When he realized it was real, a dread would settle over him, far worse than what his nightmares had conjured. Being on the plane, leaving England, was an overwhelming relief. Was he free now? Had they gotten away with it? Eventually, the body would be found, of course, and then there would be a murder inquiry. Would they come looking for him, and for Henry as well? It depended on what Claire had told her friends about her life, how much she had shared. Did she keep a diary? Corbin and Claire had e-mailed, but only a few times, and nothing that personal. Most of their dates had been arranged face-to-face at the pub. It was entirely possible that no one but she knew about her love life. She’d been secretive, obviously, hiding one boyfriend from another. Maybe there’d been other boyfriends. Maybe she’d been secretive with everyone in her life.
Back in Boston, Corbin stayed with his father in Beacon Hill for a week. His mother came and took him out to lunch; he hadn’t seen her in so long, and it was clear that she’d had more work done to her face. Her lips were fuller, her forehead unlined. She asked him, as she always did, for information about his father. He declined to tell her anything, except that he thought his father was happy, the opposite of what his mother was hoping to hear.
He moved to New York City and began his internship at Briar-Crane. He was sleeping better, the images from that cemetery in London receding slightly. He kept a constant eye out for Henry Wood, knowing that he was also in New York for an internship. They’d agreed to have no further contact after parting ways. In fact, they’d agreed to say they barely knew each other if questioned by the police, that they’d chatted once or twice at a pub. Corbin was eager to know whether Henry had been questioned by the police. He didn’t think so. If they hadn’t known enough to question him, then chances were they hadn’t gone to Henry either.
And it wasn’t just that he wanted to find out if Henry had been questioned. Corbin desperately wanted to see Henry again. He didn’t know exactly why. Part of it was that they had shared something so transgressive and intimate that Corbin needed to know what effect it had had on Henry. Was he haunted by the image of Claire’s lifeless body? Was he sleeping? Was he regretful at all about what they had done?
Corbin had Internet at his sublet in Manhattan, but he never searched for stories about Claire online, telling himself that search histories were evidence. Instead, every day he went to a newsstand near his apartment that sold foreign newspapers, and he bought the Times and scanned it for anything on Claire. On June 15, her body was discovered, dug up by an Irish wolfhound that was being walked through the cemetery. It was big news. There were pictures of Claire, looking rosy-cheeked and beautiful, plus a published shot of Claire’s parents arriving in London to identify the body. There was no mention of suspects, no mention of Claire having dated an American student. Done reading, he threw the Times out in a public trashcan as he always did.
In early July, drinking with coworkers at Jimmy’s Corner, Corbin spotted Henry, sitting in a booth with an older woman in corporate clothing. Henry was wearing a light gray suit, his maroon tie loosened, and his hair had been cut short. Corbin had been midsentence with Barry, a fellow intern, but stopped speaking the moment he saw Henry.
“You okay?” Barry asked, casting a look back toward where Corbin was looking.
“Yeah, yeah. I thought I saw someone I know. What was I saying?”
For the rest of the conversation, Corbin kept an eye on Henry, not sure what to do. Should they still pretend they didn’t know each other? When his coworkers decided to move on to another bar, Corbin stayed, still unsure about whether he should approach Henry, but desperate to find out how he was doing. He finished his old-fashioned and ordered another. He took one sip, and felt a hand clap onto his shoulder.
“Dude. I’ve been wondering when I’d run into you.”
“Hi, Henry. I saw you, I just didn’t know if I—”
“You should’ve come over. Met Anna. She had to leave, and I was all set to go myself when I saw you, lurking here.” He laughed, and Corbin smiled.