'I see what you mean,' said Duncan. 'But we can't sit around doing nothing, waiting for someone else to die. What about Lenka? And Ian and Alex? If Eric killed them, we can't let him get away with it.'
'I don't know what else we can do,' said Chris.
'I do,' said Duncan, determination in his voice.
'No, Duncan,' said Chris. 'I know I was wrong to think that you stabbed Ian, but I wasn't wrong that that would be a stupid thing to do. You'd get caught. Killing people is wrong, Duncan, even when it's someone like Eric.'
'I admire your moral scruples, Chris. But if we don't do something about it, he'll kill us all anyway.'
Chris knew Duncan was right. 'OK, OK. Perhaps we should go to the police. It's a risk, but as you say, so is doing nothing. I want to talk to Megan about it before we do, though. I'm seeing her this evening.'
'Why do you need to talk to her?'
'Because she's in just as much danger as we are if Eric finds out what we're doing.'
'OK,' said Duncan. 'We'll do it your way. Talk to her, and then we'll go to the police. But for God's sake, be careful about it.'
Marcus took the long run down to the lake smoothly, his cross-country skis sliding over the snow, freshly fallen from the night before. The sky was clear and blue, and he was surrounded by muffled silence, his favourite sound. He paused by the side of the frozen lake, which should hold his weight for a few weeks yet. The half-dozen summer cabins that ringed it were quiet, still in hibernation, the snow on their roofs and in their yards undisturbed. He struck out across the lake, moving easily over the thin layer of snow that covered the ice. This was where he liked to think, to recharge. It would be a long slog from the lake uphill back to his house, but it was worth it.
The cold air was invigorating. He had slept poorly the night before, and had felt imprisoned by the warm cabin, which he usually found so comforting. Angie, too, had been driving him crazy. He knew she was only trying to help, but he needed to sort this out by himself.
And sort this out he must. The guilt and sense of loss over the deaths of his brother and his mother had been festering inside him for ten years. When he had begun to ask questions about what had really happened to Alex, he had started a process that he could not reverse. He literally could not rest until he had ended it.
What that meant, he wasn't quite sure. Establish who had killed Alex, certainly. Ensure that person received retribution as well. But what form that retribution should take, he wasn't yet certain. He knew what he wanted to do. What he felt he had to do. But he wasn't yet ready to admit it to himself.
He played over for the umpteenth time in his head his conversation with Eric, and felt the rage re-emerge. How could Eric talk that way about helping his mother, about being angry that Marcus hadn't been there when Alex had died? He had no right to! It was hard enough for Marcus to deal with, without some fancy investment banker who claimed to be Alex's friend telling him what he should have done.
The trouble was, Marcus believed that Eric really had been Alex's friend. He understood Eric's anger; in fact, he shared it. He had let his brother and mother down. It had been good to hear Eric saying such complimentary things about Alex, but the criticism of himself still stung. And it would continue to sting until Marcus resolved the issue.
Marcus sped up along the lake, establishing a rapid rhythm. He used to be an excellent downhill skier, but it was only when he had moved up to Vermont that he had taken up cross-country. He was good: he had the physique and the temperament for it. Some weeks he would ski fifty miles, when the weather was good, and when he felt the urge.
Alex had never skied. But he was better at nearly everything else than Marcus. He was smarter, he was a better artist, he was more popular. Marcus had never held Alex's success against him: he had always been proud of his kid brother. And Alex never seemed to let any of it go to his head, or to take himself too seriously. Eric had been right about that.
Alex had deserved a friend like Eric. He had deserved a brother like Eric, too, but he hadn't got one.
Was Eric telling the truth about Duncan killing Alex? After all, he had no proof, and he was an investment banker. Marcus went over the conversation yet again, trying to be as objective as possible. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became.
He wasn't so sure about the Brit with the Polish name, Chris whatever-it-was. He had been very different from Eric. More uptight. More cagey about divulging information. More eager to find stuff out from Marcus. Eric, he knew, had come in peace, told his story, and left. Marcus wasn't sure what Chris's agenda had been. But all that was too complicated. He didn't really care who had killed Ian Darwent. All he cared about was who had killed his brother. And he was sure, now, who that was.
Duncan.
He left the lake, and began thrusting his skis up the slope towards home. He knew he had to go to London and find him. He had no choice.
Eric flopped into the back seat of the hired Jaguar. He was exhausted. He was used to a punishing travel schedule, but this was ridiculous. Still, it had had to be done. As he had told Terry in Paris, there was a limit to the number of dead bodies that they could be directly responsible for, and with Ian, they had just about reached that limit. They needed a new recruit.
As Terry guided the car through the airport traffic and coasted towards the M4, Eric pulled out his mobile phone and listened to his messages. There were a dozen of them, all of them urgent. He ignored all but one, even the one from Cassie. But one message required an immediate reply. He looked up a number and punched it out. The conversation was brief, but he smiled as he disconnected.
'Good news, sir?' Terry asked from the front seat.
'Yes, I'd say it is,' Eric replied. 'That was nice work you did in Paris by the way, Terry. Your bonus should have gone through yesterday.'
'No problem. I'd be happy to do something similar again. Just ask.'
'No need for the time being,' said Eric. He settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. 'I'd say things are slotting together quite nicely just as they are.'
6
Chris was both eager and nervous as he climbed Megan's staircase. Eager because he wanted to tell Megan what he had discovered. Nervous because he was still worried about her coolness to him the previous Sunday and the note of hesitation in her voice when he had invited himself up to see her.
He knocked on her door, a little out of breath from the stairs.
She opened it in an instant. 'Hi,' she said, smiling.
'Hi.'
'Come here.' She pulled him towards her and kissed him. All his nervousness left him as he felt her hands run over his back. She pulled away and began to unbutton his shirt.
'What's this?' Chris said.
'What does it look like? Do you have any objections?'
'None at all,' he smiled.
'Well, come on then,' she said, and led him through to her bedroom.
Half an hour later they lay in each other's arms, naked in the darkened room. Chris eased himself up on to his elbows and watched the light from the college buildings opposite play on Megan's skin.
'That was nice,' he said, running a finger along her thigh.
'Yes, it was. You deserved it after how mean I was to you.'
'That wasn't your fault,' Chris said. 'You were still in shock.'
'It was my fault,' Megan said earnestly. 'And I'm sorry.' She kissed him gently on the lips.
'I found out something today,' he said.
'Oh, yes?' She sat up and hunched her legs up to her chest. 'Tell me.'
So Chris told her about his discussion with Duncan, about Pippa backing up Duncan's story, and about what Dr Horwath had told him about Eric. She listened closely. When he'd finished, she didn't say anything.
'Well? What do you think?' he asked.
'I'm not sure you've drawn the right conclusion.'
'About Eric?'
'Yes. About Eric. I don't think he has anything to do with this.'
Chris was stun
ned. He stared at Megan, not sure what to say. He had been looking forward to her common sense to help him decide what to do, now they knew Eric was responsible for so many deaths.
'But don't you see? It must be him. He drowned Alex, he had Lenka murdered to shut her up, and then he had Ian killed. It's obvious.'
'Not to me,' said Megan.
'But why not?'
'You don't have any evidence, do you?' she said. 'I hate to say this, but I think you're losing perspective, trying to find a reason to let Duncan off the hook. I don't think that's smart. We were wrong to cover for him all those years ago, and it would be wrong to cover for him now.'
'But what about the psychometric tests?'
Megan laughed. 'Oh, come on! You can't convict someone on the basis of a bunch of multiple choice questions they answered ten years ago. That stuff's all bullshit anyway.'
'Dr Horwath was convinced.'
'Of course she was convinced. It's her job to be convinced by that psychocrap.'
'Well, we know Duncan wasn't in Paris that night.'
'According to his wife, who is very probably protecting him. Besides, we know Eric wasn't there, either.'
'Do we?' Chris asked, puzzled. 'Where was he, then?'
'He was in England that day,' Megan said quietly. 'He came up here to see me.'
'He what?'
'He came up to Cambridge. We went out for tea. We talked.'
'Why didn't you tell me this?' Chris demanded.
Megan shrugged. 'I don't have to tell you everything.'
'Megan!'
'Look, Chris, he was my old boyfriend. I feel uncomfortable talking about him with you; you know that. It was no big deal. But it does mean he wasn't in Paris.'
'But that doesn't matter. We know he gets someone else to do his dirty work.'
'Maybe Duncan does as well. Have you thought about that?'
Chris ran his hand through his hair in frustration. 'But the whole point is that we assumed Duncan had killed Ian in a fit of anger. If Eric did all this, it was carefully planned.'
'Maybe Duncan planned the whole thing,' Megan said. 'I've never trusted him. Whereas I do trust Eric.'
Chris looked at her. Just ten minutes ago, everything had seemed so simple. Now it was becoming complicated. Megan's readiness to defend Eric bothered Chris. It bothered him intensely. And if she had seen Eric on Sunday, then that, rather than the shock of discovering the knife on her pillow, might explain her coolness towards him that evening.
Megan was obviously following these thoughts. 'There's nothing between us now, you know. There's been nothing for years.' She touched his arm. 'You must believe me, Chris.'
'Must I?' he snapped.
'I'd like you to.'
Chris wanted to argue, but he bit his tongue. He knew Megan was trying not to make an issue of it and he wanted to try to do the same. 'OK,' he said, making his tone as conciliatory as possible. 'But do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions about Eric?'
'Sure.'
'We know that Alex and Ian took drugs when we were all in New York together. Did Eric?'
Megan looked uncomfortable. 'Yes, he did. A little. Cocaine. But he stopped when Alex was caught.'
Chris stared at her. 'Why didn't you tell me this before?'
'It didn't seem important. Everyone took drugs then.'
'Did you?'
'No,' Megan admitted. 'I'd tried it at college, of course. But I never really got into it.'
'But Eric did?'
'Yes. I was a bit worried about him at college. And again in New York. But, as I said, after Alex was caught he gave up. It might have interfered with his precious political ambitions.'
'I can see it might have,' Chris said. 'And who had the drugs?'
'What do you mean?'
'You know what I mean. Presumably, either Eric or Alex must have bought the drugs from someone. Which of them was it?'
'I don't know,' said Megan. 'I didn't ask. I didn't want to know about it.'
'OK, so who kept them safe?'
'Eric,' Megan said reluctantly.
'And when Alex wanted some, he would go to Eric?'
'I guess that's right.'
'So Alex could have told Bloomfield Weiss that Eric was his supplier?'
'No,' Megan protested, raising her voice for the first time. 'They were friends. What are you trying to say? Eric was the evil drug-dealer, and Alex was his innocent victim?'
'No. I'm trying to say that Alex was going to shop Eric to George Calhoun. That Eric knew this. And that when Eric saw he had a chance to shut Alex up for good, he took it.'
Megan snorted.
'Megan,' Chris said quietly. 'Duncan and I think we should go to the police.'
'About Eric?'
Chris nodded.
'Don't you think you should discuss that with me, first?'
'That's what I wanted to do this evening.'
'Oh, did you? Well, I think you'd be making a big mistake. You're just jealous of Eric because he and I were going out years ago, and you want to protect your stupid friend from the consequences of his own actions. I'm not going to go along with it.'
Chris had been trying to hold his temper, trying to avoid the confrontation that had been looming, but he lost it.
'Maybe I am jealous. Maybe I should be,' he said. 'There's a lot you haven't told me about Eric. You never mentioned the drugs before. You never told me he came to see you on Sunday. There's probably a lot else you haven't told me about him. You're the one who's losing perspective. The man's a killer, Megan! Don't you understand that? He's extremely dangerous. It's quite likely that he'll try to kill you or me or both of us. We should think hard about that. Do something, before it's too late.'
Megan glared at Chris. He suddenly felt cold and awkward in his nakedness. 'I think you'd better go,' she muttered through clenched teeth.
'But Megan –'
'Just get dressed and go!'
So Chris went.
Megan watched Chris as he strode across the court below, shoulders hunched. For a moment, she felt the urge to open the windows and shout down to him to come back. But she couldn't. Not without admitting that he was right about Eric. And that was something she could not do.
She had genuinely tried to put Eric behind her. Her warm welcome to Chris hadn't been entirely for his benefit. She had wanted to prove to herself that Eric was in the past, that it was Chris she cared about now.
But she had failed. Chris was right about her and Eric. Her head's battle with her heart had been lost. She, who was so proud of her self-control and her ability to analyse the most complicated problems dispassionately, wanted to see Eric – no, bad to see Eric. She knew nothing would come of it. She knew it was pointless. But she had to do it; she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she let the opportunity to see what would develop between them slip by. She knew now that she had never stopped loving him when they had split up. She might have told herself time and time again that she was over him, but she wasn't, she never had been. Now she would have to accept that fact and see what happened. The prospect frightened her, especially the likelihood that she would be rejected, but it also thrilled her. Remembering her afternoon with him that Sunday, she knew he still felt something for her. There had to be a chance.
Chris had sensed all that, and that had made her angry with him. She had denied what he could see was obvious, and she had been unfair to him. She liked him, liked him very much, and she didn't want to hurt him, but she felt that the situation was out of her control. Until that week, she hadn't believed in destiny. Now she felt destiny was taking hold of her life and her role was to let it.
She was sure that Chris was wrong about one thing, though: that Eric had killed all those people. She knew Eric, and she knew he would never do anything like that. She distrusted both Duncan and Ian and she was sure that one or other of them had been responsible for the deaths. Chris's jealousy had made him unable to see what was to her perfectly obvious.
She turn
ed away from the window and began to work on her notes. She soon gave that up; she hadn't the concentration. So she pulled out an old, dog-eared volume of Emily Dickinson's poetry that Eric had given to her when they were at college. The familiarity of the poems gave her some comfort, like old friends, their rhythms stable, unchanging, reliable.
The phone rang. She lifted the receiver.
'Hello?'
'Megan?'
She felt a glow course through her body as she recognized the voice. 'Eric.'
'How are you?'
'Not too good, actually.'
'Have you heard about Ian?'
'Yes, I have. I can't believe it. Another one.'
'Yeah. I called because I'm worried about you.'
'Oh, yes?'
Yes. I mean, I've no idea why Ian was killed, but after our conversation on Sunday, I wanted to make sure you were OK.'
'I'm fine. No more psychos creeping about my bedroom.'
'Good. I'm worried that whoever threatened you on Saturday night meant business. Don't do anything to provoke them, OK?'
'Don't worry. I won't. I just want to forget about the whole thing.'
'That's easier to say than to do, I'd guess. What about Chris?'
Megan couldn't bring herself to tell Eric about Chris's ridiculous suspicions of him. At least, not over the phone. She decided to keep it vague. 'I think he's decided to go to the police and tell them all he knows.'
'Isn't that dangerous?' Eric said. 'I mean, it's OK for him to put himself at risk. He knows what he's doing. But that knife was left on your pillow.'
'He seems to have made up his mind about it.' Megan sighed. 'We had a disagreement.' There was a pause. 'Where are you calling from now?' she asked.
'London. I've been in meetings all day.'
Megan's heart beat a little faster. 'I don't suppose you've got any free time while you're over here? It's just . . . it would be nice to see you, if you can manage it.'
'Sure,' said Eric. 'I'd like that. Hold on a second, let me look at my calendar.' Megan waited. She wanted to see him so badly. She had to see him. 'Yeah, OK. I can come up to Cambridge tomorrow evening, if you like.'
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