Emily leaned forward, already knowing how this story ended. “And Damien attacked you?”
“Not right away. I ran for it, expecting to be tackled to the ground. I assumed his girlfriend had stopped him. But he was just biding his time. He waited a couple of days, until I thought I was safe. Then he tracked me down one evening. I’d had a few drinks in the student bar; not enough to get drunk but enough to let my guard down. Damien followed me. He waited until I was alone, then he jumped me.
“I don’t remember much after that. I recall him straddling me. I remember his words. He said: ‘No one gives me the middle finger without getting one back.’ He snapped my fingers with his bare hands. The rest is just images. Blurs. I woke up in hospital. There were police, waiting to question me, wanting me to identify my attacker. I gave them that asshole’s name and hoped that he’d rot in prison.”
Emily wrinkled her forehead and stared at Becky’s notebook. “I don’t understand. Damien Harris wasn’t charged.”
“That’s not strictly true,” Michael said. “The police arrested him. He was interrogated. DNA samples were taken. The police were confident he’d be going down for assault.”
“So, what happened?”
“I refused to press charges.”
Emily was aghast. “Why would you do that? He beat you to a pulp. He destroyed your career before it had even begun.”
Michael folded his arms over his chest. He was quiet for a long while, the frown on his brow burrowing deeper with each passing second.
“While I was convalescing in hospital, I was visited by Damien’s father. He begged me not to press charges against his son. He said that Damien was a very troubled young man who needed help. Prison would only set him down a dark road. He blamed himself for a lot of his son’s behaviour. He and Damien’s mother were divorced, you see. He’d walked out on the family when Damien was eleven.”
“That doesn’t excuse what his son did to you,” Emily said, thinking of her own absent father; the difference being she had never met hers. “And it doesn’t explain why you dropped the charges.”
“Damien’s father offered to pay for private medical treatment. I accepted his offer; it was the only way I could I could save my hands and my career. Damien’s father drew up a contract. I was sworn to secrecy. And I kept my secret until the day your friend showed up.”
Emily leaned back, a maelstrom of conflicting emotions clashing in her head.
“Did Damien’s father keep his word?” she asked.
Michael raised his hand and fanned out his fingers. “The surgeon set them perfectly. But I didn’t anticipate the arthritis that followed. By then it was too late. I’d been paid thousands of pounds and I’d signed a contract promising my silence.”
“And why break that contract now? What was Becky doing here?”
“She wanted to know the same thing you’re asking yourself now.”
Emily caught her breath. “Who is Damien’s father?”
“Do you know what people love?” Michael leaned forward, smiling as he clasped his trembling hands together. “People love a good scandal. It doesn’t matter whether the facts are substantiated or not, once the rumour mill gets going, it’s very, very difficult to stop. Reputations are destroyed. Lives are ruined. Even if those rumours prove to be unfounded.”
“What are you saying?” Emily’s mind raced. Becky had learned about Michael and his purchased silence, then she had discovered who Damien’s father was. But what had she done with that information?
Emily looked up, her eyes suddenly wide.
Across the room, Michael’s lips parted into a cruel grin.
“I smell blackmail,” he said.
18
EMILY WAITED UNTIL she’d exited the train to call Charlotte. It was just past midday and the high street was busy with shoppers. Bored teenagers hung out in the town square, idling on benches and riding skateboards. Above their heads the sky was liquid blue.
“Emily, where are you? I’m leaving in two hours. You said you’d be here.”
Breaking into a sweat, Emily shrugged off her jacket. “I know and I’m sorry. I’m on my way back right now.”
A loud crash deafened Emily’s ear and was followed by a round of expletives.
“Great, I’ll leave all the heavy lifting for you,” Charlotte said, her voice dripping with suspicion. “Where have you been? Did you go and see Michael Nowak?”
Leaving the square, Emily headed down a cobbled street, passing a vegan cafe and an antique shop. “Yes, I did.”
“Jesus, Em. What are you doing? You should be here studying.”
“I thought I was meant to be lifting boxes.”
“You know what I mean.” Charlotte paused. “What was he like?”
“Bitter. Understandably so, given the circumstances.”
“And what are the circumstances?”
Emily glanced over her shoulder at a couple walking behind, their hands linked and their arms swinging. “I’ll tell you when I get home.”
“And when will that be?”
“Thirty minutes. I need to do something first.”
Hanging up, Emily reached the end of the street, then slid to a halt as she contemplated her next move.
The campus was a ten-minute walk from here. It being Saturday, the place would be a ghost town. The police station was three streets away to her right. She could deliver the information she’d learned from Michael Nowak to PC Andrews, or to one of his colleagues. But would they act upon it? As far as they were concerned, Becky Briar was an adult with a legal entitlement to disappear. What would they do with this new information? It certainly didn’t point to Becky’s whereabouts, and even if it did, the information was only hearsay. Michael Nowak would never come forward.
“Screw it,” Emily muttered under her breath, then headed towards the campus.
As expected, the place was almost empty, with only a handful of students milling about. Emily kept her head down and her jaw clamped shut as she strode past the Education department. Reaching the Administration block, she came to a halt. She watched the entrance for a full minute and wondered what the hell she was doing here.
Putting your career at risk, that’s what.
Inside, the reception desk was empty. She could hear the hum of electricity, the blop of rising bubbles in the water cooler. She thought about calling out but changed her mind.
Hurrying past the reception desk, she headed towards the vice chancellor’s office and pressed her ear to the door.
Silence.
Shooting one last glance over her shoulder, she tried the handle. The door popped open. Emily stepped inside.
Her heart was already pounding inside her chest, but now it drummed even louder. Leaving the door open, she reached the centre of the room and turned a full circle, glancing at the empty armchair that Bill Creed had sat in, then at the space in front of the window. Memories of yesterday’s meeting played in her mind, reigniting sparks of anger.
Vice Chancellor Eriksson’s large mahogany desk was busy but neatly arranged. A wall of bookshelves stood behind it, filled with encyclopaedias, almanacs, yearbooks, and framed photographs. A coat stand stood in the far corner, thankfully empty.
Emily headed straight to the bookshelves and examined the photographs. One was of Eriksson shaking hands with the town mayor. Another showed him meeting the previous prime minister.
There was just one photograph of his family, taken in a leafy garden. Eriksson was dressed in smart casual wear. He stared at the camera indignantly with his head tipped back. Standing beside him was a stern faced woman of similar age. His wife, Emily presumed. Joining the couple was a thin girl who looked much younger than she was dressed. Her clothes were expensive, her jewellery definitely not costume. Like her father, she stared at the camera in defiance.
Happy families, Emily thought, then returned her attention to the Vice Chancellor’s desk.
She began with the filing tray. A quick shuffle through the papers r
evealed work-related documents but nothing relevant. A small framed photograph of a black and white border collie sat beside the telephone, a great, slathering tongue lolling from its mouth. Emily’s eyes moved down to the drawers.
There were three in total. The first contained headed university notepaper and several foil strips of antihistamines. The middle drawer contained yet more documents, plus a thick, black diary. Emily quickly leafed through the pages. All the appointments inside were work-related: board meetings, patron meetings, student and lecturer appointments, business and charity dinners. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Emily tried the final drawer. Peering inside, she raised an eyebrow. So, even Vice Chancellors kept a junk drawer. She made fast work of sifting through loose stationery, paper clips, boxes of staplers, and packets of tissues. But then her fingernails caught on something at the bottom. Carefully, she fished it out.
A rush of adrenaline pulsed through Emily’s veins. In her hand was a crumpled photograph. It had been taken several summers ago. Vice Chancellor Eriksson wore a navy polo shirt and khaki shorts. He was down on one knee and smiling at the camera. It was a genuine smile, Emily thought. Standing next to him, leaning into the crook of his arm, was a young boy. He was thin-framed, with a mop of blonde hair that fell across his brow. Soft brown eyes peeked out from beneath, regarding the camera with an expression somewhere between curiosity and wariness.
Emily glanced up from the picture and stared at the framed photograph on the shelf. Two different families from two different times: one on display for the world to see, the other concealed at the bottom of a junk drawer like a dirty secret.
She felt a sudden pity for Damien Harris. Is this what could happen when your father ran out on you? She’d never known her own father. Her mother had said he’d left the day he’d found out she was pregnant. Emily didn’t even know his name, or if he was alive or dead. “What’s the point of knowing,” her mother would tell her each time she asked, “when he’d rather you didn’t exist?” Eventually, Emily had decided she couldn’t miss someone she’d never met and had stopped asking about him.
But for Damien, his father had been there for the first part of his life, and judging by the photograph, there had been a strong bond between them. Then Eriksson had disappeared. What kind of emotional damage had that inflicted on the boy? Had his father’s departure been the catalyst for a life fuelled by anger and bitterness, a desire to do wrong?
Emily stared into young Damien Harris’s eyes and saw only innocence.
Then a smell reached her nose. She sniffed, instantly recognising the rich aroma of coffee.
Emily caught her breath.
Vice Chancellor Eriksson stood in the doorway, a steaming polystyrene cup in one hand, his jaw slackening like marshmallow.
The two were frozen, staring at each other.
Eriksson was the first to speak. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police immediately and have you arrested for breaking and entering.”
He remained in the doorway, his eyes flitting between Emily’s face and the photograph in her hand.
“The door was open,” Emily said. Her throat had dried up, making her voice small and thin. “And I didn’t break anything.”
Eriksson made no move to enter the room but stood blocking the only exit. Emily’s eyes flitted to the window and back to the Vice Chancellor.
“I told you to leave things alone.” Now Eriksson did enter the room, shutting the door behind him. “I told you to concentrate on your exams.”
The desk was all that stood between them. Eriksson set down his coffee. He held out his hand, nodding at the photograph. Emily gave it to him and watched as he regarded it for a moment, his face softening. Tenderness filled his eyes. Then it was gone. Wrapping his fingers around the photograph, Eriksson crushed it into a ball.
“What do you think you’re doing, Emily?” he said.
Emily was silent, watching his every move.
“Are you hoping to continue where that malicious bitch left off?” His eyes flashed dangerously.
Emily took a small step back. “No. That’s – I’m not that kind of person. I’m just trying to find out the truth.”
Vice Chancellor Eriksson laughed. “The truth? About what a terrible father I am? About how a guilty conscience can lead you to make all kinds of questionable decisions? Is that it? Or would you like to know the truth about your so-called friend, Rebecca Briar? A devious, manipulative little slut who played my son for a fool. Who then attempted to blackmail me when her actions came back to bite her. That’s who your friend was, Emily. A liar and a crook; someone whose interests lay with her own personal gain. You think someone like that is worth saving? You think she would care that you’re going to such lengths as breaking the law in your quest to help her? I guarantee with utmost certainty that your name is already a whisper on the wind. Noise. Why risk a promising career for someone who has already forgotten that you exist?”
Emily glanced down at the desk. A silver letter opener with a sharp blade lay in the filing tray.
“Becky’s not like that,” she said. “She’s in trouble. She needs help. Your son has seen to that.”
“My son is an idiot, who is now in police custody thanks to your efforts.”
“Nothing to do with the fact he sells drugs to students on campus. Or the fact he has a temper he can’t control. But I hear you already know about that.”
Anger flashed in Eriksson’s eyes. Emily flinched, shocked at the words spilling from her mouth. This was the Vice Chancellor she was speaking to — a man who could take everything she’d worked for and crush it like the photograph still clamped in his fist.
Eriksson glared at her. For a long time, he said nothing. Outside, a brightly coloured jay fluttered down to roost on the hedge. Eriksson crossed the room and stared at it.
“Tell me Emily, what do you think you know?”
Open space stood between Emily and the door. It would be easy to run. But her curiosity was piqued.
“I know Becky found out you were Damien’s father,” she said. “And that you paid off the boy he almost beat to death.”
“Michael Nowak,” Eriksson spat. “That little prick can expect a visit from my lawyer.”
“You manipulated him when he was at his most vulnerable.”
“He signed a contract.”
“He was scared he would never play the piano again. You intimidated him.”
Eriksson glared at her, his pupils large and round like two black holes.
“You’ve spoken to him, haven’t you?” he said. “Just like that bitch. Once she’d learned about our agreement, she thought she could play me just like she played my son. She came here last week, demanding money. Boasting that she could have my son and I arrested with a snap of her fingers unless I gave her ten grand. That was the cost of her silence.”
“And you paid it?”
“I had no choice. My relationship with Damien was frayed at best. He’d never forgiven me for walking out on him and his mother, for starting a new life and a new family. I tried to fit him in as much as I could — weekends, birthdays — but he failed to understand the responsibilities that my work brought, or how much of my time it devoured. When he enrolled here as an undergraduate, I was shocked. I’d thought he’d wanted nothing more to do with me. Foolishly, I hoped he perhaps wanted to reconcile our relationship.
“When I discovered his activities on campus, I was furious. I threatened to have him removed immediately. He told me he would go to the trustees and reveal his identity, tell them that I knew exactly what he was doing. Reluctantly, we came to an arrangement — his discretion in return for mine. It was an uneasy agreement, but it worked. Michael Nowak was a bump in the road, but one that I smoothed over.
“Then came Rebecca Briar, threatening to ruin everything. She knew Damien was my son, that I’d been allowing him to conduct his business. But she told me the money was to help her make a fresh start, that she was leaving town and
had no intention of returning. Ten thousand was a drop in the ocean if it meant I’d never see her again.”
“What about Sunday night?” Emily asked, eyes fixed on the Eriksson. “Damien drove her out to Beaumont House. Why?”
The Vice Chancellor laughed. “Do you really think someone as calculating and opportunistic as Rebecca Briar would stop at blackmailing me?”
“You mean, she. . ?”
“The world of politics is a savage arena, Emily. Difficult decisions must be made if one wants to rise up and lead. I suspect your friend discovered one of those difficult decisions while snooping around Beaumont House. That evening, she came to collect one last time, promising to return the money she owed Damien before she left for good.”
Piece by piece, the events were assembling themselves in Emily’s head, but she was still having trouble believing that Becky was capable of such underhand and malicious actions, no matter how much the evidence spoke for itself.
“You and Councillor Beaumont knew of each other’s dealings with Becky?”
“A week before her disappearance, I received a panicked phone call from Councillor Beaumont,” Eriksson said. “He was terrified his reputation would be destroyed if his indiscretions were made public.”
“And what were those indiscretions?”
“It’s not my business to ask. What you need to understand is that people like myself and Councillor Beaumont, we are placed in positions of power and respect, and we must always look out for each other because there will always be those who want to do us harm.”
“Someone like Becky Briar.”
“Or perhaps, someone like you.”
Vice Chancellor Eriksson moved quickly, planting himself between Emily and the door.
Wish Me Dead Page 7
