"Home Secreatry?"
"My family needs me. I'm going to resign."
It was all Sir Edward Manning could do not to weep with relief.
The doctor was kind and scrupulously polite. But he was also firm.
"There's absolutely no way I can let you see her, Mrs. De Vere."
"But I'm her mother."
"I know that."
"She thinks I've done something terrible. That's what's caused all this. But she's wrong. She needs to know the truth."
"Roxanne is extremely unwell, Mrs. De Vere. She's experienced what we call a psychotic break. Above all else she needs rest and calm, and to avoid all stress triggers."
"And that's what I am, is it? That's what I've been reduced to. A 'stress trigger'?"
"I'm afraid so."
"And the truth be damned, is that it?"
She was angry, but not with the doctor. It was her own lies that had brought her and her family here, well intentioned or not.
Back in the car she turned her frustrations on Edward. "Any word on Teddy?"
"No, Home Secretary. Not yet."
"Then take me back to London."
"Of course, Home Secretary."
"And stop calling me that! I've already told you I'm going to resign. In fact, give me the phone. I'll do it right now."
Sir Edward Manning looked alarmed. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"Just do as I ask!"
"No disrespect, Home Sec . . . Alexia. But you're very emotional. Wouldn't it be better if you spoke to the prime minister in a calmer frame of mind?"
"I am not emotional," Alexia shouted. And without warning, she burst into tears.
For the next twenty-four hours, Sir Edward Manning took over everything. Rather than take her home to Cheyne Walk, where scores of reporters were bound to be waiting, he checked Alexia into Blakes Hotel in South Kensington and put her to bed with a strong sleeping pill. When she awoke, disorientated but deeply rested, it was almost noon.
"The prime minister was very understanding," Sir Edward told her over a late breakfast of croissants and strong black coffee. "He's expecting your call this afternoon. I've drawn up a formal resignation letter, whenever you're ready to take a look at it."
"Thank you." Alexia took the proffered sheet of paper gratefully. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you yesterday, Edward."
"Think nothing of it, Home Secretary. I quite understand."
"And Teddy? Is he back at Kingsmere? Does he know where I am?"
"Ah, yes. Unfortunately he's still being held by Thames Valley police."
Alexia's eyes widened. "They kept him overnight?"
"It appears so."
"On what grounds?"
"Further questioning, I assume. I've arranged a meeting for you with Angus Grey at two-thirty P.M. It's at his offices in Gray's Inn Road. I tried to do it here but Mr. Gray has court at four P.M., then drives straight back to Oxford to see Teddy, so it wasn't possible."
"That's wonderful, Edward, thank you so much." Alexia took all this in. She felt immensely relieved to be seeing Angus. Angus would know what to do. "And the hospital?" she asked Sir Edward Manning. "I don't suppose you had a chance . . ."
"I called both hospitals and inquired after both Roxanne and Michael."
Alexia looked at him hopefully.
"No change, I'm afraid."
Her face fell.
Sir Edward Manning thought: She seems vulnerable this morning. Fragile. If only voters and colleagues could see this side to her. The side that cares more about her children and her husband than the fact that she's about to end her political career.
Still, it was too late now. Alexia had lost her political career. And Sir Edward Manning was about to get his life back.
Angus Grey, QC's office reeked of power and privilege the way a racehorse reeks of sweat. From the oak-paneled walls, to the Oxford University Boat Club photographs on the wall, to the signed pictures of Angus with various Tory Party grandees that littered the desk, it was a room that reflected its owner's elite, establishment background to a T.
Angus Grey himself was a fit, still-attractive man in his early sixties with gunmetal-gray hair, a light tan from a recent week's break on the Italian Riviera, and a pair of intense blue eyes, which he focused now wholly on Alexia.
"My dear girl. You look tired. How are the ribs?"
"Fine," Alexia said truthfully. With so much else going on, her brain seemed to have tuned out the pain from her bullet wound.
"Good. Well, you must keep up your strength. Joan, bring Mrs. De Vere some tea, would you? And a slice of Battenburg."
Alexia sank down into a leather chesterfield sofa and closed her eyes for a moment.
"Sir Edward Manning tells me you've resigned." Angus had known Alexia a long time. He could afford to be direct.
She nodded. "They'll announce it tomorrow morning. Although if you listen closely, you can probably hear the trade and industry secretary rubbing his hands together with glee as we speak."
Angus smiled.
"I can't go on. I'm finished politically. And even if I weren't, too much is happening at home."
"I quite understand."
"First Michael, now this. Andrew Beesley, dead. Just when I thought he couldn't cause my family any more heartache! Roxanne's in utter pieces, blaming me. What on earth's happening, Angus? The world's gone mad. My world anyway."
"Best to tackle these things one at a time," Angus Grey said sensibly. "Let's talk about Teddy."
"Yes. Why haven't they released him yet? No one will tell me anything."
"I don't think there's anything fundamental to worry about. I was with him until eleven last night, and again this morning for two hours of questions. He admitted to offering the boy money to go back to Australia all those years ago, so your stories dovetail completely."
"That's because they aren't stories," said Alexia. "Is he a suspect?"
"Yes," the QC said bluntly. "Have you heard from Roxanne?"
Alexia slumped down in her chair, defeated. "No. They won't let me see her. What am I going to do, Angus? I feel completely lost."
Angus Grey leaned across the desk. "Try not to panic. Look at this rationally. Roxanne's in a safe place, getting the help she needs. As for Teddy, this isn't pleasant, but it's par for the course. The boy was murdered, okay? And he was buried on your land. By your own admission, you and Teddy wanted rid of him. It's only natural that the police would focus their suspicions on your family first."
"It may be natural, Angus. It just happens to be wrong."
"What about Michael?"
Alexia stiffened. "What about him?"
"He didn't approve of this boy Andrew either, did he? Is it possible the two of them met to discuss things and got into a fight? They might have been drinking. Things could have got out of hand."
"Andrew was killed with a shotgun, Angus. At least that's what the police told Teddy and me. Two bullets to the back of the head. That's not a 'fight that got out of hand.' That's an execution."
"Is it possible that Michael . . . ?"
"No." Alexia shook her head vehemently. "My son isn't capable of that."
Angus Grey raised an eyebrow but Alexia was unequivocal. "No."
"Think about it, Alexia. Michael's unconscious and likely to remain so. If he were to be convicted of this, he'd know nothing about it. Nothing would change."
"Except that he'd have been branded a murderer. Falsely branded."
"Okay. But if they pin this on Teddy, he'll go down for life."
Alexia laughed despairingly. "This is insanity! Neither of them killed Andrew Beesley."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know them, Angus. I know them!" With an effort, Alexia calmed herself down. "Look. I don't know who killed Beesley and I don't know why whoever it was buried him at Kingsmere. Maybe they hoped to frame me for the murder? There are plenty of crackpots out there."
"It's possible, of course."
"I daresay Roxanne wasn't the first girl Andrew had ever deceived or hurt. Who knows how many enemies the boy may have made."
"Yes, but to dispose of the body in your grounds? There must be a link, a connection to your family."
"Not necessarily. Maybe the killer was simply a local who thought the corpse was unlikely to be disturbed in an obscure part of the estate. They were right, in a way. It was the pagoda that brought the remains to the surface. If that had never been built . . . or, if it had been finished, and the concrete foundations poured like they were supposed to be . . . no one would ever have found him. He'd have had his own, private mausoleum. Which was more than he deserved, by the way. He was a thoroughly unpleasant young man."
She watched Angus Grey's brilliant mind ticking.
"You mentioned the possibility of somebody trying to frame you. Is there anyone in particular you were thinking of? Anyone with a vendetta against you or a reason to go to such drastic lengths?"
"No. The Patel people, I suppose. But I don't think they'd kill a man just to get back at me." Alexia thought about it. "There were a couple of incidents around the time I first took office. Teddy's dog was poisoned."
"Where? At Kingsmere?"
Alexia nodded. "It was horrible actually. Poor Teddy was terribly cut up at the time."
"I'll bet he was."
"Yes, but come on, Angus. It was a dog. Not quite the same thing as slaughtering a man in cold blood, is it?"
Sir Edward Manning looked at his watch as he hurried along the Strand.
Two forty-five. He couldn't be long. He must be available when the home secretary got out of her lawyer's meeting. But he needed to give Sergei the good news.
Alexia De Vere was about to resign.
Sergei's bosses, whoever they were, would get what they wanted.
In the back of his mind, Sir Edward Manning feared that this might not be the last he heard of Sergei Milescu. The bastard had those pictures, after all. He could still blackmail him, still use him for his own ends in the future, if he chose to. But for now, at least, the immediate danger was past. Sir Edward sensed that Sergei had become as scared as he was. He would want to know this. He would be grateful that Edward had told him personally, as soon as he was able.
Sergei's new flat was in a modern building on the Embankment. While not luxurious, it was certainly far more than he could afford on his salary as a House of Lords janitor. Running up the stairs to the second floor, Sir Edward Manning wondered briefly who was paying Sergei's rent. Then he put the thought out of his mind. By tomorrow morning, it wouldn't matter.
There was no bell, so he knocked firmly on the front door. To his surprise, it opened.
"Sergei?"
It wasn't like him to be so lax with security. Then again, the boy could drink, especially when he was agitated, as he had been recently. He's probably passed out on the bed with a bottle of Stoli.
But no. The bedroom was empty, a pile of neatly folded clothes the only sign that Sergei had been home at all. Did he leave in a hurry and forget to close the front door behind him? Maybe. But again, there was nothing lying around to suggest such a rush. Everything was as it should be, ordered, organized, clean.
Sir Edward Manning pushed open the door to the bathroom. If Sergei had left town, he'd have taken his toiletries, his personal things. The boy's mind might be a depraved sewer, but his hygiene habits were irreproachable.
The bath was on a raised platform, a sort of marble pedestal. The first thing Sir Edward Manning noticed was that it was overflowing.
The second thing he noticed was that it wasn't overflowing with water.
It was overflowing with blood.
Sergei Milescu's corpse bobbed grotesquely in the water, sliced down the middle like a butchered pig. He'd been disemboweled.
Sir Edward Manning turned and ran.
Emerging from the QC's office into the bright afternoon light, Alexia walked down Gray's Inn Road with no sense of where she was going or why. With Teddy by her side, she felt strong, capable, resilient. Without him, and without her political career to anchor her and give her focus, she was lost, drifting, as insubstantial and helpless as a feather in the wind.