The Lost Labyrinth. Will Adams
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of Mercedes SUVs with tinted windows were waiting on the tarmac, keys already in the ignition. Boris took a folded sheet of note-paper from his pocket. ‘This is Mikhail Nergadze’s address,’ he told Edouard. ‘We’ll meet you there.’
‘But I don’t know Athens. How will I find it?’
‘The cars have SatNav,’ said Boris. ‘You do know how to use SatNav, I trust.’
‘Yes, of course. But where are you going?’
‘None of your damned business.’
Edouard flushed. It was one thing to be treated rudely by Ilya and Sandro Nergadze, another by their staff. ‘I asked you a perfectly civil question,’ he said. ‘If you can’t answer it in a manner that—’
‘Your mobile and wallet,’ said Boris, holding out his hand.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard me,’ said Boris. ‘Your mobile and wallet.’
‘But what if I need them?’ protested Edouard.
‘We’re here on a sensitive mission,’ said Boris. ‘Secure communications only. Your mobile isn’t secure, so give it to me.’
‘What about my wallet? Isn’t that secure either?’
‘Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,’ said Boris. ‘It won’t do you any good.’ He nodded to Davit, who wrapped him in the straitjacket of his arms while Zaal rifled his pockets, pulled out his mobile and wallet, handed them to Boris.
‘What if I break down?’ asked Edouard feebly.
Boris reached into his back pocket for a wad of euros, peeled off two twenties that he stuffed contemptuously in Edouard’s breast pocket. ‘I’ll want them back,’ he said, ‘or a receipt showing how you spent them. Understand?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, just climbed into the back of the first Mercedes, while Davit and Zaal went up front, and then they were gone, leaving Edouard standing there, with only humiliation for company.
II
There was an awkward moment as Knox was being discharged from the police station, when Theofanis tipped up the translucent pouch into which he’d earlier placed Knox’s belongings, so that they all spilled out across the varnished pine counter: his mobile, his wallet, his keys and the little red-leatherette ring box he’d been carrying around these last few days. He glanced at Gaille; she feigned distraction long enough for him to slip it away in his pocket. Then it was down the steps and out the front, wending between parked police cars and bikes.
Night had fallen. The pavements gleamed from a recent shower. A party of students engulfed them for a moment, boisterously shouting out competing plans for the evening. An elderly lottery-ticket salesman lowered his notched stick like a car park barrier across Knox’s chest, promising him a great fortune for a mere five euros. Exotic birds squawked outside a pet shop, while dogs lay listlessly in small cages behind the windows, like so many Amsterdam whores. They reached a silver BMW 5-Series; a lawyer’s car, not an archaeologist’s. Charissa duly unlocked it and took the wheel, her seat moved as far forward as it would go, so that she could reach the pedals. Nico climbed in the passenger side, while Knox opened the back door for Gaille, then got in alongside her, taking and pressing her hand to thank her for being there.
The BMW’s interior was all polished walnut and pale leather, yet it smelled of fast food and there was a colouring book half-hidden beneath the front seat, along with a few discarded sweet-wrappers. The glimpse of family life made Knox warm to Charissa even more than her getting him out of gaol had done. ‘What now?’ he asked.
‘We go see Augustin,’ said Gaille.
‘I’ve spoken to a contact at the prosecutor’s office,’ said Charissa, pulling away. ‘The police have been uncharacteristically active. They must want a quick result very badly. They’ve already reviewed the hotel’s fifth floor CCTV tapes, for example, and established a provisional timeline of movements. May I run it by you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you. A little before two this afternoon, Professor Petitier arrived outside Augustin’s door. He had his laptop over his shoulder and was clutching an overnight bag, and he kept looking around as though he was worried he was being followed. He knocked. The door opened. He held a brief conversation, presumably with Augustin, though he’s out of view, then he disappeared inside and the door closed again. At two-fifteen you showed up and knocked on Augustin’s door, then called out.’
‘I told him we needed to get moving.’
‘Augustin appeared a minute or so later,’ nodded Charissa, looking at Knox via the rear-view mirror. ‘Did he give any sign there was someone inside?’
‘No.’
‘Did you hear or see anything?’
‘No.’
‘You walked together to the lifts. A few guests came and went, but no-one left or entered Augustin’s room until you and Augustin reappeared with Claire and a lot of luggage a few minutes after four. You went inside Augustin’s room. The first two policemen arrived several minutes later. Does that sound accurate?’
‘Pretty much. But if the police know that, how can they suspect Augustin?’
‘They claim he killed Petitier before you left for the airport.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ protested Knox. ‘He was alive when we came in. He had a convulsion on the floor. He even spoke to us, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Calm down. I’m only telling you the police’s current working hypothesis. They think Augustin assaulted Petitier before you both left for the airport, but that his assault wasn’t immediately fatal, and he was still alive when you returned.’
‘No way,’ protested Knox. ‘No way had Augustin just done that to a man. I’d have noticed in his manner.’
‘You’re his best friend,’ observed Charissa. ‘So you would say that, wouldn’t you?’ She glanced up again, anticipating his indignation. ‘Don’t misunderstand: I’m not telling you what I believe. I’m telling you the case the police are making.’
‘I know.’
‘Shall I continue?’
‘Please.’
‘Okay. A preliminary examination suggests that Petitier was killed by a single blow with some hard, heavy blunt instrument. They found no such implement in the hotel room.’
‘What about Petitier’s laptop?’ asked Knox.
‘No traces of hair or blood on it,’ said Charissa. She grunted with wry amusement. ‘And you won’t believe what they’ve done. Some idiot policeman started it up. When it asked him for a password, he typed in a few wild guesses. The damned thing only started chewing up its data.’
‘Hell!’ snorted Knox. That must have been what Theofanis had told Angelos outside the interview room. ‘How much have they lost?’
‘They don’t know yet. And they may still be able to retrieve it. It’s not like we don’t have computer experts here in Athens. But whether they’ll bother…’ She gave an expressive shrug to suggest that they’d bother if it would serve their purposes, but not otherwise. ‘Anyway, Petitier’s overnight bag was ripped open, and some of its contents appear to be missing, because there’s not enough to have made it look as bulky as it did on the camera. They’re considering the possibility that the murder weapon came originally from Petitier’s case, but that Augustin took it away with him when he left for the airport. CCTV footage apparently shows him carrying a bag. Is that right?’
Knox frowned. It was right. A large cream canvas bag with something bulky inside. ‘What’s