Brian Freemantle - The Predators

‘Short. And he was going bald, at the top…’ Rompuy frowned, putting his hand vaguely to the back of his head. ‘Here, like the way monks have their hair?’

‘At the crown of his head,’ said Blake. ‘A tonsure.’

‘That’s it!’ said the translator. He poured himself more water.

‘What about his ears? Were they flat against his head, like most people’s? Or did they stick out?’

‘I don’t remember anything about his ears.’

‘Could you see his hands, sitting as he was? Was he holding the wheel?’ asked Harding.

‘I think so.’

‘Could you see if he was wearing a ring?’

‘I couldn’t see.’

‘Did he turn the engine off or keep it running?’ asked Blake.

‘He kept it running. And the brake lights were on all the time, so I suppose he was sitting with his foot on the brake.’

‘What about indicators?’ said Harding. ‘Was there any signal that the car was going to turn in to the side and stop before it did so?’

‘No. That’s how I got stuck behind. It was too quick for me to get round him.’

‘Didn’t that inconvenience you?’ asked Blake.

‘It delayed me a few minutes. And I was in a hurry.’

‘Did you sound your horn?’

‘No.’

‘Did the car move off immediately Mary got into it?’

Take your time, take your time, Claudine thought.

‘Yes,’ said the man.

‘Fast?’ asked Harding.

‘There was too much traffic to drive really fast.’

‘Was it as fast as the traffic would allow?’ insisted Blake. ‘As if he was anxious to get away?’

‘I suppose it was as fast as he could go. I wasn’t really ready and in the gap that opened up someone else overtook and got in front of me.’

‘With another car in the way, were you able to see what was going on inside the car after Mary got in?’ said Harding.

‘Not really.’

‘Which way did it go?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the man lamely. ‘We were moving again and I was late. I’m sorry.’

‘You’ve done remarkably well,’ Blake said, looking first to Harding, who nodded to show he’d finished, and then invitingly to Claudine.

‘Monsieur Rompuy,’ she said at once. ‘I have some different sorts of questions which might seem odd but bear with me. The woman was looking sideways across the car, with Mary still on the pavement? And then she leaned across the car to encourage Mary in?’

‘Yes?’

‘That would have tilted her off balance, unless she supported herself. How did she do that? Was she resting against the seat or was her arm visible, along the seat back where it joins the rear shelf?’

‘Along the back of the seat, all the time.’

‘Throughout the entire time the door was open, for Mary to get in, you could clearly see the woman’s arm along the back of the seat?’

‘Yes.’

Claudine saw Blake and Harding exchange glances, aware of their oversight.

‘Was she wearing a bracelet?’

‘Three gold bands that seemed joined together. I got the impression they matched the earrings.’

‘What about rings on her fingers?’

‘I didn’t see any.’

‘What about her arm? Did she just let it lie there, casually supporting herself? Or did she gesture for the child to get in?’

‘She kept it along the back of the seat.’

‘What about her free hand? Did you see any movement with that?’

‘Not until she reached forward to take the girl’s backpack. The girl took that off before getting into the car.’

Claudine resisted the temptation to take the direction the answer offered. ‘You were stuck behind their car. Were there any other vehicles held up behind you?’

‘One. It was the car that cut in front of me when we started moving again.’

‘That’s our next positive witness,’ intruded Poncellet, imagining he was helping.

Claudine ignored the interruption, wishing the Belgian commissioner hadn’t broken the flow. ‘Had that car sounded its horn?’

‘Several times. It made the child look, which put her fully facing me. That’s why I was able to recognize her from the newspaper and television pictures.’

‘Knowing that they were causing a traffic jam – irritating other drivers – the woman still sat casually with her arm along the seat?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the driver didn’t react, either?’

‘Not that I saw.’

‘Tell me about Mary. Did you see her walking along the pavement, before the car stopped?’

‘I wasn’t conscious of her until the car stopped.’

‘Was she carrying her backpack then? Or wearing it?’

‘Definitely wearing it. I remember her slipping out of the straps to take it off.’

‘She did it herself, quite willingly?’

‘Yes. Then she handed it into the back of the car, to the woman. She wouldn’t have been able to have sat comfortably if she hadn’t.’

‘I understand,’ said Claudine. ‘Because she turned towards the car behind you could see Mary’s face very clearly. What was Mary’s expression? Was she frightened? Upset? Frowning? Laughing? Crying?’

Rompuy shook his head uncomfortably. ‘She wasn’t laughing or crying. It’s difficult but I thought she looked annoyed.’

‘At the driver behind you?’

‘I’m not sure at whom.’

‘What about being frightened?’

‘That wasn’t my impression.’

‘She got quite willingly into the car?’

‘Yes. As if she expected it. She simply handed her backpack through the open door and followed it into the car.’

‘When Mary did that, the woman still had her arm along the back of the seat?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know the car behind you overtook, blocking your view. But that didn’t happen immediately. In those first few seconds Mary was sitting in the seat along the back of which the woman had her arm outstretched?’

‘Yes.’

‘Could you see Mary?’

‘Just the top of her head.’

‘What about the woman? Did she bring her arm down, to put it round Mary?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘In those last few seconds, when you could still see the woman and Mary, how were they sitting?’

‘Quite ordinarily. Side by side.’

Claudine stopped, satisfied at the improvement to her profile. She said: ‘You’ve given us a great deal of your time and a great deal of help. For the moment we’re almost through. Having seen the woman as you did, how old would you think she was?’

The two detectives exchanged looks again at another oversight.

‘I’m not very good at guessing ages.’

‘Give it your best try.’

‘Fortyish. Early forties.’

‘One final question. Could you work with a police artist to create a sketch of the woman you saw lure Mary into the car?’

‘I could try,’ agreed the man.

Claudine thought, uncritically, that by the end of Johan Rompuy’s interview – which had begun so well – Blake and Harding had no longer been able to think with total objectivity, which in both their circumstances was totally understandable.

For a long time – she didn’t know how long – Peter Blake had not been an investigator, needing to pick and prise the information from others. He had, in fact, been the infiltrated eye-witness assembling the evidence and facts for others to accept and assimilate: the giver, not the hopeful taker.

And an embassy posting, like Paul Harding’s, was again different. In a foreign country it was scarcely operational. At best it was a liaison function with in-country law enforcement, with as much unadmitted but tacitly acknowledged intelligence-gathering as possible. It was too much to expect an instant adjustment from a man literally thrust back into the field, as Harding had been.