Майкл Ридпат: The Partnership Track

For a lifetime.

I caught Professor Behbehani’s eye. She knew. She knew they had screwed up. They hadn’t found their partner.

‘My God, look!’ The fake detective was staring at the video screen. While we were talking, Manuela had entered the dining room. She was walking towards Trent, her back to the camera, to the bear. Behind her, she was clutching a long carving knife from the lunch buffet. Trent hadn’t seen it yet; his expression was a mixture of embarrassment and complacency.

I dashed from the conference room and sprinted down the corridor to the lobby towards the dining room.

And then I heard Trent scream.

‘Whew,’ I said when Peter had finished.

‘Are you still going to join Labouchere?’ he said, pouring the last of the second bottle of Sancerre into my glass.

I shook my head. ‘So that’s why you quit?’

‘Yes. As did Harald, and Manuela, of course. They split up.’

‘Understandable, I suppose.’ As had Peter and Henrietta. Whatever Peter had said to keep his wife, I knew she hadn’t gone back to him. In fact, when I had last seen him four months before, the divorce papers were just coming through.

‘Did Manuela actually kill Trent?’

‘Yes. It was covered up. I don’t know how the hell they did it — we did it. It required all Bill Labouchere’s considerable organizational skills and influence. We all felt complicit so we all helped. We thought Manuela had suffered extreme provocation, but we couldn’t be sure the courts would see it that way. In my opinion it was Bill who really killed Trent.’

‘Did Bill think that?’

‘I think Bill did feel guilty, yes. More important, if the details of Trent’s death had got out it would have finished the firm. It turns out that impersonating a police officer is a felony in New Hampshire. Given the outcome, O’Leary and the other actors would definitely have been prosecuted, as would Bill and Professor Behbehani for setting the whole thing up. They would probably all have gone to jail.’

‘But what did you do about Trent?’

‘We said he never arrived at Lake Lenatonka. We reported him missing on Monday to the police in Manhattan where he lives. We said he was under suspicion for fraud — we referred to Project Assegai. Bill arranged for someone to make his body disappear, and the car he drove up in from New York. Neither was ever found.’

‘What about the hotel staff?’

‘Paid off. The rumour was the clear-up exercise cost the firm over two million dollars. The worst thing was Trent’s family.’ Peter winced. ‘That’s bad. They still don’t know what happened to him; whether he’s still alive.’

It wasn’t just bad, it was murder. I couldn’t believe they had got away with it, but then people like Bill Labouchere did get away with things. It seemed to me that if Manuela de Sena had killed someone it should be up to a judge and jury to decide if she was guilty, not Peter and Bill Labouchere.

‘And Labouchere Associates is still going strong?’ I asked.

‘Going from strength to strength. The others stayed on as if nothing had happened. Charlie Campbell was even made a partner. No one mentions Lake Lenatonka. Ever.’

Then Peter frowned. He had seen someone over my shoulder. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he said. ‘I forgot we arranged to meet here. For God’s sake, don’t mention any of this, will you?’

‘No, of course not.’

I turned to see whom Peter had spotted. Coming towards us was a tiny dark-haired woman in an expensive, low-cut cream suit and high heels. She was drop-dead gorgeous and the noise level in the bar fell as every man turned to watch her make her way across to us.

She smiled when she saw Peter, a wide warm smile, and kissed him quickly on the lips. Peter swallowed. ‘Mike, I don’t think you’ve met my wife, have you?’

She turned her smile to me. ‘Hi,’ she said in an American accent. ‘I’m Manuela. I’ve heard so much about you.’

‘Likewise,’ I said. ‘Likewise.’