Майкл Ридпат - The Predator

‘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 businessmen, 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.’