'Was what? Slow down, Megan. It's OK. Slow down.'
'A knife, Chris. A great big long knife. With blood on it. There was blood all over my pillow. It's horrible.'
She broke off into wild sobs.
'Oh, no, Megan! Are you hurt?'
'No,' she sniffed. 'Someone must have broken in and done this inches from my face, while I was asleep. I didn't hear a thing.'
'Thank God they didn't harm you. It must have been terrifying.'
'It was. It truly was. But who would do this? And why?'
'They were trying to scare you. And me.'
'Well, they succeeded,' said Megan. 'I've never been so scared in all my life.'
'I'm sure.' Chris said. He wished he could hold her, comfort her, try to make her feel better. Then he felt the guilt creep over him. 'I'm so sorry.'
'Sorry? There's nothing for you to feel sorry about.'
Chris swallowed. 'I got an e-mail this morning.' He read it off the computer screen in front of him. 'And I got a warning myself when I was in New York. Someone pulled a knife on me and wrote in blood all over the mirror in my hotel bedroom.'
'Jesus, why didn't you tell me?'
'I didn't want to frighten you,' said Chris. 'I thought you might try to talk me out of going to see Marcus. I didn't think that you were in danger as well.'
'Well, next time someone tries to kill you, let me know, OK?' Megan sounded angry. As well she might.
'OK, OK. I'm sorry.'
Megan was silent on the phone for a while. 'They are serious, aren't they?' she said at last.
'Yes.'
'Do you think it could have been Ian?'
'Possibly. Perhaps he went to Cambridge instead of Paris. But it definitely wasn't Ian who attacked me in New York. If he is behind it, he must be working with somebody else.'
'What shall we do?'
'You can tell the college authorities, if you want. They'll contact the police. I'm not sure it'll do much good: I haven't heard anything from the New York cops since I told them what happened to me. But I can't make you hush it up.'
Megan sighed. 'There's no point. It would hardly go down well with the college. And whoever did this must be a professional. It's unlikely the police will catch him. I'll put the pillowcase and the knife in a plastic bag and throw them away.'
'Keep the knife. We might need it for evidence later.'
'Oh, God. OK.'
They were silent for a moment.
'Chris?'
'Yes?'
'I'm scared.'
'I know. So am I.'
'I think maybe this is getting out of hand.'
Chris didn't answer for a moment. He had decided to take risks on his own behalf. But he couldn't risk Megan's life as well.
'Maybe it is,' he said. 'I'll lie low for a bit. Not ask any more questions. Keep quiet.'
'I'm sorry, Chris. I think you should.'
'You must be feeling terrible. I hate the idea of you being alone up there. Can I come up and see you today?'
'That would be great if you could. I was planning to spend most of the day in the library, but if you came up this evening, I'd love to see you.'
'I'll be there,' said Chris.
'Thanks,' said Megan. 'Now I'd better go clean up this mess.'
Ian looked around him at the ostentation of the dining room of the George V. Normally he would have relished a breakfast meeting in these ornate surroundings, playing the international investment banker with like-minded people. But not that morning. What he craved was a strong cup of coffee and a ciggy in a corner café. Of course, with Eric, there was no chance of that.
He had been skulking in Paris for nearly a day, now. It had started to rain from the moment his taxi had hit the Périphérique, and it had continued to rain all night. It took him an age to find a hotel room at short notice on a Saturday night, and he spent much of the day avoiding boisterous men in red jerseys there to cheer on their country in a rugby match. Finally he found a scruffy hotel near the Gare du Nord, dumped his bags, walked around in the rain for a bit, and then went to see a bad American film dubbed into French at a cinema on the Champs-Élysées.
He felt foul. He had overdone the drink the night before. And the coke. It had made him feel better for a bit. But now he felt like shit. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Ah, that tasted good.
'Ian, good to see you.'
Ian had missed Eric's entrance. He looked disgustingly bright and cheerful with his gleaming white shirt, and his tie tied so tightly that it seemed to leap straight forward out of his neck. Ian had an urge to pull it, but instead he just grunted, ignoring Eric's outstretched hand. Despite the surroundings, this wasn't a business meeting, and he didn't feel like pretending it was.
'Plane was half an hour late into Charles de Gaulle. But there was no traffic coming into the city. Have you ordered?'
Ian shook his head. Eric caught a hovering waiter's eye and ordered croissants and some coffee.
'How are you?' Eric asked.
'Shit,' Ian answered, and sniffed.
'You don't look too good.' Eric stared at him closely. Ian flinched. 'Are you on something?'
'I was,' he answered, deciding he had no need to lie for Eric's benefit.
'Is that wise? I think we all need clear heads at the moment.'
'What do you mean, is that wise?' Ian snapped. 'I'll do what I bloody well like. I seem to remember you did enough of that stuff in the past. That's what got us into this mess in the first place.'
'That was a long time ago. I haven't touched anything for ten years,' said Eric.
'Well, aren't you the little saint?' Ian said. 'I haven't killed anyone for ten years. In fact, I've never killed anyone.'
'Keep your voice down,' said Eric calmly, with a smile.
'What the hell did you have to get Lenka killed for, anyway?' Ian said, more quietly this time.
'I had no choice. She was going to talk. First to Marcus Lubron, then to other people. You knew Lenka. There was only one way to shut her up.'
'But now Chris is on the trail. And your old girlfriend, Megan. And then Duncan. The whole thing's out of control.'
'Not quite,' said Eric calmly. 'I'm working on getting it back under control. And remember, if you hadn't told Lenka about Alex, none of this would have happened.'
Ian sighed. His head throbbed. He closed his eyes. Eric was right. He remembered the night when he had opened this whole can of worms. It was very late, at Lenka's flat. They had just had sex. Great sex. Lenka was talking about how she had met Marcus that day. Ian was a little tired, a little high; his brain wasn't working quite right. He had smiled and said it was funny that it wasn't even Duncan's fault that Alex had died. Lenka was suddenly wide awake. She wanted to know what he was talking about. Ian tried to deny that he had meant anything, but she knew he had. She pressed him hard, assaulting him with a barrage of questions. His resistance quickly broke down. He had wanted to tell someone for years, and Lenka suddenly seemed the right person. So he told her he had seen Eric drown Alex. It turned out Lenka was not the right person at all. She exploded. Within ten minutes, Ian found himself outside in the Old Brompton Road looking for a cab.
Lenka told Ian that she was going to tell Marcus. Ian told Eric. And then Lenka was dead.
'We both screwed up,' said Ian. 'But there's no need to make things worse.'
'You're right, there isn't,' said Eric. 'I think it's very important that you keep quiet. Because you know what will happen to you if you don't.'
'Is that a threat?'
'Of course,' said Eric quietly. 'And you know I'll carry it out if necessary.'
Ian felt a surge of anger. Somehow, he had been under Eric's thumb ever since Alex had drowned. At the time, it had seemed smart to let Eric take control and sort things out. Eric, who always seemed to have an answer for everything. Well, it was clear now that that had been a mistake. Eric had more to lose than Ian. It was time Ian took the upper hand.
He lit another cigarette.
'Shouldn't I be the one threatening you?' he said, straining to make his voice sound calm and authoritative.
'I don't think that would be wise,' Eric answered coolly.
'Why not? You killed Alex. You had Lenka killed. Just get off my back, or I'll tell people what I know.'
Ian had hoped that this would rattle Eric. But it didn't.
Eric watched Ian for a long minute. Ian tried to smoke his cigarette calmly, but he couldn't help shifting in his chair. Eventually, his thumb drifted up to his lips, and he gnawed at the nail.
Eric smiled, a smug self-confident smile, a declaration of his superiority. 'Nobody threatens me,' he said, and left the table, just as the waiter was bringing the croissants.
Terry was waiting for Eric at Charles de Gaulle. Eric ushered him to one of those quiet dead spaces in airports that are not on the way from one place to another, nor outside anywhere important. They sat in a pair of isolated chairs. The only person in earshot was a cleaner.
'Well, boss?' Terry asked.
Eric sighed and puffed out his cheeks. 'Ian's unreliable. Deal with him.'
'Same bonus as last time?'
Eric nodded.
Terry smiled. Eric paid a very good bonus.
'All go well in Cambridge?' Eric asked.
'I got in OK. Left the knife. Got out. No one saw me.'
'Do you think it will scare her?'
'Oh, yes. It'll scare her,' said Terry. 'But are you sure that'll be enough?'
'We can't leave dead bodies all over the place,' Eric said. 'Every one increases the risk we'll get caught. I think it'll help that each is in a different country, but if some cop somewhere puts together the fact that they were all on the same boat ten years ago, we're in trouble.'
Terry nodded non-committally. But Eric picked up the implication. Terry thought Eric was being soft on Megan because she used to be his girlfriend. Well, he was right. Eric really didn't want to kill her if he could avoid it. In fact, he hadn't really wanted to kill any of them. But after Alex, one led to another.
And he had had to kill Alex. If he hadn't, he would have no chance of fulfilling his destiny. Eric had always known he was an exceptionally able person, he had known it ever since he was a small child. There was no class he couldn't come top of, no job he couldn't get, no competition he couldn't win. From childhood, he had assumed that he had been given this extraordinary talent for a purpose, and the purpose seemed to him to be to lead his country. He could do it. He had the talent. He could earn the money. Hell, he even had the luck. And he was certain that once he was in high office, or even the highest office, he would do the job well. Eric knew that his ambition was far beyond most mortals. But he was confident it wasn't beyond him.
Alex and a few grams of white powder would have put a stop to all that. He couldn't let it.
'Let's hope we've scared them off,' Eric said. 'But if that doesn't work, I have another idea.' He checked his watch. 'I've got to go. My flight leaves in twenty minutes. Good luck.'
'Thanks, boss,' said Terry, and they parted.
Eric passed through the security check and passport control, and made his way to the gate. The flight to London Heathrow had been called, but the queue was a long one, so he had a couple of minutes. He dialled a number on his mobile.
'Hello?'
He recognized the voice. It had changed little in the last nine years. 'Megan? It's Eric'
There was silence for a second. Then he heard her voice. 'Eric?' It was little more than a whisper.
'That's right. How are you doing?'
'Er . . . OK. I guess.'
'Good. That's great. Look, I know we haven't seen each other in a long time, but I'm in London for a meeting tomorrow, and I've got some time this afternoon. I just thought it would be good to see you. After what happened to Lenka and everything.'
'Um, OK.' Megan sounded hesitant. 'Where are you?'
'At the airport.' Eric was careful not to say which airport. 'I've got one or two things to do, but I might be able to get up to Cambridge by three.'
'All right. Three o'clock is fine. Ask at the porter's lodge and they'll give you directions.'
'OK,' said Eric. 'See you then.'
Chris stared at the rings of white bubbles on the surface of his beer, oblivious of the growing noise around him as the Hampstead pub filled up with the Sunday lunch-time crowd. Duncan had rung him at about eleven that morning and suggested a pint, and Chris had been happy to agree. There was a lot he wanted to discuss with him.
But all Chris could think of was Megan. These people weren't messing around. Although he had been happy with his decision to risk his own neck, he couldn't risk hers: she was just too important to him. A flood of helplessness overwhelmed him. Keeping Megan safe implied sitting back and doing nothing, and he hated that idea. It meant letting Lenka's killer get away with it. But he had no choice.
He was jolted from his thoughts by the thud of a beer glass on his table. Duncan sat down on the small stool opposite him, bringing with him a blast of good cheer. 'Hi, Chris. How's the market been treating you?' he asked, by way of useless small talk.
'Crap,' said Chris.
'Oh. And how are you?'
'Crap also.'
'Well, never mind. I have some good news.'
'Impossible.'
'No. Very possible. Remember your lunch with Khalid?'
'I do,' said Chris, thinking he scarcely had the patience to tolerate Duncan freeloading more information off him.
'He said he's interested in all those weirdo government bond markets you trade in. Apparently, he was very impressed with you. He asked me if he can put money in your fund rather than into the market directly. He'd like to watch how you perform for a year or so, and then perhaps try it for himself.'
Chris sat up in his chair. 'You're not serious?'
'I am,' said Duncan. 'He checked you out with Faisal who apparently had good things to say about you. I told him you were a loser of course, but Khalid never listens to my opinion.' Duncan was grinning.
'But he knows how I was fired from Bloomfield Weiss. How I lost all that money.'
'Looks as though he doesn't care. A lot of the best people have been fired from Bloomfield Weiss: me, for example. Could you take another investor now? I don't know how the fund is structured.'
'As it happens, we could. How much are we talking about?'
'Fifteen million dollars. But he could do less.'
'No, fifteen million dollars would do nicely.' Fifteen million dollars was seventeen million euros, as near as damn it. That would be enough to buy out Rudy and leave seven million euros over. 'And I think the timing is perfect. For him and for us.'
Duncan smiled. 'Shall I tell him that after careful consideration you've decided you can squeeze him in?'
'You tell him that,' said Chris. 'Well done, Duncan! I owe you one.'
'No you don't,' said Duncan. 'It's good to be able to help you for a change.'
Chris smiled and raised his glass. 'To Khalid.' They both drank.
'Also,' said Duncan as he put down his beer, 'I think I've got you to thank for talking to Pippa.'
Chris hesitated for a moment. He had hoped that Duncan wouldn't find out about that conversation. But Duncan didn't seem to be angry. 'Perhaps,' Chris said carefully.
'I don't know what you said to her, but it seems to have worked.'
Chris was puzzled. 'As far as I can recall, she said you were a jerk and I agreed.'
'Well, she and I went out on Friday night, and I think we might be getting back together again.'
'Great,' said Chris. And then, 'Is that a good thing?'
'I think so. You're right, and so is she. I was a jerk. But, I don't intend to be from now on. We'll see. It's worth a try, anyway.'
Chris looked at Duncan and smiled. 'Yes, it is. Good luck.'
'What about you? Why are you in such a foul mood? The market's gone down before, hasn't it?'
'Let me tell you,' said Chris. He took a gulp of beer, and
described all that had happened since he had left for America, including the threats to himself and Megan. Duncan listened open-mouthed.
When Chris had finished, Duncan rubbed his eyes and slumped back in his chair. He exhaled. 'You mean I didn't kill Alex after all?'
'It doesn't look like it,' said Chris.
Duncan shook his head. 'For all these years I've been blaming myself. And Ian knew all along that it wasn't my fault?'
'Yep.'
Duncan reddened. He sat up and struck the table, spilling beer. 'The bastard!' The couple at the table next to theirs turned to stare. Duncan glanced at them and lowered his voice. 'So what did Lenka mean?'
'Megan and I have an idea, but tell me what you think first.'
'OK.' Duncan thought it over. 'We know Alex was drowned. So if I didn't kill him when I hit him and he fell in, then . . . someone else must have drowned him. After he was in the water.'
Chris nodded.
'It can only have been one of the people who dived in to save him. So apart from me, that was Ian and Eric.'
Chris nodded again.
'Well, it's got to be Ian, hasn't it?'
'That seems the most likely to us.'
'I can't believe it. The murdering bastard! And do you think he killed Lenka as well?'
'Yes. Or else he paid someone else to do it.'
'Jesus. What are you going to do about it?'
'It's difficult. I told you how I was attacked in New York. And about the knife on Megan's pillow last night.'
'Yes, but we can't just sit here and let him get away with it.'
'I think we have to. At least for the time being.'
'What do you mean?' Duncan looked aghast. 'That's just cowardice.'
'It's common sense.' Duncan frowned, but Chris continued. 'Look, when it was just me being threatened, I was willing to carry on. I owe Lenka a lot, and I was prepared to take risks to find out who killed her. But I can't risk Megan's life.'
Duncan's eyes narrowed. 'There's something going on between you and her, isn't there?'
'Yes,' Chris admitted. 'There is.'
Duncan snorted.
'Duncan. Be reasonable. Even if there wasn't, I wouldn't want to risk her life. And neither should you. Anyway, Ian is in Paris until later on this week.'
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