‘And then after I’ve had a shower and made myself look presentable,’ she continued, ‘I’ll make my way into the office. See if I can dig up any more information on the Collider’s electromagnetic radiation readings. What about you?’
‘More interviews, I’m afraid. I need to be around in case the police need to ask me anything. But at some stage I need to catch up with Frederick to discuss Professor Morantz’s folder. Let me try him now, to see if we can set up an appointment.’
He reached for his mobile phone, which was charging on the kitchen worktop, and dialled the number from memory. The phone connected but it went straight through to voicemail. He left a message.
‘Hi Frederick, this is Tom. I was hoping we could meet up today to discuss a rather interesting file that I have in my possession. Without giving too much away over the phone, I believe it could be the missing evidence that we discussed over dinner the other night, or I may just be the butt of a rather elaborate practical joke. Either way, let me know when you’re available. Thanks. Bye.’
Tom pressed the end button and set the phone back in its charger. He didn’t know why he felt the need to be cautious, but he did. He just hoped his message wasn’t too cryptic for Frederick to understand what he was talking about.
‘You don’t think it could be fake, do you?’ Serena asked.
‘I don’t know. Perhaps you could verify the readings against your data, and then we could meet up for lunch to discuss your findings? I’ll make sure I see Frederick after we’ve spoken. Why don’t you take the file with you and make a copy of it? I’m not sure why, but I think we should keep this between ourselves for the time being, or at least until I’ve had a chance to discuss it with Frederick. He’ll know what to do.’
‘You know, you don’t always have to use work as an excuse to see me.’ Serena crossed the living room and retrieved her shoes from where she’d kicked them off the night before. Carrying them in one hand, her clutch bag in the other and the folder under her arm, she presented herself to Tom. ‘How do I look?’
‘Put it this way,’ he replied, grinning. ‘That cat that dragged you in had great taste.’
‘You old smoothie,’ she walked back to him and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Wish me luck. I wouldn’t want to give the office gossips something to talk about.’
‘Where is your apartment, by the way?’
‘Next door.’ She left him standing in the kitchen, the heady scent of the perfume she’d worn the night before lingering after her.
CHAPTER 16
Tom arrived at the main office an hour later. The police were already there, ticking the names of the workers off a list as they entered. He noticed that fresh flowers lay at the feet of the statue as he made his way up the stairs.
His passage into the building was blocked by an unsmiling uniformed officer. ‘Nom, m'sieur?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Your name please?’ the officer repeated in heavily accented English.
‘Professor Tom Halligan.’
The official scanned down the first page of his manifest with his pen, then the second page, the third, fourth and fifth, by which time Tom was feeling the cold wintry morning nip at his fingers and toes. He hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket because he had no reason to think he’d need one. He was only going from the accommodation block to his office, or so he thought.
‘Is this going to take long? Only I’m freezing my nuts off.’
There was no reaction from the officer until he finished checking the last page. ‘Non,’ he said looking up at Tom.
‘What do you mean, “non”? I work here.’ Tom was stamping his feet, trying to regain the circulation he’d lost in his extremities.
‘Il n'est pas possible.’
‘Sorry?’
‘It is not possible,’ the officer said with a sigh, the translation obviously an effort for him.
‘It’s very bloody possible! I am the Director General,’ Tom snapped, losing his patience more with the bureaucracy than the individual. ‘Let me speak to Inspector Gervaux.’
The policeman turned his back on Tom and spoke into his walkie-talkie. Tom couldn’t quite hear the exchange and, even if he could, he wouldn’t have been able to understand it. After several minutes, the young officer half-turned to face Tom and looked him up and down, before turning away again to resumed his conversation with his superior. It was another five minutes before the officer finished talking. He turned his focus back to Tom, who was rubbing his hands together frantically in an effort to keep warm.
‘You may go in, but Inspector Gervaux would like to see you immediately. He is waiting in your office.’
I bet he is, thought Tom. And he won’t be as bloody freezing as I am.
Without a word, he went through the revolving doors and into the building, the warmth of the reception making his fingers tingle immediately. He hadn’t felt that sensation for a long time and it evoked childhood memories of snowball fights and sledging, and then warming frozen hands and feet in front of an open fire.
‘Ah, Professor Halligan, apologies for delaying you outside. Your name wasn’t on the payroll list we obtained from your wages clerk. I understand that you have only recently joined CERN?’
Inspector Gervaux peered over the top of his glasses, which were perched on the end of a large, aquiline nose. He was clean-shaven apart from a pencil-thin moustache, which seemed to underline his beak, making it more conspicuous. His hair was mousy-brown and had started to recede, which he compensated for by growing it slightly longer than fashionable and combing forward.
He wasn’t quite in the same class as Donald Trump, but Tom suspected that it wouldn’t be much longer before he could give him a run for his money. Tom guessed that they were probably about the same age. He had his jacket off with the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled up and his tie thrown over one shoulder. But what bothered Tom the most about him was that he was sitting in Tom’s chair.
‘Yes, I’ve only been here a couple of days,’ he replied. ‘And thanks for letting me know I’m not on the payroll. That may affect how much work I do around here.’ The pun went straight over the inspector’s head. ‘May I?’ Tom said pointing to his own seat.
It took the inspector a few seconds before he realised what Tom was referring to and apologised, moving himself and his papers to the other side of the desk.
‘Your man on the door said you wanted to see me,’ said Tom, sitting in the warm seat recently vacated by the inspector.
‘Yes, I have the initial report from our forensic team.’ The inspector looked through his glasses at a sheet of paper on the desk. ‘It appears they have found traces of an explosive device.’
‘A bomb?’ Tom said incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it. Who would want to sabotage the project?’
‘The motives for planting such a device could range from a disgruntled employee to an extremist group and anything in between,’ Inspector Gervaux informed him, leaning back in his chair and taking his glasses off. ‘We are now treating this…’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘…as a murder investigation.’
Tom surmised the inspector had been reading too many Agatha Christie novels. ‘Do you have any suspects?’ he asked, knowing that was the customary response.
‘Do you know a man called…’ said the inspector, referring back to his paper, ‘…Anjit Gopal Bose?’
‘Ajay, yes. Why?’
‘We received an anonymous tip-off suggesting he could be involved.’
‘Ajay? No way. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’