The Lost Labyrinth

THIRTEEN
I

'Jesus!' shuddered Gaille. 'What a creep.'

'Yes,' agreed Knox. He double-locked the door then checked the corridor through the fisheye peephole.

She looked curiously at him. 'What?'

'I don't know.' He turned to face her. 'Didn't you get the sense that he had some kind of…agenda?'

'He was just a jerk, that's all,' said Gaille. 'Plenty of men think it turns a woman on to be stared at like that. You just happened to be there tonight.'

'Maybe,' said Knox.

'Seriously,' she told him. 'Don't go all paranoid on me.'

'Isn't paranoid how Augustin described Petitier?' he asked. 'And look what happened to him.'

'You're not suggesting that guy had something to do with Petitier's death, are you?' frowned Gaille.

Knox shrugged as he went over to the bed. 'Augustin said that Petitier went to see him because his own room was still being made up. But how plausible is that? I mean, the cleaning staff are pretty damned efficient here. You've got to give them that. The vacuum cleaners go in the morning, not the afternoons.'

'Maybe the previous occupant was late checking out.'

'Maybe. But maybe it was something else. I mean, the lobby here is really exposed, isn't it? Didn't you find it uncomfortable coming in just now, the way everyone stared?'

'So?'

'I'm just saying. Put yourself in Petitier's shoes. Out of the world for the best part of twenty years: crowds are bound to make him anxious. He checks in here. People stare at him. Maybe it's just because he looks a bit odd, but he fears the word's got out about the priceless treasure in his bag. He dares not go to his room now. He knows Augustin's giving one of the talks. His old student, someone he can trust. He asks what room he's in, or perhaps he glimpses his room number in the register while he's checking in. He goes up, knocks, spins his story about his room not being ready yet, and promises he won't stay long. But then Augustin heads off to the airport and Petitier makes himself at home, takes a shower.'

'In someone else's room?'

'Why not? Augustin's going to be gone for two hours at least, more like three. And haven't you ever had that feeling of being grubby and under-dressed when you turn up after a long journey somewhere as plush as this?'

'Okay. Go on.'

'Now imagine it from someone else's perspective. Imagine you're sitting in the lobby. Nico has emailed you photos of Petitier's seals, or maybe you've just heard whispers. But suddenly you see the man himself clutching his bag and looking nervous as hell. Jesus! you think. Maybe there's something to this after all. Your whole life you've been hoping to find something extraordinary; or maybe you're getting on a bit and you've got nothing saved. You want that fleece. You covet it. You've earned it by dedicating your life to archaeology. You follow Petitier to the lifts. He tries to shake you off by going to Augustin's room, but you manage to trail him somehow, and you hear Augustin inviting him inside. Maybe you've got a nearby room. Or you know someone who does. Whatever, you're still lurking nearby when I arrive twenty minutes later and take Augustin off to the airport, leaving Petitier on his own. And then, through the door, you hear the shower come on.'

'Not through the door,' said Gaille. 'The CCTV would have picked it up.'

'Through the wall, then.' He nodded at their own bathroom. 'I mean, we can hear everything our neighbours get up to. Presumably it's the same one floor down.'

'So I hear the shower start,' agreed Gaille. 'It's my opportunity.'

'Exactly,' said Knox. 'You may never get another. You go out onto your own balcony and see Augustin's door is open. It's a muggy afternoon, after all. It's not easy to climb across, but it's not that hard either, not with this kind of prize waiting. The shower's still running. You sneak inside and take Petitier's bag from the bed and turn to flee, but Petitier hears you and charges out of the shower. He chases you onto the balcony where you wrestle over the bag. It rips open. There's an artefact inside, solid and heavy. You pick it up and smash him over the head. He goes down hard, though he manages to crawl inside in an effort to get to the phone. But you think he's dead, so you flee back to your room, taking your prize with you.'

'A hell of a risk.'

'But plausible, right?'

'More plausible than Augustin doing it,' acknowledged Gaille. 'So one of our fellow guests, then? Maybe one of Augustin's neighbours.'

'It's possible.'

'Or what about those guys in the lift?'

'Maybe they are his neighbours.'

She gave an expressive little shudder. 'You think we should tell someone?'

He considered it a moment, imagined trying to explain his theory to that antagonistic Chief Inspector, the scorn he'd come in for. 'Not tonight,' he said. 'It's too late. I'll run it by Charissa tomorrow, see what she thinks.' He was sufficiently unnerved to check again that their door was locked, and the balcony too. Then he stripped down to his boxer shorts, stretched out on the bed, took out his copy of Augustin's talk, and began to read it through.