Brian Freemantle - The Predators

‘Two. A man and a woman.’

There was a stir, from the two Belgians, which Claudine at once regretted because Rompuy looked at them and said: ‘There were. I’m sure there were.’

‘We believe you,’ said Harding quickly. ‘How were they sitting?’

‘The man was in the front. The woman in the back.’

‘So you could see the woman better?’

‘Yes.’

Claudine hadn’t moved, not wanting to risk distracting the man again, but there were questions she needed to ask. But the detectives had to finish first.

‘Whereabouts in the back seat was she: to the right or to the left or in the middle?’

‘More to the left, to give the child room to get in.’

‘Was she like that when the car stopped? Or did she move over?’

‘I don’t remember her moving over. I think she was there when the car stopped.’

‘How did the rear door open, then, for Mary to get in?’

Rompuy frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I think the man turned and opened it but I can’t really remember.’

‘Let’s go back to the woman,’ said Blake, wanting to maintain a sequence. ‘What colour hair did she have?’

‘Blond.’

‘Light, yellowy blond or dark blond?’

‘Dark.’

‘You could see her shoulders: part of her back?’

‘Yes.’ The man frowned.

‘How much? Show us on your own body,’ said the American.

Self-consciously Rompuy stretched over his shoulder, with difficulty pushing his hand down roughly to the bottom of his shoulder blade.

‘So you could see what she was wearing?’

Rompuy’s frown remained. ‘It was a jacket, I think. Fawn or maybe a light brown.’

‘Can you describe it?’ demanded Blake.

‘It was just a jacket.’

‘What was the cloth like, rough, smooth? Could it have been suede? Leather?’

‘It was cloth, of some sort. Smooth, I think.’

The questions were building up in Claudine’s mind but still she held back. Momentarily Blake turned his eyes to her and she gave an almost imperceptible nod to show that she wanted to take up when they were satisfied.

‘What about the style of her hair?’ said Harding. ‘Did she wear it loose or tied?’

‘It wasn’t tied, exactly,’ said the man awkwardly. ‘But it was tight against her head, one side sort of folded over the other…’

Blake looked hopefully at Claudine, who in turn looked round the room and then picked up some paper and quickly sketched. ‘Like that?’ Claudine asked.

‘Yes,’ agreed Rompuy at once, pleased at making himself understood.

‘It’s a pleat,’ said Claudine. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? Her hair was pinned into a pleat, so that it made a line down the back of her head?’

‘Exactly,’ said the man, smiling again.

Both men moved to speak at the same time and again Harding deferred to the English detective. Blake said: ‘You’re doing very well. You’re telling us a great deal we need to know. Now you saw the back of the woman’s head, looking from your car into hers. But they’d stopped for Mary, hadn’t they?’

‘As I now know, yes.’

‘Did Mary get in immediately?’

‘No.’

‘What happened?’

‘They talked.’

‘How long for?’

The man shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A few moments.’

‘Fine,’ said Blake. ‘They’d stopped and the rear door had opened, for Mary to get in. But she didn’t, not at once. Who was she talking to, the man or the woman?’

‘The woman.’

‘So the woman must have looked towards Mary?’

‘Oh yes,’ said the man, as if he was again surprised at the question. ‘That was when she kind of leaned across.’

Neither man showed any impatience at not having already been told that. The tension was palpable to Claudine. Blake said: ‘If she was looking towards Mary, leaning across the car, you must have seen her in profile?’

‘I did.’

There was a brief hesitation from both detectives. The noise of Smet moving in his chair sounded loud. Blake said: ‘Was she full-faced or thin in the face?’

‘Thin, I think. That was the impression I got.’

‘Tanned or light-skinned?’

‘Definitely tanned.’

‘A lot of make-up? Or not very much?’

‘I don’t remember there being a lot of make-up.’

‘You’re looking at her in profile,’ said Blake. ‘Was her nose large or small? Straight or crooked? Describe it to us, in your own words.’

‘Straight,’ said the man, trying hard. ‘And sharp. That’s how I remember her, as a sharp-featured woman.’

At Blake’s pause Harding took up the questioning. ‘You could see part of her front now. What was she wearing under the jacket? A blouse or a sweater?’

‘I don’t remember seeing anything under the jacket.’

‘You say she was thin-faced. What about that much of her body that you could see? Was she big-busted or small?’

The man looked embarrassedly towards Claudine. ‘I don’t think she was very big.’

Claudine smiled at the man and said: ‘Don’t feel awkward. There’s no reason to be. All this is vital to us, so try to help as much as you can.’

‘Quite small-busted. Not noticeable at all, really.’

‘Was she wearing earrings?’ asked Blake, returning to the questioning.

‘Yes. Hoops. I think there were jewels in them.’

‘What colour?’

‘Clear. Like diamonds.’

‘What about her ears? Large? Small? Close to her head?’

‘Quite small. And close to her head.’ The man sat back in his chair and said: ‘Could I have something to drink?’

‘Of course,’ said Blake, looking to the police commissioner.

Poncellet quickly gestured to Smet. The lawyer hesitated, actually turning to where the clerks had sat before realizing they weren’t there any more. He hurried irritably out of the room, a man demeaned by a chore that was beneath his dignity.

Rompuy said: ‘I hope everything is all right.’

‘You’re doing remarkably well,’ replied Blake. ‘I wish every witness could be as helpful.’

‘I want to help,’ said the translator. ‘She must be suffering a lot.’

‘That’s why we want to get her back as quickly as we can,’ said Harding.

‘ Will you get her back?’

The media might discover the man, Claudine thought. As Smet came back into the room, carrying a carafe and glasses, she said: ‘I’m quite sure we will. What you’re telling us adds a lot to what we already know.’

The man drank the water gratefully. Smet leaned close to the police commissioner, who shook his head to whatever the lawyer said.

‘Can you go on now?’ Harding asked the translator.

‘Of course.’

‘You’ve given us a very good description of the woman,’ said Harding. ‘What about the man?’

‘I couldn’t see him so well, in the front.’

‘Did he turn at all, for you to see him in profile?’ asked Blake.

They’d started to hurry, overlooking questions that should have been asked, decided Claudine. The interview had been going on for over an hour, so it was understandable, but she had a vague feeling of disappointment in Peter Blake. It was fortunate she’d held back to allow the two men to finish.

‘I don’t remember him turning, although I suppose he must have done if he opened the rear door.’

‘Was he wearing a jacket?’ asked Blake.

‘Yes. Black.’

‘Like a chauffeur?’

‘I suppose so. My impression was that he stayed looking to the front, as a chauffeur would have done.’

‘Could you see more of his back than you could of the woman’s?’

‘Yes. And I remember he kept his seat belt buckled.’

‘What about his hair?’ asked Harding.

‘Black.’

‘Long? Short?’