As he left the hotel, Finn noticed a small crowd off to one side—mostly workers from the hotel by the look of them. One of them came running back into the hotel, a look of horror and distress on his face, and in the gap that had briefly opened up Finn saw Karasek’s smashed body, which fittingly had landed in the gutter. The crowd and the surrounding street were surprisingly subdued—no screams, no shouts, no alarm.
Finn strolled back to his hotel. He had an answer, one as anticlimactic as had always seemed to be the case—it had all been about revenge, fueled no doubt by Perry’s increasing realization that his newfound autonomy was actually a form of sidelining, and perhaps fueled further by Finn’s new career. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Perry’s plan dated back to the first time he’d seen one of Finn’s books in an airport bookstore.
Somehow, Finn wasn’t even shocked by the pettiness of it. A boy had been murdered, a girl almost killed, families destroyed, and all because one corrupt civil servant had objected to the part another corrupt civil servant had played in his partial downfall. It should have been shocking, but Finn’s passion was history, a subject that was littered with trivial horrors.
The snow had been cleared from the esplanade, and people were sitting at tables outside the cafés, enjoying the sun, protected from the cold by blankets. It made him realize how much he’d missed this city, and the north in general.
As he walked, he was still determined that he would kill Perry, that he had no choice anyway if he wanted his life back. But he desperately wanted his life to return to normal now—or a new normal. He wanted to sink back into his books, into Béziers, but he also wanted Adrienne there with him.
He walked into the hotel and headed across the lobby, making for the elevators. One of the concierges was talking to a young businessman in a suit and heavy coat, but when he saw Finn he stopped and called out, “Mr. Harrington.”
Finn turned, and the concierge gestured toward him and said, “This is Mr. Harrington.” He looked back to Finn then, smiling as he said, “We just tried your room—this gentleman has called to see you.”
“Thanks,” said Finn, and looked at the young guy standing there, smooth-faced, pale in a healthy way, his hair about as bed-head as he could get away with whilst wearing a suit—he looked like a Burberry model. Finn gestured toward the middle of the lobby and they moved over there. The guy was carrying a briefcase, which he was holding a little too tightly. They stood for a second and then Finn said, “Well?”
“Right, of course. Is there somewhere we could talk in private, Mr. Harrington?”
“I’m staying here, so there’s my room, but before we go anywhere that isn’t a public place, how about telling me who you are, who sent you, how you knew I was here, and above all, what’s in the briefcase.”
“Right, of course. My name’s Robin Forrester, I’m from the British embassy, and the briefcase is for you. I can’t tell you who sent me.”
“Then you can take your briefcase back to the British embassy and leave me to enjoy my little holiday.”
Forrester looked impressed in some way, and said, “I was told you’d say something like that. I was also told to tell you that I’d been sent by your friend from the Berkeley hotel.”
“Okay, let’s go.” They walked toward the elevators, and stepped into the first available car and stood in silence as it started to move.
Finn found himself amused by this turn of events. In that final exchange with Karasek, he’d accidentally talked about “my business,” forgetting it hadn’t been his business for six years. Now it seemed he wasn’t alone in forgetting that. He stood there as the elevator ascended, a courier of sorts standing next to him, and it all had a sense of terrible familiarity, as if he’d never left this hotel, as if everything that had happened in the last six years had melted away.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Once they got to Finn’s room, Forrester put the briefcase on the desk and finally released his grip on the handle. Finn looked at him, studying the way he was dressed before saying, “You’re not at the embassy, are you? You flew in this morning. Were you on the same flight as me?”
“I think so. I was in economy, though. How did you know?”
“You’re not wearing a scarf. There don’t appear to be any gloves in your coat pockets. You’re just not dressed the way you would be if you were based here. You flew out from London, where the weather is balmy, and you still can’t quite take in how cold it is here.”
Forrester grimaced. “It is a little colder than I’d anticipated, but I’ll be flying back this afternoon.”
“Okay, let’s see what’s in this case.” Finn walked over to the desk, but Forrester immediately looked uneasy.
“Then I should go, Mr. Harrington. It’s not for me to know what’s in the case.”
“No, you can stay.” He went to the far side of the desk and turned the case so that Forrester wouldn’t see the contents, then beckoned him closer. “It’s not a bomb, is it? Because if it is, we both go together.”
“Of course it’s not a bomb.”
“How do you know? You don’t know what’s in it.”