The Silent Patient(66)

A few hours later, I was on my way back to Cambridge. On the train, I made another phone call—to Max Berenson. I hesitated before calling. He’d already complained to Diomedes once, so he wouldn’t be pleased to hear from me again. But I knew I had no choice.

Tanya answered. Her cold sounded better, but I could hear the tension in her voice when she realized who I was. “I don’t think—I mean, Max is busy. He’s in meetings all day.”

“I’ll call back.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I—”

I could hear Max in the background saying something, and Tanya’s reply: “I’m not saying that, Max.”

Max grabbed the phone and spoke to me directly: “I just told Tanya to tell you to fuck off.”

“Ah.”

“You’ve got a nerve calling here again. I already complained once to Professor Diomedes.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. Nonetheless some new information has come to light, and it concerns you directly—so I felt I had no choice but to get in touch.”

“What information?”

“It’s a journal Alicia kept in the weeks leading up to the murder.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. I hesitated.

“Alicia writes about you in some detail, Max. She said you had romantic feelings for her. I was wondering if—”

There was a click as he hung up. So far so good. Max had taken the bait—and now I had to wait to see how he’d react.

I realized I was a little afraid of Max Berenson, just as Tanya was afraid of him. I remembered her whispered advice to me, to talk to Paul, to ask him something—what? Something about the night after the accident that killed Alicia’s mother. I remembered the look on Tanya’s face when Max had appeared, how she fell silent and presented him with a smile. No, I thought, Max Berenson was not to be underestimated.

That would be a dangerous mistake.





CHAPTER SEVEN

AS THE TRAIN APPROACHED CAMBRIDGE, the landscape flattened and the temperature dropped. I did up my coat as I left the station. The wind cut into my face like a volley of icy razor blades. I made my way to the pub to meet Paul.

The White Bear was a ramshackle old place—it looked as if several extensions had been added onto the original structure over the years. A couple of students were braving the wind, sitting outside with their pints in the beer garden, wrapped up in scarves, smoking. Inside, the temperature was much warmer, thanks to several roaring fires, which provided a welcome relief from the cold.

I got a drink and looked around for Paul. Several small rooms led off from the main bar and the lighting was low. I peered at the figures in the shadows, unsuccessfully trying to spot him. A good place for an illicit rendezvous, I thought. Which, I suppose, is what this was.

I found Paul alone in a small room. He was facing away from the door, sitting by the fire. I recognized him at once, on account of his sheer size. His huge back nearly blocked the fire from sight.

“Paul?”

He jumped up and turned around. He looked like a giant in the tiny room. He had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling.

“All right?” he said. He looked like he was bracing himself for bad news from a doctor. He made some room for me, and I sat down in front of the fire, relieved to feel its warmth on my face and hands.

“It’s colder than London here. That wind doesn’t help.”

“Comes straight from Siberia, that’s what they say.” Paul continued without pausing, clearly in no mood for small talk, “What’s this about a diary? I never knew Alicia kept a diary.”

“Well, she did.”

“And she gave it to you?”

I nodded.

“And? What does it say?”

“It specifically details the last couple of months before the murder. And there are couple of discrepancies I wanted to ask you about.”

“What discrepancies?”

“Between your account of events and hers.”

“What are you talking about?” He put down his pint and gave me a long stare. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, you told me you hadn’t seen Alicia for several years before the murder.”

Paul hesitated. “Did I?”

“And the diary, Alicia says she saw you a few weeks before Gabriel was killed. She says you came to the house in Hampstead.”

I stared at him, sensing him deflate inside. He looked like a boy suddenly, in a body that was much too big for him. Paul was afraid, it was obvious. He didn’t reply for moment. He shot me a furtive glance.

“Can I have a look? At the diary?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think that would be appropriate. Anyway, I didn’t bring it with me.”

“Then how do I even know it exists? You could be lying.”

“I’m not lying. But you were—you lied to me, Paul. Why?”

“It’s none of your business, that’s why.”

“I’m afraid it is my business. Alicia’s well-being is my concern.”

“Her well-being has got nothing to do with it. I didn’t hurt her.”

“I never said you did.”

“Well, then.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”