“Actually, some new information has come up.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, for one thing, I didn’t know Alicia was planning on leaving your gallery.”
There was a second’s pause before Jean-Felix answered. His voice sounded tight, like a rubber band about to snap.
“What are you talking about?”
“Is it true?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“Alicia is my patient. It’s my intention to get her talking again—but I see now it might be in your interest if she remains silent.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, as long as no one knows of her wish to leave, you can hold on to her artwork indefinitely.”
“What exactly are you accusing me of?”
“I’m not accusing you at all. Merely stating a fact.”
Jean-Felix laughed. “We’ll see about that. I’ll be contacting my lawyer—and making a formal complaint to the hospital.”
“I don’t think you will.”
“And why is that?”
“Well, you see, I haven’t told you how I heard Alicia was planning to leave.”
“Whoever told you was lying.”
“It was Alicia.”
“What?” Jean-Felix looked stunned. “You mean … she spoke?”
“In a way. She gave me her diary to read.”
“Her—diary?” He blinked a few times, as if he was having trouble processing the information. “I didn’t know Alicia kept a diary.”
“Well, she did. She describes your last few meetings in some detail.”
I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t need to. There was a heavy pause. Jean-Felix was silent.
“I’ll be in touch,” I said. I smiled and walked out.
As I emerged onto the Soho street, I felt a little guilty for ruffling Jean-Felix’s feathers like that. But it had been intentional—I wanted to see what effect the provocation would have, how he’d react, what he would do.
Now I had to wait and see.
* * *
As I walked through Soho, I phoned Alicia’s cousin, Paul Rose, to let him know I was coming. I didn’t want to turn up at the house unannounced and risk a similar reception to last time. The bruise on my head still hadn’t fully healed.
I cradled the phone between my ear and my shoulder as I lit a cigarette. I barely had time to inhale before the phone was answered, on the first ring. I hoped it would be Paul, not Lydia. I was in luck.
“Hello?”
“Paul. It’s Theo Faber.”
“Oh. Hello, mate. Sorry I’m whispering. Mum’s having her nap, and I don’t want to disturb her. How’s your head?”
“Much better, thanks.”
“Good, good. How can I help?”
“Well, I’ve received some new information about Alicia. I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“What kind of information?”
I told him that Alicia had given me her diary to read.
“Her diary? I didn’t know she kept one. What does it say?”
“It might be easier to talk in person. Are you free today at all?”
Paul hesitated. “It might be better if you don’t come to the house. Mother isn’t … well, she wasn’t too happy about your last visit.”
“Yes, I gathered that.”
“There’s a pub at the end of the road, by the roundabout. The White Bear—”
“Yes, I remember it. That sounds fine. What time?”
“Around five? I should be able to get away then for a bit.”
I heard Lydia shouting in the background. Evidently she had woken up.
“I have to go. I’ll see you later.” Paul hung up.
* * *
A few hours later, I was on my way back to Cambridge. On the train, I made another phone call—to Max Berenson. I hesitated before calling. He’d already complained to Diomedes once, so he wouldn’t be pleased to hear from me again. But I knew I had no choice.
Tanya answered. Her cold sounded better, but I could hear the tension in her voice when she realized who I was. “I don’t think—I mean, Max is busy. He’s in meetings all day.”
“I’ll call back.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I—”
I could hear Max in the background saying something, and Tanya’s reply: “I’m not saying that, Max.”
Max grabbed the phone and spoke to me directly: “I just told Tanya to tell you to fuck off.”
“Ah.”
“You’ve got a nerve calling here again. I already complained once to Professor Diomedes.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that. Nonetheless some new information has come to light, and it concerns you directly—so I felt I had no choice but to get in touch.”
“What information?”
“It’s a journal Alicia kept in the weeks leading up to the murder.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. I hesitated.
“Alicia writes about you in some detail, Max. She said you had romantic feelings for her. I was wondering if—”
There was a click as he hung up. So far so good. Max had taken the bait—and now I had to wait to see how he’d react.
I realized I was a little afraid of Max Berenson, just as Tanya was afraid of him. I remembered her whispered advice to me, to talk to Paul, to ask him something—what? Something about the night after the accident that killed Alicia’s mother. I remembered the look on Tanya’s face when Max had appeared, how she fell silent and presented him with a smile. No, I thought, Max Berenson was not to be underestimated.
That would be a dangerous mistake.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS THE TRAIN APPROACHED CAMBRIDGE, the landscape flattened and the temperature dropped. I did up my coat as I left the station. The wind cut into my face like a volley of icy razor blades. I made my way to the pub to meet Paul.
The White Bear was a ramshackle old place—it looked as if several extensions had been added onto the original structure over the years. A couple of students were braving the wind, sitting outside with their pints in the beer garden, wrapped up in scarves, smoking. Inside, the temperature was much warmer, thanks to several roaring fires, which provided a welcome relief from the cold.
I got a drink and looked around for Paul. Several small rooms led off from the main bar and the lighting was low. I peered at the figures in the shadows, unsuccessfully trying to spot him. A good place for an illicit rendezvous, I thought. Which, I suppose, is what this was.
I found Paul alone in a small room. He was facing away from the door, sitting by the fire. I recognized him at once, on account of his sheer size. His huge back nearly blocked the fire from sight.
“Paul?”
He jumped up and turned around. He looked like a giant in the tiny room. He had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling.
“All right?” he said. He looked like he was bracing himself for bad news from a doctor. He made some room for me, and I sat down in front of the fire, relieved to feel its warmth on my face and hands.
“It’s colder than London here. That wind doesn’t help.”
“Comes straight from Siberia, that’s what they say.” Paul continued without pausing, clearly in no mood for small talk, “What’s this about a diary? I never knew Alicia kept a diary.”
“Well, she did.”
“And she gave it to you?”
I nodded.
“And? What does it say?”
“It specifically details the last couple of months before the murder. And there are couple of discrepancies I wanted to ask you about.”
“What discrepancies?”
“Between your account of events and hers.”
“What are you talking about?” He put down his pint and gave me a long stare. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for one thing, you told me you hadn’t seen Alicia for several years before the murder.”
Paul hesitated. “Did I?�
“And the diary, Alicia says she saw you a few weeks before Gabriel was killed. She says you came to the house in Hampstead.”
I stared at him, sensing him deflate inside. He looked like a boy suddenly, in a body that was much too big for him. Paul was afraid, it was obvious. He didn’t reply for moment. He shot me a furtive glance.
“Can I have a look? At the diary?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. Anyway, I didn’t bring it with me.”
“Then how do I even know it exists? You could be lying.”
“I’m not lying. But you were—you lied to me, Paul. Why?”
“It’s none of your business, that’s why.”
“I’m afraid it is my business. Alicia’s well-being is my concern.”
“Her well-being has got nothing to do with it. I didn’t hurt her.”
“I never said you did.”
“Well, then.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
Paul shrugged. “It’s a long story.” He hesitated, then gave in. He spoke quickly, breathlessly. I sensed his relief at finally telling someone. “I was in a bad way. I had a problem, you know—I was gambling and borrowing money, and not able to pay it back. I needed some cash to … to put everyone straight.”
“And so you asked Alicia? Did she give you the money?”
“What does the diary say?”
“It doesn’t.”
Paul hesitated, then shook his head. “No, she didn’t give me anything. She said she couldn’t afford to.”
Again he was lying. Why?
“How did you get the money, then?”
“I—I took it out of my savings. I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us—I don’t want my mother to find out.”
“I don’t think there’s any reason to involve Lydia in this.”
“Really?” Some color came back into Paul’s expression. He looked more hopeful. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“Did Alicia ever tell you she suspected she was being watched?”
Paul lowered his glass and gave me a puzzled look. I could see she hadn’t. “Watched? What do you mean?”
I told him the story I had read in the diary—about Alicia’s suspicions she was being watched by a stranger, and finally her fears that she was under attack in her own home.
Paul shook his head. “She wasn’t right in the head.”
“You think she imagined it?”
“Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it?” Paul shrugged. “You don’t think someone was stalking her? I mean, I suppose it’s possible—”
“Yes, it is possible. So I presume she said nothing to you about it?”
“Not a word. But Alicia and I never talked much, you know. She was always pretty silent. We all were, as a family. I remember Alicia saying how weird it was—she’d go to friends’ houses and see other families laugh and joke and have conversations about things, and our house was so silent. We never talked. Apart from my mum, giving orders.”
“And what about Alicia’s father? Vernon? What was he like?”
“Vernon didn’t really talk much. He wasn’t right in the head—not after Eva died. He was never the same after that. Neither was Alicia, come to that.”
“That reminds me. There was something I wanted to ask you—something Tanya mentioned to me.”
“Tanya Berenson? You spoke to her?”
“Only briefly. She suggested I talk to you.”
“Tanya did?” Paul’s cheeks colored. “I—I don’t know her well, but she’s always been very kind to me. She’s a good, very good person. She visited me and Mum a couple of times.” A smile appeared on Paul’s lips and he looked far away for a moment.
He has a crush on her, I thought. I wondered how Max felt about that.
“What did Tanya say?” he asked.
“She suggested I ask you about something—that happened the night after the car accident. She didn’t go into detail.”
“Yes, I know what she means—I told her during the trial. I asked her not tell to anyone.”
“She didn’t tell me. It’s up to you to tell me. If you wish to. Of course, if you don’t want to…”
Paul drained his pint and shrugged. “It’s probably nothing, but—it might help you understand Alicia. She…” He hesitated and fell silent.
“Go on.”
“Alicia … the first thing Alicia did, when she got home from the hospital—they kept her in for a night after the crash—was she climbed up onto the roof of the house. I did too. We sat up there all night, pretty much. We used to go there all the time, Alicia and me. It was our secret place.”
“On the roof?”
Paul hesitated. He looked at me for a second, deliberating. He made a decision.
“Come on.” He stood up. “I’ll show you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE HOUSE WAS IN DARKNESS as we approached.
“Here it is,” Paul said. “Follow me.”
An iron ladder was attached to the side of the house. We made our way over to it. The mud was frozen beneath our feet, sculpted into hard ripples and ridges. Without waiting for me, Paul started climbing up.
It was getting colder by the minute. I was wondering if this was such a good idea. I followed him and gripped the first rung—icy and slippery. It was overgrown with some kind of climbing plant; ivy, perhaps.
I made my way up, rung by rung. By the time I reached the top, my fingers were numb and the wind was slashing my face. I climbed over, onto the roof. Paul was waiting for me, grinning in an excited, adolescent way. The razor-thin moon hung above us; the rest was darkness.
Suddenly Paul rushed at me, a strange expression on his face. I felt a flicker of panic as his arm reached out toward me—I swerved to avoid it, but he grabbed hold of me. For a terrifying second I thought he was going to throw me off the roof.
Instead he pulled me toward him. “You’re too close to the edge. Stay in the middle here. It’s safer.”
I nodded, catching my breath. This was a bad idea. I didn’t feel remotely safe around Paul. I was about to suggest climbing down again—then he pulled out his cigarettes and offered me one. I hesitated, then I accepted. My fingers were shaking as I took out my lighter and lit the cigarettes.
We stood there and smoked in silence for a moment.
“This is where we would sit. Alicia and me. Every day, pretty much.”
“How old were you?”
“I was about seven, maybe eight. Alicia couldn’t have been more than ten.”
“You were a bit young to be climbing ladders.”
“I suppose so. Seemed normal to us. When we were teenagers, we’d come up and smoke and drink beers.”
I tried to picture a teenage Alicia, hiding from her father and her bullying aunt; Paul, her adoring younger cousin, following up the ladder, pestering her when she’d much rather be silent, alone with her thoughts.
“It’s a good hiding place,” I said.
Paul nodded. “Uncle Vernon couldn’t make it up the ladder. He had a big build, like Mum.”
“I could barely make it up myself. That ivy is a death trap.”
“It’s not ivy, it’s jasmine.” Paul looked at the green vines that curled over the top of the ladder. “No flowers yet—not until the spring. Smells like perfume then, when there’s a lot of it.” He seemed lost in a memory for a moment. “Funny that.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “The things you remember … I just was thinking about the jasmine—it was in full bloom that day, the day of the accident, when Eva was killed.”
I looked around. “You and Alicia came up here together, you said?”
He nodded. “Mum and Uncle Vernon were looking for us down there. We could hear them calling. But we didn’t say a word. We stayed hiding. And that’s when it happened.”
He stubbed out his cigarette and gave me an odd smile. “That’s why I brought you here. So you can see it—the scene of the crime.”
“The crime?”
Paul didn’t answer, just kept grinning at me.
“What crime, Paul?”
“Vernon’s crime. Uncle Vernon wasn’t a good man, you see. No, not at all.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Well, that’s when he did it.”
“Did what?”
“That’s when he killed Alicia.”
I stared at Paul, unable to believe my ears. “Killed Alicia? What are you talking about?”
Paul pointed at the ground below. “Uncle Vernon was down there with Mum. He was drunk. Mum kept trying to get him to go back inside. But he stood down there, yelling for Alicia. He was so angry with her. He was so mad.”
“Because Alicia was hiding? But—she was a child—her mother had just died.”
“He was a mean bastard. The only person he ever cared about was Auntie Eva. I suppose that’s why he said it.”
“Did what?” I was losing patience. “I don’t understand what you’re saying to me. What exactly happened?”
“Vernon was going on about how much he loved Eva—how he couldn’t live without her. ‘My girl,’ he kept saying, ‘my poor girl, my Eva … Why did she have to die? Why did it have to be her? Why didn’t Alicia die instead?’”
I stared at Paul for a second, stunned. I wasn’t sure I understood. “‘Why didn’t Alicia die instead?’”
“That’s what he said.”
“Alicia heard this?”
“Yeah. And Alicia whispered something to me—I’ll never forget it. ‘He killed me,’ she said. ‘Dad just—killed me.’”
I stared at Paul, speechless. A chorus of bells started ringing in my head, clanging, chiming, reverberating. This was what I’d been looking for. I’d found it, the missing piece of the jigsaw, at last—here on a roof in Cambridge.
* * *
All the way back to London, I kept thinking about the implications of what I had heard. I understood now why Alcestis had struck a chord with Alicia. Just as Admetus had physically condemned Alcestis to die, so had Vernon Rose psychically condemned his daughter to death. Admetus must have loved Alcestis, on some level, but there was no love in Vernon Rose, just hate. He had committed psychic infanticide—and Alicia knew it.
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