Chris shook his head. ‘I’m glad I didn’t know about all that.’
Megan looked at him closely over her pint. ‘What about you and Lenka?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Megan. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest anything. It’s just you obviously liked each other, and...’
‘That’s OK. We did like each other. And I can’t deny she was an attractive woman. But somehow I never considered it. She was too good a friend, I suppose. I always assumed she was out of my league. If I had tried something, and she’d rejected me, it would have been awful. And even worse, if we had gone out together it wouldn’t have lasted long and then I’d have lost a good friend. No, we were much better as we were.’
‘Perhaps.’ Megan looked at Chris steadily.
‘Did Lenka say anything to you about her relationship with Ian?’ he asked, uncomfortable under her gaze.
‘No. I only had that one conversation last week. It didn’t come up. She did sound a bit stressed out, though.’
‘Stressed out?’
‘She said that something had happened that she wanted to talk to me about when I came to stay. She didn’t say what it was.’
‘No clue at all? Was it something to do with work?’
‘I don’t know. I was curious, of course, but I thought I’d find out all about it when I got here.’
‘Hmm. Did she mention Eureka Telecom to you?’
‘No.’
‘Or a man called Marcus?’
‘Marcus? No. Who’s he?’
‘A tall thin American man came to see her in our office last week. Apparently, he upset Lenka pretty badly. But I’ve no idea who he is.’
‘Neither have I.’
Chris stared thoughtfully into his pint. ‘Something was going on,’ he said. He glanced over to Megan’s glass. It was almost empty. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’d better go and check out her flat.’
Lenka had lived on the first floor of an elegant white-stuccoed building guarded by twin pillars in Onslow Gardens. The Czech police had recovered the key from her bag, and her parents had asked Chris to sort through her things and send them any personal belongings. There was going to be a lot to do. Chris was counting on a helpful neighbour.
He let himself and Megan into the building. There was a pile of mail for Lenka neatly stacked on a windowsill in the hallway. Chris carried it upstairs with him. Her door opened easily. It was as though she had been away for a day, not a week. The heating was still on. The flat was untidy, but not a total mess. Her bed was made. There was a note from ‘Adriana’ to Miss Lenka saying she was owed twenty pounds for Wednesday. The cleaning lady, no doubt. The flat was a mishmash of furnishings, things she had seen around the world that she just had to buy. They formed a pleasing jumble, and some of them, like a set of two-foot-high wooden carvings of elephants from Africa and a large intricately decorated table from somewhere in Asia, were quite dramatic.
Then there were her clothes. What seemed like miles of them, in wardrobes, chests of drawers, walk-in cupboards, trunks. Many years’ bonuses from Bloomfield Weiss had been pumped into the world’s fashion industry. And shoes. There must have been a hundred pairs. It was a staggering sight.
‘Makes my closet look like a thrift shop,’ said Megan.
Chris went through to her desk, which was in a kind of den just off the living room. It was a large pine affair, covered with papers and a computer. Chris took a deep breath. He would have to sort through this lot. He didn’t want to. Going into Lenka’s flat hadn’t felt like an intrusion, neither did gaping at her massive collection of clothes. But going through her papers? He wanted to leave them there, undisturbed.
But something would have to be done with them. There would be the Czech equivalent of probate. Someone would have to sort out her assets. God, perhaps there was a will in there somewhere. Then there would be bills, rent, credit cards, bank accounts. Chris’s heart sank. Perhaps he could get away with dumping it all in a box and sending it over to the Czech Republic.
‘Would you mind helping me with this?’ asked Chris.
‘OK,’ said Megan. ‘I’ll sort the papers into piles. You read them.’
They worked for two hours, getting progressively more depressed. They didn’t find a will, or any evidence of investments, but there was a massive balance in a current account at US Commerce Bank. Like many investment bankers, Lenka would fight tooth and nail over a hundredth of a basis point at work, but leave a hundred thousand pounds of her own money in a low-interest account.
At ten o’clock, Chris stretched. ‘Look, why don’t we stop now? We can’t do all this. I’ll write a letter to her parents saying what we’ve found so far, and suggesting they get a solicitor to sort it all out.’
‘Don’t you think we should look in there?’ Megan said, nodding towards the computer.
‘But that’s private,’ said Chris.
‘What do you think all that lot is?’ asked Megan, pointing to the piles of papers, now neatly stacked.
‘I suppose you’re right. Go on then. Let’s have a look.’
Megan turned on the machine. She expertly skimmed through the folders. There was very little there. Quite a few word-processed documents, many of them in Czech. No other software, no games, no personal finance packages, no will-making programs. But there was e-mail.
‘Let’s have a look.’
Megan seemed to have no trouble navigating the Internet software and downloading Lenka’s mail. She came up with a list of the most recent e-mail correspondence. The names were fascinating. There were some to Ian. And one to ‘Marcus’.
‘There!’ Chris cried, pointing to it. ‘Open that one!’
‘No. Let’s do this in chronological order. It’ll make more sense.’
Impatiently, they skimmed a dozen e-mails, half of them in Czech, until they came to one from Lenka to Ian:
Ian
I couldn’t sleep last night. I think I have to tell Marcus about Alex. He has a right to know. And I’ve got to talk to Duncan.
The reply from Ian was terse:
Don’t do that! We have to talk. For God’s sake don’t do anything stupid.
Then, immediately following that, there was an e-mail to the mysterious Marcus. The subject line read simply Alex.
Marcus
I’m sorry I was rude to you yesterday. As you can imagine, it is a difficult subject for me. I have something important I need to tell you about Alex’s death. It is complicated and needs explanation, so I would like to tell you in person. I am travelling to New York at the beginning of next month, so perhaps we can meet then.
Best wishes
There was a reply, short and simple:
I will call you.
‘Let’s print those off,’ said Chris.
As the small printer next to Lenka’s machine chugged away, Megan clicked on the last e-mail Lenka had received. She opened it:
Lenka
See you Thursday at seven thirty. Can’t wait. We’re going to have some fun!
‘I wrote that last Sunday. It seems like a whole life ago.’ She blinked back a tear.
‘It was,’ said Chris.
Megan sniffed and dabbed her eyes. ‘So, who can this Marcus be?’