The Predator

by Michael Ridpath

  They paused when they reached the summit. The young setter was heading full speed for the Highgate duck ponds, leaving his master striding rapidly down the hill after him.

  'I wonder who is taking who for a walk,' said Megan.

  'The dog's certainly having fun,' Chris said.

  The setter stopped abruptly, and turned back towards his master, at a lope, tongue hanging out, tail wagging, oblivious of the curses raining down on him.

  'This must be dog heaven,' said Megan, looking round at the four-legged creatures of all shapes and sizes going about their Saturday-morning business.

  'Did you ever have one?' Chris asked.

  'Yes,' Megan smiled. 'He was a very fat basset-hound called Beau. Hills weren't really his thing. His two favourite pastimes were eating and lying in front of the TV with his eyes shut. I loved him, though. He died when I was twelve. I cried and cried.'

  They made their way down the northern slope of the hill towards the centre of Hampstead Heath, their shoes crunching through the dusting of ice.

  'Did the Czech police have any idea who might have killed Lenka?' Megan asked.

  'Funny, I was just thinking about that,' said Chris. 'They hadn't much of a clue when I first spoke to them, but that was right after it had happened. I haven't heard anything from them since.'

  'Do you think this man Marcus might have had anything to do with it?'

  'Possible, I suppose. It's hard to say when we don't know who he is or what Lenka wanted to say to him.'

  'It's odd that in the week Alex's death resurfaces Lenka should be killed.'

  'Yes,' said Chris. 'It is.' They walked on in silence together, both thinking. 'Let's say that you were right and Lenka was telling this man Marcus what really happened. Why would he want to know?'

  'Perhaps he's a cop?'

  'Doesn't sound like one,' said Chris. 'If he was, you'd expect him to be waving a badge around. And he wouldn't use his Christian name. If it is his Christian name.'

  'Private investigator? Maybe he was hired by Bloomfield Weiss?'

  'Possible. Or perhaps he's a journalist?'

  Megan winced. 'That would be bad. The last thing we need is all that dredged up in the papers.'

  'It would make a good story though. "Investment Bankers Cover Up Ten-Year-Old Murder on Boat."'

  'It wasn't a murder.'

  'It would be after the newspapers got at it.'

  'I think what Lenka's neighbour said about Duncan sounds pretty creepy,' Megan said.

  'That's nothing,' Chris said. That's just Duncan.'

  'Hanging around women's apartments isn't nothing,' Megan replied fiercely.

  'But Duncan has always had a thing about Lenka.'

  'Yeah. And now she's dead.'

  'What are you suggesting?'

  'I'm just saying. It sounds pretty creepy.'

  Chris had to admit she had a point. 'OK. Let's say it does. But I know Duncan. He might follow Lenka, he might even pester her, but she would be the last person in the world he would kill. When I told him about her he was devastated.'

  Megan sighed. 'I'm not accusing him of killing her. But someone did.'

  'Yes, someone did.'

  'Do you think we should tell the police about this?' Megan said.

  'About Duncan?'

  'Maybe.'

  'No. He's a friend of mine and I don't want to get him into trouble needlessly.'

  'What about the mysterious Marcus?'

  'Hmm.' Chris thought it over. 'The problem is, if we tell them about Marcus, we have to tell them about the e-mail, and about Alex. And I don't think that's a good idea. We could still get into a lot of trouble about it all. Besides, perhaps the Czech police have some good leads in Prague. Who knows, maybe they've arrested someone.'

  'I doubt it, don't you?'

  'Yes,' said Chris. 'I do. I was planning to call Lenka's parents this afternoon. I'll ask if they've heard anything from the police. But I think if anyone is going to find out why Lenka died, it has to be us.'

  'But what can we do?' asked Megan.

  'Try to find out who this Marcus is. Talk to him. Find out what Ian knows.'

  'And check up on Duncan.'

  'And check up on Duncan,' Chris repeated. 'I can also ask Eric whether he has any ideas when I see him tomorrow evening. He usually has a good take on things.'

  'He does,' said Megan.

  They walked on.

  'What happened between you and him?' Chris asked.

  Megan glanced at Chris, as though she were trying to decide whether to tell him. In the end, she seemed to make up her mind. 'We split up. A year after your training programme.'

  'Why?'

  'I still don't know,' Megan replied. 'Or at least, I probably do know, but I don't want to believe it. At first he said it just wasn't practical living so far apart, which was why I arranged to move to New York. Then he said we were becoming different people: he had his life, and I had mine. I didn't understand that. I was devastated. I tried to change his mind, but I knew there was no point. If Eric decides he wants to do something, he does it, and there's not much you can do about it.'

  'A bit like Lenka,' Chris said.

  'I suppose. The thing is, two months later he met another woman. Cassie.'

  'She's some high-society type, isn't she?'

  'Yes. She's also beautiful and intelligent, and very charming. I was as jealous as hell of her. They got married a year later, as you probably know.'

  'I heard.'

  'I think I just wasn't good enough for Eric'

  That's a bit harsh, isn't it?'

  Megan shot Chris an angry glance. This was clearly something she had been thinking about a lot over the years. 'My father ran the five-and-dime in Oneonta, upstate New York. This town is small. Fourteen thousand people and fifty-four churches. You have to drive seventy miles to Albany for your thrills. I have no money, no influence. I'd be no use to Eric. But Cassie . . . Cassie's different.'

  'I'm sure Eric wouldn't be bothered by someone's background,' said Chris. Eric had always struck him as too sensible to spend the rest of his life with someone just because of how rich they were. Besides, Eric was quite capable of making his own money.

  'Oh, no?' said Megan. 'It's not just that Cassie knows everyone. Nor that she's the perfect successful banker's wife. Do you know who her father is?'

  'No,' said Chris, regretting now that he had contradicted Megan on such a sensitive subject.

  'He's a Republican Senator. As was her grandfather. And her uncle was in the Reagan Administration.'

  'Ah.'

  'So, when Eric makes his move into politics, the whole family will be there to smooth the way for him.'

  'I see. But do you think Eric will do that? I mean, he's doing so well at Bloomfield Weiss, why would he want to pack it in?'

  'Oh, I'm sure Eric wants to do that. He's wanted to all his life. It's the kind of ambition that doesn't go away. I'd bet on it. He'll make his move one day, probably one day soon.'

  'Do you still see him?'

  'I tried for a few months. You know, we were "just good friends". He did a good job of it too, which infuriated me. But I couldn't stand it. I hated him. And I hated her. She was always so damned nice all the time. Every time I saw him for a normal social occasion I'd come back mad, and it would take me a week to recover. So I stopped. I was invited to the wedding, but I didn't go. I haven't seen him for eight years now.'

  They walked on. They were in a quiet part of the Heath now, amongst gnarled old oak trees, whose bare branches intertwined like old women's fingers over their heads.

  'He was a fool, you know,' said Chris. 'To let you go.'

  Megan glanced at him. 'Thank you,' she said.

  Chris waited in the bar of the Lanesborough, drinking a gin and tonic. It didn't quite seem the place for a pint of bitter. Book-lined walls, dark wood, leather chairs and sofas, crystal glasses, a fire: the place oozed wealth and comfort. It was heaving with aged American tourists, cigar-smoking busi
nessmen, and a group of men in black tie there for some function or other. Chris was glad he had changed out of his jeans into trousers and a sports jacket. But he still felt underdressed.

  He had taken Megan to King's Cross the day before and said goodbye to her. He also called Lenka's parents, and in a slow stilted conversation, he suggested that they should get a solicitor to sort out Lenka's affairs in London since her estate could certainly afford one. He asked them how the police investigation was going. They said that the police had questioned a local criminal with ties to the Ukrainian mafia, but that they had had to let him go again. Or at least that's what Chris thought Lenka's father had said; it was difficult to be sure. One thing he was sure of was that Lenka's funeral would be on Wednesday. Chris planned to go, and so did Megan. He called Duncan, who said he would come. A Czech funeral in February promised to be a grim affair. But at least Megan would be there.

  He thought about Marcus. Who could he be? Lenka had said that he had a 'right' to know the truth about Alex's death. Who could have a 'right' to know? That didn't fit policemen or private investigators and it especially didn't fit journalists. It had to be someone with a closer link to Alex. Friend? Relation?

  Suddenly, Chris knew the answer. It should be easy enough to check: Eric would be able to confirm it.

  'Hey, Chris, how are you?'

  It was the man himself, wearing a blazer, shirt and tie, and looking totally at ease in the surroundings. Like Ian, he gave the impression of experience and authority beyond his years, but unlike Ian, he wore it in a relaxed, self-confident way.

  'I'm all right. And you?'

  Eric perched on a stool next to Chris. 'It's crazy. But it's always crazy. I've just done my calculations for the IRS. Do you know I spent one hundred and forty-three days out of the country last year?'

  'All on business?'

  'All but four of them. We were supposed to have a vacation in Bermuda for a week, but I got called back early. Cassie was mad as hell, and I don't blame her. But I guess I like things this way.' He ordered a kir from the barman. 'It's been what? Over a year?'

  'Almost. It was just after Lenka and I had started Carpathian. We all met up for dinner at that place in Chelsea.'

  'I remember,' said Eric, smiling. Then the smile disappeared. 'I'm very sorry about Lenka. You were there when it happened, I hear?'

  Chris sighed. 'That's right. I still dream about it at night. I don't think I'll forget about it for a long time.' Involuntarily he looked down at his hands. Eric noticed.

  'Messy, was it?'

  Chris nodded. For some reason, at that moment, he almost fell apart. He had spent so long telling people about Lenka in as dispassionate a way as he could, that he had almost succeeded in persuading himself that he hadn't really been there. But now, with Eric, he knew he had, and it all rushed back at him. He felt his eyes sting.

  He swallowed. 'I'm sorry,' he said.

  'That's OK,' said Eric softly. 'I can't imagine what it was like.'

  'It's not an experience I'd want to repeat,' said Chris. 'How did you hear about it?'

  'It's all over Bloomfield Weiss. Did they catch the guy who did it?'

  'Apparently not. The police questioned someone in Prague last week, but they had to let him go. I'm not sure whether they've got any other leads.'

  'Lenka was an extraordinary woman,' Eric said. 'I'll never forget her on the training programme. She added something, don't you think? Colour. Spontaneity. Spirit. Do you remember when she took on Waldern, after he'd bullied that Italian woman, what was her name?'

  'Carla. Yes, I remember.'

  'First Alex and now Lenka.' Eric shuddered.

  'Speaking of Alex,' Chris said. 'He had a brother, didn't he? Do you remember his name?'

  'As a matter of fact I do. Marcus.'

  'I thought so!' said Chris in triumph.

  'In fact, he tried to get in touch with me in New York a few weeks ago. He said he wanted to talk to me about Alex's death. I wouldn't see him. He was pretty upset about it, according to my assistant, but I thought it would be hard to talk to him without giving anything away.'

  'That was probably wise,' said Chris.

  'Have you spoken to him?'

  'No, but Lenka did.' Chris told Eric all about Lenka's meeting with Marcus, and her subsequent e-mails to him.

  'God,' said Eric. 'Do you know what she said? Do you think she told him what really happened?'

  'I don't know,' said Chris. 'But if she didn't, it certainly sounds as though she meant to.'

  'That could be awkward if he goes to the police.'

  'I know,' said Chris. He was struck by an unpleasant thought. 'Christ, what will we do if the police ask questions?'

  Eric thought for a second. 'If the police ask, don't say anything. It was a US crime, so it will be American jurisdiction. I don't know how it is in this country, but in the States they can't force you to incriminate yourself. In fact, better yet, give me a call, and I'll get you a good American lawyer. You'd better tell Ian and Duncan that as well.'

  'And Megan,' said Chris.

  'Megan?' said Eric in surprise. 'Have you seen Megan?'

  'Yes. She came to our office last week. She was supposed to be staying with Lenka. They'd become good friends, apparently.'

  'Really?' said Eric. 'How is she? I always liked that woman, you know.'

  'I think she liked you too,' said Chris.

  'Yes, well.' For a moment Eric looked uncharacteristically flustered. 'Actually, I haven't seen her for years. What's she doing now?'

  'She's studying medieval history at the University of Chicago. She's spending the next six months at Cambridge researching her dissertation for her PhD, I think.'

  'Good. Well, say hi to her from me if you see her again.'

  'I will.'

  Eric frowned. 'I think we did the right thing about Alex. I mean, Duncan would have been prosecuted, I'm sure, and that would have been wrong. Provided we all stick together and don't admit to anything, we'll be OK. It's a long time ago.'

  'I think we did the right thing, too. Besides, we don't know what Lenka said to Marcus, let alone how he'll react to it. I'm going to the States next week and I'd like to get in touch with him. Do you have his phone number, or address or anything? I've only got his e-mail address.'

  'I don't know,' said Eric. 'I doubt it. I can check when I get back to New York, if you like. But I suspect my assistant jotted his number down on a scrap of paper and threw it away when I told her I didn't want to talk to him. He shouldn't be too difficult to find, though. Marcus Lubron can't be a common name.'

  'Did you ever meet him when Alex was alive?'

  'No. If you remember, he was travelling. Skiing in the winter, and sailing in the summer, I think. He didn't even come back for Alex's funeral. I don't think Alex's mother could get hold of him in time. By the way, did you know she died a month later?'

  'No, I didn't. I do remember she was awfully ill.'

  'Poor Alex.'

  They both drank in silence.

  'Anyway, how's your fund doing?' Eric asked. 'What's it called again? Carpathian?'

  'That's right. We had a solid start. Twenty-nine per cent return in the first nine months.'

  Eric raised his eyebrows. 'That's more than solid. That's damn good.'

  Chris smiled. He lapped up the praise. Eric was one of the few people he wanted to impress, and he was proud of what he and Lenka had achieved.

  'But we've run into one or two problems since Lenka died.'

  'Oh.'

  'Do you remember Rudy Moss?'

  'Rudy Moss. I certainly do. The fat guy with the pointy nose. Didn't he leave Bloomfield Weiss a few years ago?'

  'Yeah. He joined Amalgamated Veterans Life. Where he invested in our fund. Until last week. He said he'd take his money out now Lenka was gone.'

  'No? I always knew he was a jerk.'

  'He is,' Chris confirmed. 'The problem is the market's down and Lenka took a big position in a Bloomfield Weiss deal that
turns out to be a dog.'

  'Let me guess . . . Eureka Telecom?'

  'That's the one. You didn't have anything to do with that deal, did you?' asked Chris.

  'Oh, no. It's my group, though. I do international telecoms M&A. It's a hot area. But Eureka Telecom is a bit small for me.'

  'Really?' said Chris. 'I knew you were in M&A, but I'd forgotten which sector. Maybe you can help.'

  Eric stiffened. 'I don't know about that.'

  'You see, Ian told Lenka something quite interesting before she bought the bonds. He said there was a good chance that Eureka Telecom would be taken over by Radaphone. Since then, the deal has crapped out. Is there any chance that might be true?'

  'Whoa, Chris,' said Eric. 'That question blasts through about fifteen internal procedures, half a dozen regulations and a couple of Chinese walls.'

  'But Eric. As a mate. I really need the help. Just a clue.'

  'No, Chris. These rules apply especially to mates. And definitely no clues. And don't assume from that that I know anything, OK? Also, Ian was way out of line telling Lenka that, whether it's true or not.'

  'Sorry,' said Chris. 'I suppose I shouldn't have asked you. Forget it. It's just that it does worry me.'

  'Forgotten,' said Eric. 'But I suggest we stay well clear of the topic in future.'

  'Agreed. So how's your business going?'

  'Pretty good,' said Eric. 'We did the Luxtel–Morrison Infotainment deal last year. And the Deutsche Mobilcom–Cablefrance deal. In fact, we're number one in telecoms advisory worldwide. And as I said, it's a hot place to be.'

  'You're one of the top producers, I take it?'

  'I took over the group at the beginning of last year.'

  'Oh.' Chris thought about that. At thirty-three, Eric was running probably the most profitable Mergers and Acquisitions group in the world. He must have got a good bonus last year. A bonus in the tens of millions of dollars. Chris was so tempted to ask, but decided against it.

  Eric was watching him. He knew what he was thinking. He gave a tiny smile.

  'I always thought you'd do well,' said Chris. 'So well, that I think you can afford to buy me another drink.'

  'I'd like to, but I'm supposed to be going out to dinner with some clients in a couple of minutes. But look, you said you were coming to the States soon?'