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CHAPTER SEVEN
AS THE TRAIN APPROACHED CAMBRIDGE, the landscape flattened and the temperature dropped. I did up my coat as I left the station. The wind cut into my face like a volley of icy razor blades. I made my way to the pub to meet Paul.
The White Bear was a ramshackle old place—it looked as if several extensions had been added onto the original structure over the years. A couple of students were braving the wind, sitting outside with their pints in the beer garden, wrapped up in scarves, smoking. Inside, the temperature was much warmer, thanks to several roaring fires, which provided a welcome relief from the cold.
I got a drink and looked around for Paul. Several small rooms led off from the main bar and the lighting was low. I peered at the figures in the shadows, unsuccessfully trying to spot him. A good place for an illicit rendezvous, I thought. Which, I suppose, is what this was.
I found Paul alone in a small room. He was facing away from the door, sitting by the fire. I recognized him at once, on account of his sheer size. His huge back nearly blocked the fire from sight.
“Paul?”
He jumped up and turned around. He looked like a giant in the tiny room. He had to stoop slightly to avoid hitting the ceiling.
“All right?” he said. He looked like he was bracing himself for bad news from a doctor. He made some room for me, and I sat down in front of the fire, relieved to feel its warmth on my face and hands.
“It’s colder than London here. That wind doesn’t help.”
“Comes straight from Siberia, that’s what they say.” Paul continued without pausing, clearly in no mood for small talk, “What’s this about a diary? I never knew Alicia kept a diary.”
“Well, she did.”
“And she gave it to you?”
I nodded.
“And? What does it say?”
“It specifically details the last couple of months before the murder. And there are couple of
discrepancies I wanted to ask you about.”
“What discrepancies?”
“Between your account of events and hers.”
“What are you talking about?” He put down his pint and gave me a long stare. “What do you
mean?”
“Well, for one thing, you told me you hadn’t seen Alicia for several years before the murder.”
Paul hesitated. “Did I?”
“And the diary, Alicia says she saw you a few weeks before Gabriel was killed. She says you
came to the house in Hampstead.”
I stared at him, sensing him deflate inside. He looked like a boy suddenly, in a body that was much
too big for him. Paul was afraid, it was obvious. He didn’t reply for moment. He shot me a furtive