The Geneva Trap

Chapter 56

‘Cigarette?’

Martin Seurat had stopped smoking ten years before, but he was so tired that he mindlessly accepted Fézard’s offer. He borrowed the Inspector’s lighter and lit up. It tasted terrible, but he hoped it would help keep him from nodding off. The clock on the wall said 6.15, and daylight was flooding through the windows.

It seemed important to stay awake, though there was nothing they could do – just sit and wait for news. They were both certain that whatever had happened to Liz, Kubiak was behind it. There had been nothing from the hospitals, so an accident could be ruled out. Every hotel, pension, and B&B in a twenty-mile radius was being visited by the police, checking the details of every visitor in a desperate search for Kubiak, Liz or anyone suspicious. Railways and the airport had been thoroughly combed over as well, scanning passenger lists and credit-card receipts, checking with Passport Control. Finally, over 400 CCTV cameras were having the contents of their last three days’ filing examined painstakingly, in a search for both the Mercedes saloon with Swiss number plates which belonged to Kubiak and the plain blue van in which he had arrived at the Koreans’ office, masquerading as a delivery man. Fézard’s surveillance cameras had caught only a partial shot of the van as it was being parked a little way down the street, but a couple of digits of the number plate were visible, and these had been checked with all the rental firms in Marseilles, the airport and the outlying areas. Without success.

CCTV seemed likely to be the most helpful source of information, but it would also be the slowest to produce results. Martin didn’t want to think how long it would take even the dozen or so who were working on it to scan all the digital video they’d collected.

The phones had been ringing all night. Herr Bech had been one of many callers; he had put out a general alert for any sighting of Kubiak or either of the vehicles in Switzerland. Geoffrey Fane had rung so often that Martin had finally had to suggest that he go to bed, so they could all get some sleep. Not that he himself had done much more than nap for five minutes at a time; he was too tense, too worried that if he closed his eyes he might miss something that could help find Liz.

His phone vibrated. He looked at the screen. ‘Now Geoffrey Fane’s started texting,’ he said irritably. ‘He expects to hear from the Russians this morning and will let us know if they have any useful information. I don’t expect much from that source,’ he added sourly.

Fézard nodded, then said, ‘There’s a canteen downstairs which will be open now for the early shift. Perhaps we should have some breakfast. It could be a busy day – we’d better eat while we have time.’

As if in rebuke, the phone on Fézard’s desk rang with a gentle purr. The Inspector picked it up and said hello, then listened intently, said a quiet Merci and put the phone down. ‘That was the lab – they have initial results from the first autopsy. The victims were definitely poisoned, and it was in the tea they drank. They haven’t identified the poison yet, but they believe it was a kind of venom – there are some that would paralyse a nervous system with just a few sips. It takes a few minutes to work, so provided everyone was drinking the tea at roughly the same time, it would poison them all.’

‘Sounds pretty sophisticated,’ said Martin.

Fézard nodded. ‘It is – that’s why they can’t identify it yet. The technician said he’s never seen exactly this poison before.’

A clever assassin, thought Martin gloomily, which meant he had carefully planned everything. Including, presumably, locating a place to hide Liz which no one could find.

Wait a minute, he told himself, Kubiak couldn’t have planned her abduction in advance. He wouldn’t have known she was in Marseilles; she hadn’t been certain of her plans herself until the day before. So if he had grabbed her, it must have been on the spur of the moment; he might not have had any idea what to do with her. That was where he could have made a mistake, something the CCTV cameras might have picked up. Unless he’d realised the danger, and decided the only thing to do was remove her from the scene altogether.

‘How about breakfast?’ Fézard began to say again, when there was a light tap on the office door. He sighed. ‘Entrez.’

One of his officers stood in the doorway. He was unshaven and his eyes were red. He’d obviously been up all night as well. ‘We’ve had a call from the CCTV crew, sir. They think they may have found something.’