Actually, I think it was strong words in a pub in Bermondsey. I gather Radcliff told Bray to stop with the ridiculous threats saying that he would keep his promise not to disclose Bray’s crime provided that none of his family was ever approached again. Bray apparently denied any knowledge of the threats, but the harassment did stop after that.”

  “But Bray was probably always uneasy in the knowledge that Radcliff had such information which could be used against him.”

  “No doubt. And I’ve also no doubt Bray was the one threatening the Professor, which is why I told you the story; well that and the four glasses of wine I’ve downed. Bray will pretty much do anything to fortify and protect that persona he guards so well. And you,” he paused, putting his arm around Jo, “and you have many of the qualities of our late great professor, one of which is the trust in the innate goodness of others. Just make sure it’s well placed.”

  He gave Jo a tearful hug, which she was relieved to find was distinctly brotherly. She chose not to elaborate that her shiny view of the world had already lost some of its luster before his disclosures. Andy shook his head and wandered off in an indeterminate direction, leaving Jo mired in her thoughts that were now beginning to imagine sinister implications at every juncture.

  Even though her head was already hurting, Jo grabbed a wine glass from a passing waiter. Jo’s taste buds awakened as they recognized a 1990 Chateauneuf-Du-Pape. Her late professor had once graciously shared some bottles of the same wine with her and some fellow students after their final exams.

  She was looking around for Ben, when she caught sight of another person she thought she recognized. Despite his impeccable funeral attire, the tanned, athletic figure conspicuously failed to blend in with a crowd of predominately older professors and disheveled math students. The recognition was mutual, and it was only as he strode forward and extended a hand in greeting that Jo made the final connection.

  Jo took his hand cautiously, since she was now beginning to do everything cautiously.

  “Monsieur Manton,” she said, connecting with a hand considerably more manicured than her own, “nice to see you again. I suppose.” Jo had not intended to add the qualifier, but her honesty had overridden tact. She was certainly surprised to see the interviewer she had encountered in France, who had demonstrated a distinct lack of chivalry by abandoning her without money or means of transportation.

  In contrast to the austere persona that Jo recalled, the Frenchman was now offering a disarming smile, and even the nuance of an apology in the slightly down turned regard through his heavy black fringe.

  “I had hoped we might renew our acquaintance one day, Josephine. Although,” he gestured around and assumed a melancholy expression, “I had not envisaged it would be in such somber circumstances.”

  Jo decided to accept the olive branch. She had enough preoccupations without harboring a grudge against the one-time deserter, who had presumably only been acting on instructions. Eric Manton’s presence at the memorial service, however, still remained an anomaly.

  “Yes, these are not the circumstances I would have chosen to renew any acquaintance. But why are you here? I mean, how did you know the Professor?”

  “We were sailing friends.”

  Jo nodded. Eric’s physique certainly conveyed the enjoyment of outdoor pursuits. She marveled at the interconnectedness of people’s lives.

  “I see. What kind of sailing did you do together?”

  “Unfortunately we had little opportunity. In fact, we only sailed together once.”

  Jo’s look of understanding turned to one of puzzlement. She wondered why a casual sailing acquaintance would travel from France to attend the Professor’s memorial service.

  Eric edged closer, quietly adding, “I was going to buy his boat from him.”

  Jo’s mouth went dry, the excellent wine suddenly tasting sour. Her heart raced, but the rushing of blood was unable to produce any movement. Eric sidled even closer still smiling.

  “I tried to save him as he fell overboard, but I was just too late.” He outstretched an arm, miming the action of offering a hand to grasp onto, and followed it with a resigned shrug as if he had merely failed to save the fall of a toppling vase.

  Jo protests tumbled over each other. “But surely he was wearing a life vest? And he was a strong swimmer. Did you jump in and try to help him? Didn’t you have a phone with you to call for help? His boat was found abandoned. How did you get back to shor
e?”

  Eric put his hand around her shoulder and a finger to his lips as he firmly steered her into an alcove.

  “Josephine, Josephine, calm down. I know you’re upset, we all are. I told you, I did everything I could. But sailing is a dangerous sport.” He placed his thumb and forefinger on Jo’s chin and forced her face close to his, “But so is talking about sailing. I wanted to make sure that you know what you are meddling in. For now, your silence buys your safety. Besides, soon this will all be over.”

  He turned, stepping deftly aside for a waitress, who blushed a thank-you at the gesture and its protagonist. Jo looked around frantically for Ben.

  Surveying the scene, Jo found herself making eye contact with Bray who was some distance away. Jo then watched with apprehension as Bray proceeded to walk directly toward her. He passed in front of her without a word. Eric, ignoring Jo, walked several feet behind Radcliff, playing the role of bodyguard.

  Ben rushed up to Jo.

  “I saw the look on your face. What happened?”

  Jo merely grabbed Ben’s hand and sprinted away from the reception, in the opposite direction to Bray.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  As Jo escaped from the confines of Cloister Court, she kicked off her shoes, threw down her purse, and made a blind sprint across Chapel Court and the sodden rugby pitch beyond. She finally stopped at the cricket pavilion and slumped down on its steps. Her stockings were full of holes and her suit caked with flecks of mud.

  Ben jogged up to the pavilion carrying Jo’s purse and shoes having eventually caught her up.

  “Now, I know it must be serious if a woman so impetuously casts aside some fairly new Louboutins, but what exactly was the plan there? Run until you find that big gaping hole to swallow you up?”

  Jo was silent, not even acknowledging Ben’s arrival.

  “Let me guess again. You thought I could use a workout. It’s all those fabulous late night social events, darling.” Ben grabbed some non-existent flab around his stomach.

  Jo remained ashen faced and catatonic. Ben sat down next to her on the steps. Silence ensued for the next five minutes, broken only by the sound of thunder that brought a light drizzle in its wake. The rain steadily became heavier, until it was a downpour. Jo still hadn’t moved so Ben half picked her up and slowly moved them both under the covered balcony of the pavilion.

  “You can tell me,” he said quietly. “It’s OK.”

  Jo suddenly jolted to life with a manifestation of anger, frustration and fear. She pushed Ben in the chest with more force than necessary to separate herself from him.

  “No, it’s not bloody OK! Nothing will ever be OK again. Radcliff’s dead,” she yelled.

  Ben trod carefully. “Jo, I know his death was sudden and unexpected and that coming here today has made it all final…”

  Jo turned on him fiercely, her eyes flashing. Her face was close to his now, her voice becoming louder with each staccato sentence.

  “Don’t you get it? I killed him. I practically pushed him off that boat. They knew I had gone to him. They knew he would figure it out. They think he told me what he was going to do. And now they think I might do so anyway.”

  Their faces were almost touching when Jo paused. Ben watched her eyes, which reflected her thoughts careering forward to ever more frightening conclusions.

  Tentatively, Ben ventured a single word question.

  “They?”

  Jo was now ranting.

  “They, they they! Butterfly. Bray. Bray and Wright. Maybe Bray, Wright and Ives. Who knows, maybe the whole corrupt company. Hell, maybe I’m the only one not in on it!”

  Jo sat down again, shivering, the fear and fatigue winning over the rage.

  Ben draped his jacket around her shoulders. She hung her head and watched the drops fall from the ends of her soaked hair into her cupped hands.

  She rocked slowly, repeating almost inaudibly, “All my fault, all my fault….”

  Ben walked to the edge of the pavilion balcony, a visible tenseness pervading his movements. Even in her mental fog, Jo could sense he was unsure where to place himself or his thoughts. She looked up and surveyed the back of Ben’s tall, strong figure. His sodden white shirt clung to his skin, and the rain had made his sandy hair slightly curly.

  Ben’s upright figure contrasted sharply with her crumpled one, but Jo reminded herself that he wasn’t yet bearing the burden of the full knowledge she had just learned. It was not too late for him to walk away, with the unease of unanswered questions, but without the weight of the full truth.

  “You should go now,” Jo managed to say stiffly.

  Ben did not move or say anything.

  “Please, I want you to go now,” Jo continued, with what she believed was greater firmness in her voice.

  Ben turned, the fortitude in his expression making a pretense of the resolve in her voice.

  “Jo, do you think I live my life running from danger?” His voice had a flint quality Jo has not heard before. “It appears in the time we have spent together, I have come to know you quite well, but,” he knelt before her and squarely grabbed her shoulders, “you, apparently, have learned nothing about me. Now, tell me what the hell happened back there.”

  Jo’s sense of independence bristled at the tone of the command, but she started to relate to Ben the encounter she had had with Eric. In doing so, Jo began to feel her own courage rekindle to meet the resolve of Ben. Jo repeated the conversation, trying to remember every detail.

  Ben listened intently without ever flinching or recoiling as Jo revealed that her most dire paranoid imaginings, the ones she had never fully voiced, were in fact true. At the end, Ben neither pondered nor hesitated.

  “What do we do next?”

  Jo was struck by the ‘we’ and the call to action. Her own inclination would have been to extrapolate her fear and deliberate over scenarios, all the time suspended in inaction. Ben clearly wasn’t one to wait.

  “My fear is that the question may not be ‘what next?’ but ‘who next?’” Jo answered. “I’m sure they’re watching me, and our joint trips to Cambridge probably haven’t gone unnoticed.”

  “Excellent! I had difficulty grasping basic algebra in school, and now I’m possibly on some hit list because of some advanced mathematical trading theory.”

  Jo looked alarmed, her fear rising again. “So you think I’m right? We really are next?”

  “Hey, hey, calm down. Not so fast,” appeased Ben. “No, my hunch is that today was just designed to scare you.”

  “Mission accomplished!”

  “If they wanted you out of the picture they would have gone ahead already. Didn’t you just say that Eric told you that your silence buys your safety? The fact is they don’t know how much you have figured out and, don’t forget, that if you were to try and prove anything, they have credibility on their side.”

  “Not to mention friends in all the right places,” added Jo thinking of Ives and other prominent Board members. “If I were to tip off the authorities at this point, I don’t think we have enough hard evidence for us to be taken seriously; not when we’re up against Butterfly’s spin machine.”

  “Exactly. But most importantly, they must be very confident that, besides your word, nothing links them to Radcliff’s death. They had to get rid of him because if Radcliff had thought it was his moral duty to publicly expose them, I’m sure people would have listened. Eliminating someone in the firm, however, would bring a whole different level of scrutiny and especially since they cannot be certain of with whom you have confided your fears. Now me, on the other hand, I’m an easy target. Itinerant job, lots of travel to dangerous places – wait a minute, which direction shall I run in?”

  Ben made as if to sprint off. Jo pulled on his shirt.

  “OK, what you say is rational, assuming rationality still outweighs their greed. And one thing I didn’t tell you is that Bray may have had another reason for wanting Radcliff permanently out of the way.”

&nb
sp; “Oh?” said Ben.

  Jo waved her hand. “A story for another time. The source was my drunken ex-tutor, but I think I believe him. Anyway, it sounds like I should look out for your disappearance then, before I get really worried for my own safety.”

  “Of course, my chances would be improved if there were more people on the list,” said Ben. “Who else have you voiced your suspicions to before today? Your parents?”

  “No, just you. Oh, and I tried to bring up something early on with my brother-in-law. He bolted as fast as he could.”

  “A wise man, it now appears.”

  They sat in silence, like two chess players contemplating their next move in the knowledge that their common opponent appeared to have devised an inevitable checkmate.

  Jo rose first. “Come on, let’s go.” She offered her hand. Ben looked wary.

  “This isn’t another attempt to break the University hundred meter record is it?”

  “No, I just need to get back to the office.”

  “Are you crazy?” asked Ben, looking even more wary of Jo.

  “Yes, of course, but the only way I’m going to bring them down is from the inside. I need proof that is both damming and doesn’t require a university math degree to decipher. I know the evidence is there and I’m determined to find it. The question is whether they are planning to let me back in.”

  Ben looked both impressed and concerned.

  “Let’s discuss this on the way back to London. My car’s parked in the college parking lot.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. But thank-you, a lift would be appreciated,” said Jo looking down at her mud-caked outfit and smoothing her matted wet hair.

  Ben’s car was a dark blue Volkswagen Golf on the cusp between old and dilapidated. It took several turns of the ignition to start.

  “Are we going to make it?” enquired Jo. “Out of the parking lot I mean.”

  Ben appeared insulted at her lack of faith.

  “What exactly are you insinuating? She is a fine vintage. 1990. The same as that excellent wine you were just enjoying at the reception…” he stopped himself, “or perhaps not enjoying.”