Майкл Ридпат - The Predator

‘Did she look frightened?’ Chris asked.

‘No. More pissed off. But I guess a girl like that gets used to men hanging around her.’

‘Was this man American?’

‘No, I don’t think so. But he did have some kind of accent. Irish or Scottish, I think. I’m not real good on those.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Big guy. Red hair, kind of messy. Wore a suit. He looked respectable, he didn’t really look like a weirdo, but he was just hanging out.’

Duncan.

‘Thanks,’ Chris said, smiling. ‘Let’s keep in touch, OK?’

The man nodded absently. ‘Lenka. I can’t believe it.’

And Chris and Megan left Richard H. Storebrand, Vice President, shaking his head at the horrors of the world.

When they returned to Chris’s flat the light on the answer machine was blinking. Chris pressed the button.

‘Hi, Chris, this is Eric. I heard about Lenka. I’m very sorry. I’m going to be in London for a couple of days early next week. I’m getting in Sunday. Would you like to meet me for a drink at my hotel Sunday evening? Say seven o’clock? I’m staying at the Lanesborough. Just leave a message there if you can make it. Hope to see you then.’

Chris glanced at Megan. She was standing very still, looking at the machine.

‘A voice from the past,’ said Chris.

‘Yes,’ Megan answered, almost in a whisper.

‘Do you want to come with me? I’m sure Eric wouldn’t mind.’

Megan took a moment to answer. ‘No, no. I’d better not. Anyway, I should be going to Cambridge tomorrow.’

‘OK,’ said Chris.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Megan. ‘It’s just weird to hear his voice again. Look, er... I’d better be going to bed.’

‘All right. Good night.’

‘Good night.’

‘Come here, bloody dog!’

The angry grey-haired man puffed past them in an attempt to catch up with his dog, a red setter that was streaking up the hill in pursuit of a spry fox terrier.

‘Algy!’ he screamed, and then the dog was out of sight.

It was a lovely morning: cold, crisp and clear. The northern slope of Parliament Hill was still brushed with frost, but the sun had warmed the southern side into freshly glistening dew. To their right stretched London, in the great grey bowl of the Thames, streaks of mists still lingering amongst the tall towers of the City. The low winter sun reflected in a bright orange triangle off the roof of Canary Wharf.

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.