“Of course.” Ed nodded, smiling. “You see, if it’s Naumenko it does explain why Berg wants us dead, just like you said. Because we know that he killed David, and Naumenko loved David, I mean loved him, chemistry between them. Strange but there it was. They did a lot of business together, became great friends. Apparently he cried when he heard David had been killed. He never forgave me either, said I should have made David more aware of the dangers.”
Ed looked lost again, like he blamed himself too. It made JJ think back as well, to his own preoccupation that night, never realizing that somewhere, probably in the same city, a man as dangerous as Naumenko had been reduced to weeping over David Bostridge, and that back in America Holden had waited, knowing that the trip would end badly, that he’d have to comfort the family, knowing all the time that he’d sanctioned it, chosen the killer.
“So in theory,” JJ said eventually, “if it is Naumenko, we only have to tell him what we know about Berg and that should give us some movement.”
“Exactly,” said Ed. “You just sit it out here for a day or two, I’ll go down to Washington, and then we’ll see what happens.” They walked on a short way without speaking before Ed added like an afterthought, “A shame we couldn’t have done something before they got to Larry.”
“You knew Viner? ” JJ asked, surprised.
“Yeah, pretty well; I always looked him up when I was in Paris. Actually I had lunch with him a couple of months ago. Fakhr el Dine, you know, at the IMA?”
“I know it. He used to lust after the waiters there.”
“Yeah,” Ed agreed, tacitly acknowledging the vast underbelly of Viner’s life, a side of him that was only vaguely hinted at in his lusting after young waiters. “Yeah, he was a sick individual. And maybe the world’s better off without him. He was decent though, where it counted.” JJ nodded, not saying anything, and Ed said, treading carefully, “I heard about your girlfriend too.”
Again, JJ nodded but said nothing, feeling there was nothing to say to someone who hadn’t known her, or them as a couple. He felt too like he wanted to avoid any situation where someone might sympathize with him on Aurianne’s behalf, sympathy that would have stuck in his throat, sickened him. Instead, he shifted the conversation back to Holden, saying, “You’re not married yourself ?”
Ed raised his eyebrows in response. “Fifteen years,” he said, correcting JJ’s assumption. “Jane’s a professor at Yale too. Thankfully, she’s visiting with her family in Sydney at the moment. But like Susan, she’s okay with the business, you know? She understands the risks.”
JJ reeled slightly, his shock based mainly on his impression of the house, a place which had looked like only one person lived there. He was certain too that the walk-in closet had contained only men’s clothes, but maybe he’d been mistaken, or maybe the missing clothes had been hers rather than his.
“No kids?”
“No. We put it off and put it off and in the end it just seemed too late.”
“And you don’t find business messes your life up?”
“No,” Ed said, matter-of-factly. “Until this came along. And that’s the beauty of still having your hand in, knowing what’s coming, getting tipped off.” He looked at JJ then, saying, “You know, you’re never gonna live a normal suburban commuter’s life—and who’d want to? But you can find a balance, with the right people, the right mix of trust and caution. It can work. Life can be good.” JJ smiled, bemused that Ed had so easily seen through him, like it was common for people of his age to be preoccupied with how they could square things up. “I’ll tell you something else,” added Ed. “I would never advise trying to cut your ties with the business, but you can do other things too.”
“Become a professor.” JJ laughed.
“You wouldn’t be the first, or writer or journalist. There’s no hurry, you’re young, but there are futures.”
“I’ll bear it in mind,” said JJ, still smiling but finding some comfort in the conversation, in Holden generally, the way he seemed to wear it all so lightly, like a man who’d come to terms with himself.
They walked on for another hour or more, Ed talking about his move into academia, about his career before that, a short spell in Vietnam, longer spells in Eastern Europe. They touched upon the subject of the Bostridges now and then too, almost in passing, and JJ found it reassuring to talk to someone who was as implicated in Bostridge’s death as he was and yet who was able to separate that fact completely from his ongoing relationship with the family.
Eventually they came to the village from its far side and stopped for lunch in a small restaurant, one JJ hadn’t even noticed on his previous walk, country-kitchen style, plenty of happily overweight couples eating in there. The waitress knew Ed and spoke a few words to him nearly every time she passed, Ed responding each time, his smile increasingly strained.