‘Sorry,’ Gabe mumbled, hastily shutting the door.
After that he started knocking before he tried different rooms, calling out Laura’s name, but no joy. At last he found a bathroom, with a packet of Alka-Seltzer open next to the sink, beside an empty bottle of prescription pills. Curious, Gabe read the label.
Lexapro. Wasn’t that an antidepressant?
He saw that they were Jason Cranley’s.
‘I’m in here.’ Laura’s voice drifted through from an adjoining bedroom. Gabe found her perched on the edge of a neatly made bed. Not drunk, as it happened, but looking anxious. She was holding some sort of paper in her hands.
‘You all right?’ he asked her. ‘I was thinking about going home. Max Bingley said you weren’t feeling too chipper.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Laura. ‘But I’m not sure Jason Cranley is. Look at this.’
Gabe sat down next to her as she handed him what she’d been holding – two sealed envelopes, one addressed to ‘Mum’ and the other to ‘Dad’.
‘This is Jason’s room,’ said Laura. ‘When I came up looking for something for my stomach, I found an empty bottle of pills on the bathroom counter. His name was on the front.’
‘Yeah. I just saw it,’ said Gabe.
‘Anyway, I was worried so I came through here and found these letters propped up on the bed.’
‘Shit.’ Gabe ran a hand through his hair. ‘You think he’s overdosed somewhere?’
‘I think it’s possible,’ said Laura. ‘I mean, look around this room. It’s immaculate. Doesn’t that seem odd to you? For a twenty-one-year-old boy?’
‘Like he was putting all his stuff in order,’ Gabe said quietly.
‘Exactly. The pills. This room. He left notes.’ She held up the envelopes. ‘I think we should do something’
Gabe felt his stomach lurch. She was right. Jason had seemed very happy earlier, when he saw him downstairs. But hadn’t he read somewhere that people were often calm and happy right before they topped themselves? As if, once they’d made the decision, they already felt at peace?
‘I’ll go and find Brett,’ he said grimly. ‘We need to open those letters.’
Angela and Brett were sitting on a bench together beside the lake when Gabe and Laura found them. After several large whiskys and two outstanding Cuban cigars, Brett had pushed his earlier encounter with Tatiana out of his mind. He felt calm again, and happy. Angie’s presence soothed him tonight, the way it always used to in the old days. If it could just be the two of them again – if Tatiana Flint-Hamilton could somehow evaporate and Brett’s sexual obsession evaporate with her – he felt sure that everything would be OK. Gazing out over the lake, with his wife’s hand in his, cool and slender and lovely, Brett could taste the peace and contentment waiting for him.
Until Gabe Baxter came along and shattered it.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Gabe. ‘But we found these in Jason’s bedroom.’ He handed Angela and Brett their respective envelopes.
‘There was an empty bottle of pills in the bathroom next door,’ blurted Laura, ‘and his bedroom seemed very … tidy. Not a thing out of place. We don’t mean to pry and it’s probably nothing. But we were worried …’
Angela Cranley went sheet-white. She let out a long, low moan of anguish. ‘Oh God. I knew something was wrong. I knew it! I should have followed him.’ The panic in her voice was palpable.
Instinctively, Brett reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sure he’s fine.’
In the distance, the chopper noise they’d heard earlier was back again. It grew louder by the second, making conversation impossible, then receded. Somebody, presumably, had got their shot.
Angela gazed down at the envelope in her hand, the neatly written single word – ‘Mum’ – and let out a sob. Her hands were shaking. ‘I can’t open it.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Brett. He’d already torn open his envelope and glanced at the contents. Now he did the same with Angela’s. Her letter he read more closely, carefully scanning every line. His face was set like flint.
Laura looked at Gabe and raised an eyebrow. Brett’s expression was hardly that of a concerned father. If anything he looked irritated. Not for the first time, Laura wondered how her husband could like this cold-blooded, arrogant, compassionless man.
Turning to Angela she asked, ‘Is there anything we can do? Should we call the police?’
‘The little shit,’ muttered Brett furiously. His voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible. Somehow that only served to make it more menacing. ‘The stupid, stupid, reckless little SHIT!’ Standing up, he screwed both letters up into a tight ball and hurled them on the ground.
‘What? What’s happened?’ said Angela desperately. ‘Brett, for God’s sake tell me! What did he say in the letter? Is he all right?’