NINE

      I

      For a moment, Edouard feared he’d made a dreadful mistake, bringing the news of Petitier’s death so gleefully to Mikhail’s attention. But Mikhail was too perturbed by what he saw to worry about that. He grabbed the remote, turned up the volume. A studio anchor was discussing latest developments with a reporter on location outside Evangelismos Hospital; but then the reporter broke off and turned to the front steps, down which two women and a man were now walking, their night-time faces a strobe of flashbulbs.

      ‘That’s Daniel Knox,’ muttered Edouard.

      ‘Who?’ asked Mikhail.

      ‘The Egyptologist. He found Alexander the Great and then Akhenaten. You must remember. And that woman to his left. That’s his girlfriend Gaille Bonnard.’

      ‘She’s pretty,’ muttered Mikhail, his hand drifting to his crotch. ‘I like a girl who makes the most of herself.’

      Edouard sat back, intrigued. Knox and Bonnard had turned the world of archaeology upside down with their recent discoveries. Suddenly the prospect of the fleece being genuine seemed significantly higher.

      In brisk Greek, Knox introduced his companions, gave his own background, before launching into a spirited attack on the notion that Augustin Pascal had had anything to do with Petitier’s death, not least because he’d been with him all afternoon. Then he looked direct into the camera and added: ‘I love Greece. I love the Greek people. I love being here in Athens. So I’d like to believe what happened to my friend was the handiwork of one rogue policeman.’ He jerked his head at the hospital. ‘But I heard something disturbing just now in Intensive Care. I heard that the police have been arranging the transfer of my friend into their custody, even though they have no way of looking after him properly. So I have a question for those policemen, if they’re watching: why would you want to take him into custody, unless what you really want is for him to die?’

      There was an audible grunt from one of the journalists, taken aback by so direct an accusation; flashbulbs popped even faster and a clamour of questions were thrown in English and Greek. The woman lawyer threw Knox a fierce look then tried to downplay the accusation, assuring everyone that Augustin was receiving the finest medical attention Athens had to offer, and would continue to receive it. Then she thanked the press for coming and promised updates in the morning.

      The camera switched back to the reporter who wrapped up and handed back to the studio, who switched instantly to another reporter who was with a Chief Inspector of police, identified as Angelos Migiakis. ‘That’s an outrageous slur,’ he stormed, when Knox’s allegation was put to him. ‘Our first priority this afternoon was securing treatment for Mr Pascal. We took him to Evangelismos ourselves. We’d never do anything to put his life in danger.’

      ‘But you must acknowledge that it was your officer who—’

      ‘I acknowledge nothing. We’re conducting a thorough investigation, and when it’s finished then we’ll know what happened. But I want to make two points. Pascal wasn’t the only victim today. Professor Petitier was brutally murdered. Let’s not forget that. We owe it to him to find out who killed him. And the hotel CCTV shows quite clearly that no one entered or left Augustin Pascal’s room other than Pascal himself and this man Knox. So you tell me, eh. Who else should we be looking for?’

      ‘Are you accusing Daniel Knox of being involved in Petitier’s murder?’

      ‘And let me say something else,’ went on Migiakis. ‘Items were taken from Petitier’s overnight bag. We know that for sure. We also know that Pascal had a bag with him when he left for the airport. What was in it? No one will tell us. What happened to it? No one knows. It mysteriously disappeared while they were at the airport. So I ask again, who else should we be looking for, other than these two?’

      The reporter handed back to the studio; the anchorwoman moved to the next story. Mikhail muted the volume, then turned to Edouard and pointed at the screen. ‘The fleece,’ he said.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘That’s what was in the bag. My golden fleece. Those two fucking archaeologists murdered Petitier for it. Then they stole it.’

      ‘I suppose it’s a possibility.’

      ‘It’s not a possibility, as you put it,’ said Mikhail. ‘It’s what happened. Weren’t you listening? They took it to the airport and then they hid it.’

      ‘You can’t know that,’ said Edouard. ‘Not for sure.’

      ‘You’re wrong. I can know it.’ He touched his chest. ‘I know it in here. I’m never wrong when I know something in here.’

      ‘Yes, but what if—’

      ‘Are you questioning my instincts?’

      Edouard dropped his eyes. ‘No. No. Of course not.’

      Mikhail turned to Boris. ‘I want to speak to this man Knox,’ he said. ‘I want to speak to him now.’

      ‘But we don’t know where he is.’

      ‘That press conference was outside Evangelismos Hospital, wasn’t it? You’ve heard of phone books, haven’t you? You’ve heard of the Internet? Your cars have SatNav, don’t they? Or is it beyond you to find a single fucking hospital?’

      ‘The press conference is over,’ said Zaal. ‘They’ll be long gone.’

      ‘Maybe,’ acknowledged Mikhail. ‘But Knox’s best friend is lying in intensive care, remember. He’ll be back soon enough, believe me. And we’re going to be waiting for him.’

      II

      ‘What the hell was that?’ scowled Charissa, once she, Knox and Gaille had walked out of the hospital grounds, and the cameras were no longer on them. ‘The police are planning to take Augustin into custody?’

      ‘Claire was scared they’d try something,’ Knox told her.

      ‘They wouldn’t dare.’

      ‘They certainly won’t now.’

      Charissa shook her head angrily. ‘I can’t represent you if you’re going to provoke the police unnecessarily. I have to work with these people on other cases. I have to keep good lines of communication open. How am I supposed to do that if you start