'I'm not?'
'Of course not. Not after Lenka spoke to you. I doubt they'll stop at Ian.'
'What are you going to do?' Marcus asked.
'There's not much I can do. Keep quiet. Pretend I know nothing. What about you?'
'Me?'
'Yes. You were the one who first suspected there was something going on. Now you've found out there was. What are you going to do?'
'I don't know. I need proof.'
'If I get proof, I'll let you have it,' said Eric. 'But I'm not going to go looking for it.'
'I don't know what I'm going to do,' said Marcus.
'Well, I've got to go back to London tomorrow. Another damned deal. If you do decide to go over there, give me a call on my cell phone. I might be able to help you. Discreetly. Here's my card.' Marcus took it and slid it in his pocket without looking at it. 'I do know somebody has got to do something. Think about it.'
With that, Eric took a five-dollar bill out of his pocket, left it on the table, and stood up to leave. 'Be careful,' he said, and pushed past Carl on his way to the exit.
Marcus followed him, unfocused, his brain trying to take in what he had just heard. Did it make sense?
Chris came into work early the next morning. He and Ollie had to revalue the portfolio. This revaluation was necessary to determine the price at which Amalgamated Veterans' investment would be transferred to Royal Bank of Kuwait. This was an easy task for the government bonds, but the junk bonds had much murkier prices, and Eureka Telecom had the murkiest of them all.
By nine thirty, they had all the prices bar Eureka Telecom. Exchanging glances with Ollie, Chris dialled Ian's number. Even though he knew Ian was in Paris, he still asked for him by name; that way he would make sure he spoke to whoever was covering for him. As he was put on hold, he wondered what number Bloomfield Weiss would come up with. He wanted as low a price as possible. The more Rudy lost, the happier Chris would be, and the more profits RBK would make when the market bounced back.
Eventually, the phone was answered. 'Chris? It's Mandy. Mandy Simpson.'
Chris remembered her as a junior salesperson when he had been at Bloomfield Weiss. She was probably a top producer by now.
'Hi, Mandy, how are you? I didn't know you were covering for Ian.'
'I'm not. I'm just talking to you because I know you.'
Chris recognized from her tone that something was very wrong.
'What is it, Mandy?'
'It's Ian. He was murdered the night before last. In Paris.'
Chris closed his eyes. He knew it. He just knew it.
'Chris?' Mandy said.
'Sorry. Any idea how it happened?'
'He was stabbed, apparently.'
Oh, Duncan, Duncan! 'Stabbed? Did the police catch who did it?'
'Not as far as we know. But we don't know much.'
'Jesus.'
'I'm sorry, Chris,' Mandy said. 'I know you two were friends.'
Some friend, Chris thought. But even though he was virtually certain that Ian was responsible for the deaths of two people, Chris was surprised to feel a wave of sadness sweep over him.
'OK, Mandy. Thanks for telling me,' and he hung up.
Ollie was listening in. He was white. 'Oh, my God,' he said.
Chris exhaled. 'Precisely.'
Duncan had killed him. The stupid bastard! The second Chris had told Duncan about Ian, Duncan had jumped on a plane, gone to Paris, found Ian and killed him. Knowing Duncan, he wouldn't have been too subtle about it either. He'd probably be in jail within twenty-four hours.
'Ollie, can you give me a moment? I need to make a phone call.'
Ollie scurried back to his desk, still in a state of shock. Chris called Megan and told her the news.
'It must have been Duncan,' she said.
'I'm afraid so.'
'That guy's a psycho. I knew it all along.' There was an undertone of 'I told you so' in her voice, but then Chris had to admit, she had told him so.
'You're right,' Chris said. 'I bet the stupid bastard will get caught.'
'I'm not covering for him again,' Megan said.
'No, not this time. Not if he did it.'
'Do you think we should go to the police first?'
Chris sighed. 'No. Let them come to us. This could all get very messy. They'll have to investigate Lenka's murder, and Alex's, and we could still get in trouble for the cover-up there. You're right, we shouldn't lie, but I think we should wait for them to ask us the questions before we answer them.'
'OK. I must say, I'm relieved.'
'Relieved?'
'Yeah. Now Ian's . . . gone. No more people creeping around my bedroom. No more dead bodies. And I hate to say it, but if he did kill Lenka, he got what he deserved.'
'Yes,' said Chris flatly.
'What is it? You don't sound convinced. You do think it was him who killed her?'
'Yes, I suppose so.'
'But you're not absolutely sure?'
'No. Are you?'
'I don't see how we can be. We'll just have to wait and see what the police dig up.'
'Megan?'
'Yes?'
'Can I come up and see you tonight? In Cambridge?'
Megan hesitated. 'Of course. That would be great.'
'See you, then,' said Chris. But he was anxious as he put down the phone. He had caught the hesitation in Megan's voice when he had asked to come and see her, and he didn't like it. And they couldn't be sure about Ian.
He thought of calling Duncan. There wasn't much point; he was almost certainly in Paris, very probably in a police cell. But he picked up the phone and tapped out the number of Honshu Bank. To Chris's surprise, he heard Duncan's soft Scottish accent answer.
'Duncan! I didn't think you'd be there!'
'Why not?' Duncan said. 'It's Tuesday morning. It's ten o'clock. Where else would I be? Did you sort out something with RBK?'
'Yes, I did. Look, I need to talk to you.'
'Go ahead.'
'Not on the phone,' Chris hissed. Honshu Bank's phones were recorded, of course, just like Bloomfield Weiss's.
Duncan lowered his voice, serious suddenly. 'Is it about Ian?'
'Yes.'
'OK. I've got to go into a meeting now. I'll be out about half twelve. We can meet then.'
'Duncan! This is important!'
'I'm sorry, Chris. I can't get out of this one.'
'OK. See you outside your office at twelve thirty.'
5
Honshu Bank's offices were in Finsbury Square at the northern edge of the City. Duncan was five minutes late.
'Where are we going?' he asked.
'For a walk,' said Chris, leading him out of the building.
'But it's freezing,' said Duncan shivering. And it was. A cold wind swept across the square. 'I haven't got my coat.'
'That's your problem,' said Chris, walking rapidly up City Road.
After a hundred yards or so, they came to Bunhill Fields, an old burial ground for the City of London. They passed inside the green-painted iron gates and along a pathway through tightly packed gravestones covered with moss and lichen, the inscriptions on most of them now unreadable. There was a group of benches in the middle, and Chris sat on one of them. In front of him lay John Bunyan, resting on a white stone slab, feet towards them.
'Why here?' said Duncan. 'I'm cold.'
'It's quiet,' said Chris. On a fine day it would be crowded with office workers enjoying their lunch. But in this March wind, they were all alone with the gravestones.
'What's up with you?' Duncan asked, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.
'Ian.'
'I thought I was the one who was supposed to be pissed off with Ian.'
'Nice trip to Paris, was it, Duncan? See the sights? Go up the Eiffel Tower?'
'I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't been to Paris.'
'Duncan, I'm not stupid. And I'm not going to cover for you again.'
'Cover for me? What do you mea
n?' And then he stopped. 'Something's happened to Ian, hasn't it? In Paris. And you think I'm responsible?'
'Too right, I think you're responsible,' Chris muttered.
'What happened? Is he dead?'
Chris looked at Duncan. His confusion seemed genuine. But then Chris had just said he wouldn't cover for him. There was no reason for Duncan to tell him the truth, and every reason for him to act surprised.
'He was stabbed in Paris on Sunday night. By you.'
'Hey, come on, Chris,' protested Duncan. 'You can't say that. I didn't kill him. I wasn't even in bloody Paris.'
'But you wanted to, didn't you?'
'No I didn't.'
'It certainly looked like it when I saw you in the pub at lunch-time.'
'I was angry, that's all,' said Duncan. 'You can hardly blame me.'
Chris shook his head. 'You've gone too far, Duncan. What Ian did was wrong, but what you've done is just as wrong. You shouldn't have killed him.'
'But I didn't kill him! For Christ's sake, I was in London then.'
'All tucked up in bed by yourself, no doubt?'
'Probably. No, let me think. I remember. Sunday was a bad day. I went out by myself for a drink or two in the evening. You're right, that stuff about Ian had shaken me. But then I went to see Pippa.'
'What, in the middle of the night?'
'About half eleven. I wanted to talk to her. She said I was drunk and told me to piss off.'
'And she'll back up your story?'
'I suppose so. I don't see why she shouldn't.'
Chris hesitated. 'You might have got her to lie for you. Like you got us to lie for you on the boat.'
Duncan's eyes flashed with anger. 'I never got you to lie for me! As I remember, it was your idea. I wish you'd have let me tell the truth now. All this might not have happened.' He ran his hands through his hair. 'Jesus. If the police come talking to you, are you going to tell them I killed him?'
'I'll tell them the truth. Nothing more,' said Chris.
Well, the truth is I didn't kill him. And think about it for a second. If I didn't kill Ian, someone else did. And that doesn't make you very safe, does it?'
Chris looked at Duncan for a moment, and then stood up to go. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to be said. But Duncan grabbed his arm.
'Here,' he said, thrusting his mobile phone at Chris. 'Call her.'
Chris hesitated. Duncan punched out a number and handed the phone to him. Chris shrugged and put it to his ear. He heard it ringing, and then Pippa's voice.
'Phillippa Gemmel.'
'Pippa, it's Chris Szczypiorski.'
'Oh, hi, Chris. Look, I'm just going out.'
'This won't take a minute,' Chris said. Duncan was watching him intently. 'Have you seen Duncan in the last few days?'
'Why do you ask?'
'Answer my question, and I'll tell you.'
Pippa sighed. 'We went out for a meal together on Friday night.'
'And since then?'
'He came round to see me in the middle of the night. He was drunk. He wanted to moan at me. I told him to piss off.'
'Which night was that?'
'Sunday.'
'Are you sure?'
'Of course I'm sure. Why?'
'Ian Darwent was murdered on Sunday night in Paris.'
'Oh, my God.' There was silence for a moment. When Pippa spoke again, the brusqueness had left her voice. She sounded weary. 'Not another one. Duncan was going on about him, but I couldn't make sense of what he was saying.'
'Duncan thought Ian had killed Lenka,' Chris said.
'And so you think Duncan might have killed Ian?'
'Yes,' Chris said curtly, glancing at Duncan sitting next to him.
'Don't trust your friends much, do you?' said Pippa scathingly. 'But with friends like yours, I'm not really surprised. No, Duncan was in London that night. I can vouch for him.'
Chris didn't say anything.
'What's the matter? Don't you believe me?'
Chris sighed. He knew Pippa wasn't covering for Duncan. Suddenly he felt ashamed of his lack of trust in her, and in Duncan. 'I believe you. Thanks, Pippa. Bye.'
He disconnected, and passed the phone back to Duncan. 'Sorry.'
Duncan slipped the phone back in his pocket. Then he smiled. 'It's OK. Weird things have been happening recently. It's difficult to know who to trust.'
'You're right there,' Chris said, putting his head in his hands. He leaned back against the bench. A magpie pecked amongst the worn gravestones.
'You know what this means?' said Chris eventually.
'What?'
'If you didn't kill Ian, then he must have been killed for the same reason Lenka was: because he knew who had drowned Alex.'
'Do you think so?'
'It seems the most likely to me. I can't think of any other reason.'
'So who did drown Alex?' Duncan asked.
'There's only one possibility,' Chris said. 'Three people dived into the sea. You, Ian, and Eric.'
'Eric.'
'Must be,' said Chris. Now he had made that assumption everything slotted into place in his brain. 'Eric drowned Alex. Lenka found out about it and threatened to tell people. So Eric killed her. Ian knew about that, and now he's dead.'
'Jesus,' said Duncan.
'Of course, Eric didn't kill Lenka and Ian himself. Probably he hired the same man who scared Megan and me.' The man with the moustache and long hair. The man in New York whose run Chris had recognized from Prague.
A moustache and long hair could easily be faked. Suddenly, Chris knew who the man was.
'Terry,' he said. 'Eric's driver and part-time bodyguard. Terry.' Chris turned to Duncan. 'What do you think?'
Duncan blew air through his cheeks. 'It all hangs together,' he said. 'After getting so upset about Ian, I don't want to jump to the wrong conclusion this time, but I think you're right. Eric is the only one who makes sense. Apart from anything else, it would take some organization to do all that. I'm sure Eric could get someone like this Terry to jet all over the world doing his dirty work for him. But I'm not sure any of the rest of us could. Eric seems such a charming guy, but there's something cold about him underneath. He's always calculating, you know what I mean? Yeah, I think it fits.'
They stared at John Bunyan's grimy toes a few feet in front of them.
'Of course, you have no proof,' said Duncan.
'No.'
'What about that psychologist you saw in New York?'
'She wouldn't talk to me. Confidentiality issues.'
'Is there any point in trying again? Now we have a name?'
Chris considered this. 'I don't know. I don't see why not. Give me your phone.'
It was a quarter past one, eight fifteen New York time, but Dr Marcia Horwath was already in the office, even if her receptionist wasn't. She answered her own phone.
'Dr Horwath, this is Chris Szczypiorski.'
'Oh, yes?' Her voice was cool, but Chris thought he detected a trace of curiosity.
'We met last week. I asked you about the testing of Bloomfield Weiss trainees.'
'Of course.'
'Have you had a chance to think about whether you can give me any more information about the test results?'
'Yes, I have, and I'm afraid the answer is no. At the time, I decided it was my duty to tell Bloomfield Weiss about my concerns. Beyond that, I owe a duty of confidentiality to them, and to the trainees concerned.'
'I understand that,' said Chris, trying not to show his impatience. 'And I appreciate that this is a difficult ethical problem. But Ian Darwent was murdered two days ago. That means three of the seven people on that boat have been killed, probably all by the same person. It is very likely that person will kill again.'
'Then you should inform the police,' said Marcia. 'I would have to consider a request from them.'
'It's not that easy,' said Chris. 'Please.' Sod it. He let the desperation come through in his voice. 'The next person to be killed
may well be me. This isn't some abstract ethical dilemma. If I die in the next few days because you didn't give me the information I need, you will remember this conversation for the rest of your life.'
There was silence at the end of the phone. Duncan gave Chris a thumbs up in encouragement.
'Dr Horwath?'
She answered him. 'One of the tests I used was the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. This is more commonly used in diagnosing personality disorders than in recruitment, but it seemed appropriate, given Bloomfield Weiss's aims. During the period I used the test, two candidates' results suggested major psychopathology. I requested further interviews with both of them, and my fears were confirmed. I expressed my reservations each time in the strongest possible terms to Mr Calhoun at Bloomfield Weiss, who went ahead and hired them both anyway. One of them was Steven Matzley, who as you know was convicted of rape after he had left Bloomfield Weiss.'
There was a pause. Come on, thought Chris. The other one. The name. Give me the name.
'The other was recruited later. Mr Calhoun subsequently called me back to tell me that he had achieved first place in his training programme. I believe it was the same training programme you attended. Mr Calhoun seemed to think that this was a vindication of his decision to hire the candidate despite my protests.'
'Thank you very much, Dr Horwath.'
'No problem. You will keep me informed of developments, won't you?'
'I will,' said Chris.
He handed the phone back to Duncan.
'Well?' Duncan asked.
'Eric.' Eric had come top of his training programme. It was Eric who had displayed strong psychopathic tendencies. They were well hidden by his smoothness, his charm, his apparent frankness. But Dr Horwath had had no doubt. They were there. 'She said it was Eric.'
'That just about settles it.' Duncan exhaled. 'So what do we do now? Go to the police?'
'I don't know,' said Chris. 'It's difficult. In the first place, there's the problem of which police force to report it to. We're talking about three murders in three different countries, none of them Britain. Also, we don't have enough proof to get Eric arrested immediately. The police would have to start a long and complicated international investigation. Eric would hire the best lawyers in three countries to keep himself out of jail. And in the meantime you, me and Megan would all be in danger. The police might never get the evidence to convict him, and even if they did, we'd probably be dead by the time they locked him up.'
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