‘I think we’re going to pull this off, Terry.’
‘I hope so, sir.’
‘All I need to do is convince Megan that she should keep her head down and forget about who killed Lenka. I think she’s just about there as it is.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to deal with the other two? We don’t want them going to the cops.’
‘I think we’ll leave them to our friend Marcus. He’s primed and dangerous. And without them the police will get nowhere.’
‘Don’t you think there’s a risk he’ll rat on you when he gets caught?’
‘No,’ said Eric. ‘There’s no point. He’ll think he’s killed the man who murdered his brother. And the police will probably believe him, since there’ll be no one left to contradict him. He’ll have no reason to drag me down with him. Anyway, I’ll just deny everything. A good lawyer will protect me, no problem.’
‘So, it’s just Megan, then?’
‘Just Megan. Will you wait for me in the parking lot?’
‘I can’t do that. I checked the map and it looks like the pub isn’t even on a road. We’ll have to park on the other side of the river and you can walk over the footbridge.’
‘Whatever. I’m not totally sure I’ll be coming back with you this evening,’ Eric said.
‘No?’
Eric tried to ignore the curiosity in Terry’s voice. ‘We’ll just have to see how things progress.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Terry replied, as he eased the Jaguar off the motorway and on to the road to Cambridge.
Chris took the tube to King’s Cross direct from Oxford Circus; it was quicker than a taxi during the rush hour. He arrived at the station just in time to jump on the five forty-five, which was due to arrive at Cambridge at six thirty-six. That should just give him time to get a taxi to the Fort St George by seven.
The train was pulling out of the station when Chris’s mobile phone rang. It was Duncan. He had caught a train from Liverpool Street that would reach Cambridge at six forty-four. Chris said he would wait for him on the platform.
The train sped through the flat Hertfordshire countryside, past Stevenage and Royston, and into the even flatter Cambridgeshire fens. They were only ten minutes from Cambridge when it slowed to a stop. Chris drummed his fingers in frustration. He wasn’t psychologically prepared for a delay. It was getting dark outside. The clear sky, now a light blue-grey, was shrinking, blotted out by inky black clouds rushing in from the fens to the west. The train didn’t move. Raindrops spattered the carriage window for a few moments, and then what seemed to be a wall of water battered the glass. The whole carriage rocked in the wind.
Chris stared in frustration at the rain outside. They’d be late. There was no way now that they could reach the pub before Eric and Megan. What would Eric do to her? Chris couldn’t stand the thought of him harming her in any way. But if she told him all that Chris had discovered, would Eric have any choice?
Unless... Unless Eric planned to seduce her. Surely, she wouldn’t let him do that. Chris didn’t know whether it was instinct or jealousy, but he feared she might. At that moment that was a thought almost as horrible for Chris to contemplate.
Chris’s fears were interrupted by an announcement over the train’s loudspeaker system that there was a problem at a level crossing just ahead of them, and the train would be moving shortly.
It didn’t.
8
Megan was still a quarter of a mile from the Fort St George when the rain hit. She could see the pub standing next to the river, surrounded by the wide spaces of Midsummer Common and Jesus Green. As the rain turned into a torrent, she broke into a run, but she was soaking by the time she made it inside.
The pub was almost empty. There was no sign of Eric. She checked her watch: she was ten minutes early. She bought herself a pint of bitter and sat in a small bar with a fire glowing in one corner. She sniffed as she pushed the damp hair from her eyes.
She was nervous about seeing Eric, but she also felt the thrill of doing something foolhardy. She had no idea what she was going to say to him, but she did know what she wanted to learn: whether her future was in any way connected with his. Somehow, she was sure, she would find out that evening.
She heard the door to the pub slam shut, and a moment later Eric popped his head round the door, water dripping from his hair, his nose and his clothes. She smiled at him. He came over and kissed her on the cheek, bringing with him the cold of the wind and rain outside. They exchanged greetings, and he went off to get himself a pint. A minute later, he was sitting opposite her, next to the fire.
‘Jesus, this weather is awful,’ he said, shivering.
‘You get used to it.’
‘Where does that wind come from? The Arctic?’
‘Probably.’
Eric took a long drink of his beer. ‘Can you believe what happened to Ian?’ he said.
‘No. It was horrible.’
‘First Lenka, and now him,’ Eric shook his head. ‘And that knife on your pillow. Things are getting seriously weird.’
‘They are.’
‘I’m worried about you, Megan. And I’m worried about Chris going to the police. I mean, whoever did this might not stop now. Please take care of yourself.’
Megan gave him a small smile. ‘I will,’ she said. She sipped her beer nervously. The time had come to ask him. It was something she would have to do if she was ever going to be sure of him. ‘Chris thinks that you killed Ian. And Lenka. And Alex, for that matter.’
Eric closed his eyes. He shook his head slowly. ‘I thought Chris knew me better than that.’
‘Did you?’ Megan asked, looking him directly in the eye.
‘How can you ask that?’ he said.
‘Did you?’ she repeated.
Eric’s eyes met hers. ‘No,’ he said, barely audibly. ‘No, I didn’t.’
They sat for several seconds, just looking at each other. Memories of that time so many years before when Megan had been so desperately in love with Eric came flooding back to her.
‘Do you believe me?’ he asked eventually, still holding her eyes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do.’
Eric smiled. ‘Good. But why does Chris think I killed them? And how could I possibly have killed Alex? Surely Duncan did that, if anyone?’
Megan launched into an explanation of Chris’s view of events. When she had finished, Eric looked thoughtful.
‘But he doesn’t have any evidence at all. It’s all smoke. He’s just freaked out by it all, and he’s picked on me as the answer. That disappoints me. I always liked Chris: I thought he’d know better.’
‘What about the psychometric tests?’ Megan asked.
‘Oh, that,’ Eric smiled. ‘I was the perfect interviewee. You must remember that. I got offered jobs by ten Wall Street firms in my senior year in college. My secret was that I told them what they wanted to hear. And Bloomfield Weiss wanted to hear that I was a big, tough, nasty guy who ate babies for breakfast. So that’s what I told them. I guess I went a bit over the top. But, as you know, they gave me the job.’
‘So you lied?’
‘Not exactly. But close. I embellished. Whenever there was a choice of helping a little old lady across the road or throwing her under a bus, I threw her under a bus. That kind of thing. But none of it was real. Once I got to Bloomfield Weiss I paid lip service to all the “it’s a jungle out there” bullshit. I was always the predator, not the prey. But I think I behaved pretty decently. Ask Chris. He knows.’
Megan was relieved. Eric’s explanation was totally believable. If this Dr Horwath woman had been any good, then she should have been able to detect Eric faking his answers, but Megan wasn’t surprised that he had managed to mislead her.