‘Yes, I’m still at a loss.’
‘Do you mind if we look in your bag?’
‘My what?’ Tom had forgotten all about the flight bag he’d tried to conceal under his chair.
‘The bag you brought in with you,’ Sergeant Lavelle spoke slowly as if he were speaking to a child.
‘Do you have a warrant?’ Tom thought about the implications of them discovering the folder. To them, it would be a meaningless set of figures with some scribbled notes of when a few earthquakes occurred. He should be able to bluff his way around it.
‘Professor,’ said Inspector Gervaux, ‘as I said earlier, you are not under arrest. You are merely helping us with our enquiries. Our forensics team did a thorough search of your apartment and, whilst they couldn’t find anything specific that would be of interest to an intruder, they did find traces of an unusual chemical on your kitchen worktops, which we’ve sent off to the lab to be analysed. We’re not sure, at this stage, whether or not it is related to the explosion, but refusing to allow us to look in your bag would only add to our suspicions that you are hiding something from us.’
Tom reluctantly reached under his seat and put the bag on the table between them. Sergeant Lavelle stood up and rifled through its contents. The clothes were of no interest to him, but he smiled as his fingers brushed the leather folder. He extracted the file and passed it to his superior, the expression on his face reminiscent of a Rottweiler retrieving a stick for his master.
Inspector Gervaux smoothed the red leather cover with the tips of his fingers, coming to rest on the indentation in the bottom right hand corner, where the initials had been embossed. ‘Where did you get this?’
‘I… I’d rather not say.’
‘Of course, you have the right to remain silent,’ the inspector replied. ‘But, at this stage in our enquiries, it could be an indication of your involvement.’
Tom could see the logic in that and didn’t think it would be detrimental to his position to tell them who’d given it to him. ‘Ajay gave it to me. He found it in Professor Morantz’s room, when he discovered his body.’
‘So he stole it,’ the Rottweiler barked.
‘He took it for safekeeping.’
‘Safekeeping from whom?’ Sergeant Lavelle had found his voice and his bone and he wasn’t about to let it go.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Tom. ‘You’d have to ask him.’
‘Why did he give it to you?’
‘Because he trusts me.’
‘Why didn’t he hand it in to the police?’
‘You’ll have to ask him that.’
‘What did he expect you to do with it?’
‘The right thing, I assume.’
‘What is the right thing?’ The man was relentless.
‘I don’t know,’ Tom said truthfully.
Inspector Gervaux had been scanning the pages whilst his colleague practised his interviewing technique.
‘Professor,’ he said, ‘do you know what these figures represent?’
‘Yes,’ Tom said abjectly. He knew when he’d been beaten. He rested his chin on his chest and stared at his hands spread out on the table. ‘They’re output readings from the Collider showing the levels of electromagnetic radiation.’
‘And the notes scribbled in the margins?’
‘They indicate the dates and locations of earthquakes which occurred when the Collider was operating at maximum capacity.’
Inspector Gervaux closed the file and set it down on the table in front of him. ‘Interview terminated at nineteen thirty,’ he shouted up to the CCTV cameras. ‘We really must get a more voice-sensitive system,’ he said turning to Sergeant Lavelle.
‘So, what happens now?’ Tom raised his head and met the inspector’s gaze.
‘You’re free to go. But I must insist that you don’t leave the country until we have concluded our enquiries.’
‘But what about the earthquakes? Don’t you understand the implications of the figures in that file? The Collider is responsible for causing them!’ Tom was beside himself. It wasn’t the reaction from the authorities he’d anticipated.
‘It’s an interesting conspiracy theory,’ replied the inspector. ‘One that I may have taken a little more seriously if it hadn’t been for today’s events.’
‘I don’t understand?’ Tom said, shaking his head.
‘The earthquake that hit San Francisco, earlier today. Reports indicate that it measured 11.3 on the Richter scale, the largest in recorded history. Are you saying the Collider is responsible for that as well?’ The inspector gave Tom a second to answer, but he just sat there, dumfounded, shocked by the news he had just been given. The inspector continued. ‘Perhaps it’s also responsible for global warming, or the alien landing at Roswell, or even J F Kennedy’s shooting?’ Sergeant Lavelle sniggered at his boss’s attempt at humour. ‘I’m not a big fan of these types of hoaxes, Professor, and if I find that you’re involved in instigating one, I’ll have you arrested for wasting police time.’
Inspector Gervaux began shuffling papers back into his folder.
‘My priority,’ he continued, ‘is to apprehend the person or persons responsible for planting the device that killed the two maintenance technicians. Now, at the moment, my number one suspect is missing. I’m uncertain what your involvement is, at this time, but if the lab results indicate a connection with the chemical found in your apartment and the explosion, then you will be charged. In the meantime, if you do hear from Anjit at all, it would be in your best interest to let us know immediately. Now, if you don’t mind making your own way back to the facility, it will give us an opportunity to continue our investigations. Good evening, Professor.’
Tom picked up his bag and the folder from the table and left the interview room, dazed and confused.
CHAPTER 21
It had taken Tom fifteen minutes to pick up a taxi outside the police station. Several had passed him by, even though they had their lights on to indicate they were available. His lack of attire in such a heavy snowstorm, coupled with the fact that he was surrounded by drunks and reprobates, must have sent out the wrong signals. Eventually, he managed to slip into the back of a cab that had been dropping somebody off at the station.
‘Where to?’ the driver shouted into his rear-view mirror as he viewed Tom suspiciously. He was of oriental origin and wore brown trousers, a beige tie and a navy blue body warmer over a khaki shirt.
Tom didn’t know whether to reply to the back of the man’s head or the dark brown hooded eyes peering at him through the mirror. He chose the latter.
‘CERN, please.’
He hoped the taxi driver wasn’t the chatty type so he could brood on the outcome of what had just taken place. He wasn’t in luck.
‘Terrible news about the earthquake. Where you from?’ He had obviously picked up from Tom’s accent that he wasn’t a local, a skill all taxi drivers must acquire as part of their training. The man’s shoulders relaxed, his concerns about being attacked by some crazed psychopath who had just escaped from the police station abated.
‘America.’
‘Where ’bouts in America?’
‘Boston.’
‘You been San Francisco?’
‘Once.’
‘At least you seen it. Nothing left now. Bridge gone, cable cars gone, skyscrapers gone, even Alcatraz gone, and that was one sturdy prison.’ The man’s eyes spent more time looking at Tom through the mirror than they did on the road, which made Tom nervous. ‘I have a cousin in China Town, in the city, but my mum’s sister hasn’t heard from her, since the earthquake.’
‘Were there many casualties?’ Tom’s ruse of supplying single word answers, to deter him from asking any more questions, obviously wasn’t working, so he decided to give up and join in the conversation.