you’re sure.’
‘Of course I am,’ said Deira. ‘Give me a minute to freshen up and then I’ll leave you to yourself.’
As soon as Deira left the apartment, Grace opened a bottle of red wine, poured herself a glass and sat down at the kitchen counter with Ken’s laptop. She opened the email and looked at the link that would take her to his video. It wasn’t until she’d drunk a third of the glass that she finally clicked on it.
It took some time for the video to load, but eventually it started to play. Once again, Ken looked at her from the laptop’s screen. Although he was wearing the same shirt as before, Grace reckoned he’d recorded this at a different time. He looked even older. Less well. Less like the man she remembered. She took a large gulp from the glass and waited for him to speak.
‘So,’ he said, his voice stronger than his appearance had suggested. ‘You did it, Hippolyta. You solved the treasure hunt, you got to the end and you’re listening to me speak from beyond the grave. Sorry – I couldn’t resist the “beyond the grave” comment. It’s both macabre and humbling to think that I’ve gone and yet my words and my image live on. Not printed, like in books or letters or photos, but real, living images. Maybe that’s what they mean by eternal life now. There’s stuff about us that will never disappear. It’s quite frightening really. You know I’m dead, yet here am I still talking to you.
‘Anyway, to finish the treasure hunt there’s one more thing you have to do. You’ve got all the mystery letters, obviously, and now you have to use that information to get a USB stick. The last piece of information is there. Given that you’ve got this far, I’m sure you’ll work it out. Here’s a little clue, though. You’re not looking for the name of a place. Just a name.
‘I really am impressed with you. In fact, I take my hat off to you. Well, I would if I had a hat. And if I was in a place I could take it off. Good luck. Over and out.’
The video faded, and Grace sat looking at the blank screen for a moment. Then she took out her phone.
Deira was walking along the seafront when she got a text from Grace to say that she’d finished watching Ken’s video. It was nearly an hour since she’d left the apartment, and she’d worried that Grace was finding her husband’s last words difficult to deal with. But when she got back, Grace was as calm and composed as ever.
‘If it was his last message, it was typical Ken – short, sweet and to the point,’ she said. ‘No farewell words, no messages to say he loved me or telling me he was sorry for what he was doing. Just more instructions. I’ve to use the letters to get the final piece of information. But he gave me a clue. He said it’s not a place, it’s a name. Weirdly, though, all I can do is keep thinking of place names. Not that any of them actually fit with the letters in the clue.’
‘Maybe it’s a person’s name.’ Although she’d kept her voice as matter-of-fact as Grace’s, Deira was sad that Professor Harrington hadn’t been more loving to his wife in his last message. ‘Or the name of a company, perhaps.’ She took a pen and paper from her bag and started scribbling. ‘EPIC ART. Would he have left you a painting, d’you think?’
‘I suppose.’ Grace looked doubtful. ‘He knew about art, or at least he had books about it, but it wasn’t his main thing. You’re the arty person. Is there a gallery in Dublin called Epic Art?’
‘Not that I know of.’ Deira continued to rearrange the letters. ‘But I suppose there could be. Or maybe there’s one called Pic Rate.’
‘A photography shop?’ suggested Grace.
‘Or a book!’ exclaimed Deira. ‘It must be a book. Though with these letters . . .’ She rearranged them again. ‘All I’ve come up with is RICE PAT, which actually sounds like a Chinese takeaway. D’you—’
‘Oh.’ Grace’s eyes widened and she thumped the table gently. ‘It’s not Rice Pat. It’s Pat Rice. How did I not get that before now? He’s one of Ken’s oldest friends. Ken must have confided in him and given him this USB thingy. But why on earth didn’t Pat say something to me at the funeral, for