Corbin, and half of her for me. But it had been messy, hard work, and midway through the job, Henry had been stung with a surge of loneliness that almost took his breath away.
He felt better when the job was done, when he was walking home in the early hours. There was no doubt that Corbin would become a suspect, and if they pinned it on him, well, they wouldn’t be wrong, would they? Corbin was as guilty of Audrey Marshall’s death as Henry was. Just as he’d been guilty of what happened to Rachael Chess. It was half and half. Always and forever.
Henry got home just as the emerging sun was beginning to lighten the sky. There were fragments of mist on the roads and sidewalks. It would be light in London by now, midday. How long would it be before Corbin heard what had happened with Audrey, before he knew that Henry was still in his life, that Henry would always be in his life?
It wasn’t until Saturday afternoon that Henry first read about the murder, an item appearing on the Globe’s Web site.
He’d done some thinking since then. Even though he was pretty sure that Corbin would become a suspect—the police would read Audrey’s diary, for one thing—Henry wanted to make sure that it happened. He wanted Corbin’s name dragged into it, and, ideally, he wanted him arrested. Corbin’s pretty face would be splashed across the Internet; preppy, blond killer of innocent young girls.
The question was: Would the diary be enough to land Corbin squarely on the suspect list? It would, of course, but there needed to be more. And if Henry was going to play this game, he really wanted to play it. He needed to plant the idea that there was something suspicious about Corbin Dell, and he thought of a way he could do that.
The next day at noon he went to 101 Bury Street, waiting around outside on the street to see if anyone might come out of the building. It felt good being there and being untouchable. In his mind, he was a friend of Audrey’s who had come to grieve. Maybe he was a friend who was secretly in love with her, although he couldn’t admit it to himself. A man came out of the building in a fleece jacket and poorly fitting jeans. He stopped in the courtyard to find the song he wanted to hear through his headphones, then double-knotted both shoelaces before setting off on what looked like a habitual walk. He didn’t glance in Henry’s direction.
The next person to exit the building was a woman in a stylish black-and-white jacket, walking anxiously as though she were trying to escape from someone. As she neared, Henry felt a click in his chest. She looked like Corbin, not a lot, but enough to make him think she might be the cousin. At the street crossing, she instinctively looked right instead of left, then corrected herself. It had to be the English cousin. He stopped her, told her the story about being a friend and trying to get information. She kept trying to end the conversation, but he wasn’t going to let that happen. For one, she had nervous, haunted eyes. Something had happened to her. She was damaged goods, and that was more beautiful to Henry than her lovely bone structure and her plump mouth.
He walked with her to Charles Street, telling lies. It was gratifying playing the bereaved friend. He wore his reading glasses, the ones that made him look sensitive and vulnerable, and even managed to squeeze out some tears. Before they parted ways, he made sure to tell Kate that Audrey had told him how weird Corbin had been. He then purposefully asked Kate exactly what time Corbin’s flight to London had been. He’d done enough, he knew. He caught her tapping the fingertips of her right hand against her thumb, back and forth in succession. Kate would probably do one of two things. She’d either contact the police and tell them what she’d heard, or she would contact Corbin and tell him about the visit. Either way, Henry had alerted her that something was amiss. She was just an ordinary prey animal and she’d start to get nervous.
He returned to his apartment. He kept thinking of Kate, and how much he’d enjoyed talking with her, and how much he’d like to spend time in the apartment with her, especially if she didn’t know he was