Майкл Ридпат - The Predator

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.’

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 stunned. 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?’