Майкл Ридпат - The Predator

‘You did what?’

‘I wrote her a letter.’ Chris’s heart sank. Not for the first time he was mortified by his mother. ‘And she wrote me one back. She said you were her first choice for a partner. She said you were extremely good at your job, but that wasn’t the important thing. She said you were totally trustworthy, and she knew she could always rely on you if things went wrong. I kept the letter. I’ll show it to you if you like.’

‘That was nice of her,’ said Chris.

‘Oh, she meant it, dear. I know she meant it.’

Chris felt his eyes pricking. He knew she meant it, too.

‘How are you coping without her?’ his mother asked.

‘Struggling, to be honest.’

‘Ah, well. Never mind. I’m sure you’ll sort it out. I know you won’t let Lenka down now.’

‘No, Mum, I won’t.’

‘Can you come up and visit us next weekend? Anna will be here with Vic and the boys. And your granddad would love to see you.’

Anna was his sister. He supposed that it would be nice to see her, but they had drifted apart since her marriage to Vic at the age of twenty. And he wasn’t at all convinced about his grandfather. As a boy, Chris had idolized the crotchety old war hero, but as they had both grown older, they seemed to inhabit different worlds. His grandfather was suspicious of international banking, feeling it was a suitable profession for a Jew or a German rather than a good Polish Catholic, and Chris found the old man’s increasingly extreme political opinions hard to take. He could get by without seeing his grandfather.

‘Sorry, Mum, I can’t. As you can imagine, there’s a lot to sort out down here. And I’ve got to be in America on Monday.’

‘You’re always off somewhere or other, aren’t you? All right, dear. Have a good trip. And I am so sorry about Lenka.’

Chris said goodbye, and put down the phone. He slumped back in his chair and thought about his mother. He cringed as he imagined her writing to Lenka about him. But Lenka hadn’t cringed. She had understood a mother’s concern for her son, and her pride in him. Chris smiled to himself. Despite their very different styles, Lenka and his mother would probably have got on very well. It was a shame they had never had the chance to meet.

A twinge of guilt nagged at him. It wasn’t the usual guilt he felt about his efforts to distance himself from his family, about disappointing his mother and grandfather. For the first time he had an inkling that his desire to keep away from them was not a sign of maturity, but rather the opposite. His mother was a good woman, who truly loved him, and would do anything for him. If he really was an independent adult, there should be nothing in that to threaten him. Once he had truly established his own identity away from his family then there would be no shame or danger in seeing them. Lenka was a strong, independent person who had immediately seen the goodness in his mother. He was ashamed that he hadn’t the strength to do that too.

Lenka.

He glanced across the room at his computer, and wondered whether the mysterious Marcus had anything more to say about her. He switched on the machine and checked his e-mail, as he had done at frequent intervals throughout the weekend.

There was something. Between Hot Russian Babes Download and How to make $2,000 per week from home was a message entitled simply Lenka . It was from Marcus.

Chris opened it.

I was horrified to learn of Lenka’s murder. It makes me concerned for my own safety. I know that you were one of the people on the boat when my brother died. Will you tell me what really happened?

Chris stared at the message. He had promised Marcus information about Alex’s death. What could he tell him?

The problem was that he couldn’t be sure what Marcus already knew. Megan had guessed that Lenka had told him about Duncan knocking Alex into the sea, and Ian had confirmed that that was what Lenka intended to do, but Chris couldn’t be sure what she had actually said to him. And even if Lenka had told Marcus about Duncan, what if Marcus had decided to go to the police? With Lenka dead, he would have no evidence, unless Chris gave it to him now. That didn’t seem to Chris a good idea.

He started tapping the keyboard.

Marcus

I can’t tell you precisely what happened. What I can say is that your brother’s death was a genuine accident. Can you tell me what Lenka told you before she died? I’d like to talk to you directly, if I can, so please give me your phone number and address. Or you can contact me on one of the numbers below.

Chris signed off giving a handful of phone numbers: home, work, fax, mobile, and his address, and sent the e-mail. He had to know what Marcus had discovered, and what he was planning to do with the information.

Wednesday was horrible. Since it was possible to fly to Prague, attend Lenka’s funeral, and fly back in one day, that was what they had done. Duncan was ostentatiously miserable the whole time. Chris’s pleasure at seeing Megan again was tempered by her distracted manner. It was clear that she didn’t like Duncan’s presence. And, of course, she too was upset by the occasion. Most of the long day’s travelling was passed in silence, or desultory small talk.

They took a taxi from Ruzyně airport to Mělník, about thirty kilometres north of Prague. It was an ancient medieval town situated at the meeting point of two large rivers, the Vltava and the Elbe, dominated by an impressive castle, and surrounded by vine-clad slopes. But the crematorium was functional and depressing, the many mourners, most of them Lenka’s contemporaries, raised no more than a hushed greeting to each other, and her parents were devastated. There was no religious service, just music, and a eulogy from one of Lenka’s friends. Although Chris couldn’t understand a word of what she said, he could understand the sorrow.

Apart from that moment, Chris was surprised by how little he felt during the ceremony. It was hard to imagine Lenka growing up in this pretty little town, much harder than it was to be aware of her presence in the office in London, or even on the streets of Prague. Although he knew that the coffin must contain her body, he didn’t feel that the Lenka he knew was there. He didn’t know quite where she was, but he knew she wasn’t there.

The ceremony, such as it was, ended, and, after a few sad words with Lenka’s parents during which Chris managed to tell them that he had instructed Carpathian’s solicitors to take care of Lenka’s affairs in London, the three of them gratefully climbed back into the waiting taxi.

At Stansted, Megan took a train back to Cambridge and Chris and Duncan took one in the opposite direction to Liverpool Street. They sat opposite each other and stared out at the Essex night rushing by, their reflections interrupted by the flash of station lights.

‘Thanks for agreeing to have lunch with Khalid tomorrow,’ Duncan said.

‘No problem.’

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can make it. Something’s come up.’

‘That’s OK,’ said Chris, although in truth he was a little annoyed that he could be bothered to see Duncan’s client and Duncan couldn’t.

‘Have you ever heard of someone called Marcus?’ Chris asked.

‘Marcus? I don’t think so. Wait, isn’t there a Marcus Neale who works for Harrison Brothers?’

‘No. Not him. This man’s American. Tall, thin, longish hair.’

Duncan shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Oh.’ There was a pause. Chris noticed that Duncan was wary. Well he might be. ‘I went round to Lenka’s flat last week.’

Duncan grunted.

‘I met one of her neighbours. He said he’d seen you hanging around.’