‘I could watch it another time,’ I said, worried by all the trouble I was causing. ‘If it’s a problem?’

  ‘It’s OK.’ She seemed to be in two minds. ‘And it’s not very long. Maybe I will watch it again.’

  I held my breath as the film opened with a shot of Aldous punting along the Backs with Grace, accompanied by Elvis Presley’s ‘Love Me Tender’. No hidden photography this time. Louis must have been in the punt with them as Aldous and Grace smiled lovingly at each other. The schmaltzy scene faded into a series of short clips: Aldous at a lecture; in his room; cycling along King’s Parade. I glanced at Grace, who was still kneeling in front of the screen, like a child.

  The next scene made me sit up straight. Aldous was at a corner table of the ADC Bar, laughing with one other man. My eyes widened. It was the same person who was in the rotten.com video, taking drugs and having sex with Aldous. If Ji hadn’t shown me that video, would I have suspected that it was anything other than two friends sharing a pint? But I had seen the film and I noticed the lingering glance here, a laugh there. I looked at Grace again. Had she spotted anything? The film cut to the finale: a fancy-dress party in Louis’ house, where Aldous was dancing the jitterbug surprisingly well with a drunken Grace. And, in the crowd, Aldous’s male lover, looking on.

  ‘It’s magical,’ I said, feeling increasingly nauseous as the credits rolled. ‘He must have been very happy with it.’

  ‘Aldous loved it,’ she said as she turned off the TV and closed the cupboard. ‘Louis let him throw a big party at his house to end the film. Easier than here in college.’ She had a wistful smile on her face now. ‘We’d taken dancing lessons specially for that final scene. God, I looked out of it. That was quite an evening – what I can remember of it. Totally disgraced myself.’

  ‘And Louis filmed it all?’

  ‘Just the beginning,’ she said, walking over to her desk. ‘Aldous told him he didn’t want any damaging footage of him getting pissed. You have to be so careful if you want to be a lawyer.’

  ‘It looked OK to me,’ I said, thinking of the sex and drugs video again. It was all beginning to make sense. ‘Riotously drunken, as all good parties should be.’ Had the secret footage been shot at the party? Had Aldous sneaked away with the other man when Grace was too inebriated to notice?

  ‘They hit it off, then – Louis and Aldous?’ I asked.

  ‘As far as I know. Chalk and cheese, but they got on fine.’ She glanced over at me. ‘Why? Are you not getting on with him?’

  ‘So far, so good,’ I said.

  ‘Was it Louis who Aldous talked to you about?’ she asked. ‘In the bar?’

  She was too perceptive for me to lie. Too smart. I nodded.

  ‘That’s so weird. What did Aldous say?’

  ‘Not much. Just to be careful, I think. He knew I was having a film made of me.’

  ‘But Aldous adored Louis’ film.’ She looked perplexed. ‘Every frame. Liked Louis too.’

  ‘Did Aldous ever say what had upset him?’ I asked, thinking of the rotten.com footage, the rumours of a job interview.

  She shook her head and started to cry again. ‘I told him that whatever it was, he could tell me and I wouldn’t mind. Anything. Anything under the sun. But he wouldn’t say. He just wouldn’t bloody say.’

  34

  May 1998

  I knocked on Ji’s half-open door and walked straight in, as usual, expecting to see him in front of his computer. This time, though, he wasn’t at his desk. He was stripped down to his Mickey Mouse boxer shorts, doing press-ups on the floor. At least, he was trying to.

  ‘Everything OK?’ I asked, as he lay flat, straining to push his reluctant body upwards.

  ‘Healthy body, healthy mind,’ he said, gasping for breath. I watched as his pale torso lifted slowly off the ground – and smacked back down to earth. ‘No good,’ he said, rolling over onto his knees. ‘She will just have to accept me as I am.’

  ‘You should start gently,’ I said, wondering who ‘she’ was. ‘When was the last time you did any exercise?’

  ‘The last time? How about the first time?’ he said, straightening his glasses.

  ‘You know that film you showed me, the drug-fuelled sex session on rotten.com?’ I called out, as he disappeared into his bedroom to change.

  He poked his head back around the door with a conspiratorial smile. ‘You wanna watch it again?’

  There was no point trying to explain why I was interested to see the film for the second time.

  Two minutes later, Ji dialled up the modem to connect to the internet. The terrible screeching noise sounded accusatory, as if it disapproved of what we were doing.

  ‘Here we go,’ Ji said.

  It was definitely Aldous and the guy he’d met at the ADC Bar.

  ‘I just want to see where this one was filmed,’ I said. ‘Can you stop it there?’

  Ji didn’t question my flimsy justification for watching the film again and pressed pause. I leant forward, staring at the frozen image. It was impossible to make out the background as the room was dimly lit. Was that the pale outline of a cupboard of some sort? With an Indian mirrorwork design?

  ‘Keep going,’ I said to Ji. ‘And stop it… there.’

  For a brief moment, the cupboard became clearer. Was it the same as the one in Louis’ bathroom? Maybe yes, maybe no. It was still little more than a glistening blur. I squinted at the screen like Dad used to do with his canvases when he was painting. If it was the same cupboard, the camera must have been hidden, as there was no sense that either man knew they were being filmed. They weren’t putting on a performance for anyone else but themselves. The sex was furtive, rushed. I stared at the smudged image, unable to drag my eyes away from it.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Ji asked, turning to look at me.

  ‘Not really,’ I said.

  I walked back to my room, legs heavy, head spinning. There’s not enough evidence to link Louis to the video or to his bathroom – I may have got this all so wrong – but he recently made a film of Aldous’s life, hosted a party for him. And now he’s making a film of my life and also invited me to his house for a party. Did he secretly film me in the bathroom too? If so, what exactly did I do in there? I didn’t consume any drugs – thank God – or have sex with anyone, but I was present when Louis cut a line of cocaine. I also removed two tabs of Ecstasy from the jam jar on top of the cupboard. What if secret footage shows me chucking one across the bathroom to Lecter, shortly before he died? I’m sure I didn’t do that, but it would reflect very badly on me if I did. It wouldn’t exactly look good for Louis either.

  My hand is shaking too much now for me to write legibly here. The possibility that I might have thrown away my time at Cambridge – my medical career – before it’s even properly begun is almost too much to bear. Mum might never recover if I’m sent down. Her already fragile nerves would be shattered. I’m not sure I would cope either. Newlyn is my home – it always will be – but I’ve glimpsed another world. It’s not easy being a medical student, far from it, but I have kept my head above water. Proved to myself that I can do this. Until now.

  I want to confront Louis, ask him if he has been covertly filming people in his bathroom at parties. And if so, why? But I can’t have that conversation without acknowledging what I suspect about Aldous’s death. If Louis was in any way responsible, Aldous was right. He’s not just a bad person, he’s evil.

  35

  Adam makes himself a coffee, thinking back to yesterday morning, when Clio was in the kitchen with Tania. It was so weird, the way they got on together. But not for long, as it turned out. He’s already texted Tania a couple of times this morning, suggesting that he take a train down to Wiltshire and join them all for Sunday lunch, but so far no reply. Maybe he should just turn up and surprise them. That way he can talk to Tania face to face.

  He’s about to check his emails on his laptop at the kitchen table when his phone pings with a text. It’s from his boss, Doctor Stephen Goddard, head of the Paediatrics Department. Stephen rarely contacts him at the weekend. He’s a family man too, a big believer in separating work from home life. Adam reaches across and reads the message.

  Sorry to disturb – are you around for a chat this morning? Maybe a coffee at the Pavilion? Something’s come up.

  What the hell does that mean? Something’s come up? Should he call him now? He texts him back.

  Call me?

  The reply is quick.

  Best we talk in person. I’ll be at the Pavilion Café in 30 minutes. See you then?

  Adam waits a few seconds before sending an OK thumbs up. But he feels far from OK. Why does Stephen want to see him for a coffee on a Sunday morning?

  Twenty minutes later, he is washed and changed and walking past the playground. Stephen lives on Crooms Hill, on the far side of Greenwich Park, and always likes to meet at the Pavilion Café, up on the hill by the Royal Observatory. Adam looks around at the joggers and dog walkers and remembers yesterday morning, when he went off on his run with Tilly. He shouldn’t have promised to run with Freddie. He misses them both. Tania too. If only he could wind back the clock twenty-four hours. They could have taken a walk down the river instead and not gone to the park, not bumped into Clio. Unless she’d been watching them. In which case she would have engineered a different meeting. He still doesn’t know what game she’s playing.

  Stephen is already at a table outside the café when Adam arrives. He’s an old-school doctor, at least fourth generation, and ten years older than Adam. West Country private school, followed by Oxford, and a smooth progression through the ranks to become a senior consultant in paediatrics. These days he’s most interested in his pension, grumbling about the freezing of the lifetime allowance, how much more tax he’ll have to pay, and whether he should retire earlier than planned. But he’s a decent man, a reassuring presence in a crisis, someone who’s seen it all, including most of Britain’s golf courses.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Adam,’ he says, gesturing at the empty seat opposite him.

  Adam sits down and orders a double espresso from a waiter beckoned over by Stephen. It’s a reminder of how effortlessly Stephen manages to get people to do things for him, the soft power he wields. Not by barking orders but through gentle persuasion. In another life, he would have been a diplomat.

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Adam asks, glancing around. He spots two security cameras, one just inside the café, and one outside, overlooking the entrance.

  ‘I was going to ask you the same thing,’ Stephen says, chopping an iced bun into quarters and offering the plate to Adam. Stephen likes anything sweet, the more of it, the better, as his waistline testifies. Not the best advert for doctors.

  ‘I’m OK,’ Adam says.

  ‘How’s Tania?’ Stephen asks. ‘And the kids? Freddie and Tilda?’

  ‘Tilly,’ Adam says, shifting in his seat. What’s this about? Stephen makes a point of knowing the names of everyone’s families in the department, but he’s not his normal smiling self today. ‘They’re all down with the in-laws this weekend,’ he adds.

  ‘You’re not on call, are you?’

  Adam shakes his head. ‘I’m joining them today,’ he says, annoyed now. ‘How’s Virginia?’ he asks, pushing back. It’s not the kindest question. Virginia, Stephen’s wife, ran off with a rugby-playing junior doctor in Orthopaedics a couple of years back but has now returned.

  ‘You know Virginia,’ he says. ‘Always busy.’

  Often with other men. She’s had various affairs in the hospital, not all of them known to Stephen.

  ‘So what’s this about then?’ Adam asks, keen to cut to the chase. He’s suddenly back with Professor Beale, his old director of studies at Cambridge, a meeting he’s never forgotten.

  Stephen glances around to check that no one is within earshot. A bad sign. Adam looks at the camera above the café entrance. Was it pointing their way before?

  ‘It’s a little awkward, actually,’ he says. ‘We’ve had a complaint. From the parents of one of your patients.’

  Stephen’s words are like a punch to the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. ‘A complaint? Who from?’ Adam tries to think of someone, anyone, he might have upset in recent weeks, but no one springs to mind.

  ‘I can’t say any more at the moment.’

  ‘You’ve got to give me something here, Stephen,’ Adam says, leaning forward, his leg bouncing under the table. He too glances around to check that they are not being overheard.

  ‘Teenage girl. Seventeen. Says she’s received a string of inappropriate texts from you.’

  ‘Inappropriate?’

  The word comes out louder than he meant and several customers turn round to look at them.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Stephen says, more quietly.

  Adam can feel the adrenaline coursing through him. If you work with children, a complaint of inappropriate behaviour, any whiff of child safety having been compromised, is career ending.

  ‘They weren’t sent by me,’ he says. ‘You know they weren’t. I don’t text any of my patients. I would never do that.’

  ‘That’s what I told the GMC. The parents have gone directly to them, I’m afraid. The father’s a lawyer. He’s complained formally to the trust too.’

  Adam looks at Stephen, searching his ageing face for evidence that he believes him, that he is on his side. Stephen offers him nothing.

  ‘You do believe me?’ Adam says, his words more of a statement than a question.

  Stephen turns away, as if in disappointment. Or is he embarrassed? ‘They were sent from your phone, Adam.’

  Adam almost wants to laugh. ‘You know that’s not possible,’ he says. ‘Someone must have spoofed my number, or whatever they do.’

  He has received enough phishing texts himself from numbers purporting to be from his bank.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Stephen dabs at some sugar in the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. ‘The trust thinks it’s best, at this stage, if you don’t come into work while it carries out its own internal investigation. I’ve sorted the rota.’

  ‘The rota?’ Adam shakes his head in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. ‘This is fucking crazy.’

  Stephen winces at the expletive, glancing around the nearby tables as if to apologise. ‘I suggest you contact the governance team at the Royal College about legal support. At this stage, the police aren’t involved—’

  ‘The police?’

  A mother and child walk past them, on their way out of the café. The mother looks across at the mention of the police and grabs her son’s hand, accelerating away. Adam turns to check the camera above the counter again. A small red light on it has started to wink. Or did he just not notice it before?

  ‘I wouldn’t rule it out,’ Stephen says. ‘This girl’s father is like a dog with a bone. He’s threatening to take it to the papers too. He knows how successful you are – what a good story it would make. One of the country’s best paediatricians—’

  ‘I need to talk to him,’ Adam says, interrupting. ‘To the girl. At least tell me who it is.’

  ‘You know I can’t do that.’

  ‘What did these texts say, for Chrissake?’

  ‘They weren’t just texts. They were photos.’

  36

  May 1998

  It didn’t take long for me to be summoned by Professor Beale. I was expecting to meet in his panelled rooms, some of the oldest here in the college, but it seems he’s aware of how intimidating that can be. And intimidation is not Professor Beale’s style, unlike some of the other senior members of the Medical School. Instead, he asked to meet me in Second Court, from where we walked through to the Fellows’ Garden, in full spring bloom and one of the most idyllic settings in Cambridge.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said. ‘At the party.’

  For the first time, I noticed that he has a slight limp in one leg. He’s in his late sixties, but he’s lean and looks after himself, a keen runner.

  ‘And before you go on, it’s only fair that you should know, if you don’t already, that Louis Farr, the party host, has been suspended from his college with immediate effect. The police found traces of class A drugs in a bathroom drawer.’

  ‘I didn’t know,’ I said. The news shocked me, but my first thought was whether Clio had been suspended too. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ he said. ‘It’s important that you are honest with me, Adam. And from what I know of you so far, from our brief but pleasant acquaintance, I have no doubt that you will be.’

  And so I told him everything. How Lecter had been harassing Clio; why I’d locked him in the bathroom; how I had been offered but declined a line of cocaine; and how I had tried to save Lecter’s life. The only thing I omitted to say was that I had removed two Es from the bathroom. I still can’t account for the second one, but right now I’m confident that I didn’t give it to Lecter. Every so often I picture the pill arcing across the bathroom, but I try to put that down to my overactive imagination.

  ‘Thank you for being so open with me,’ he said as we sat down on a bench at the far end of the garden, in the shade of a mulberry tree.

  ‘I wish I’d never gone to the party,’ I said. ‘Clio told me not to.’

  ‘She sounds like a wise friend.’

  I thought of her face, held close to mine by the river in Grantchester. ‘She said that bad things always happen around Louis.’

  ‘He’s not been in any trouble in the past,’ Professor Beale said. ‘I’ve been talking with his college dean. But Clio was right. These are the sorts of parties that it’s best to avoid in your time here. Drugs are everywhere, we are not naive, but when people start dying, the university has to take action. I’m afraid this is going to be all over the newspapers tomorrow. It’s why we have to be so careful. The tabloids seldom miss an opportunity to give Cambridge – or Oxford – a good kicking. You’ve given your statement to the police?’

  ‘Twice.’