precise Swiss – had clearly stated the call from Claire Hofer had come through 'ten minutes ago'. On the scrap of paper Nagel had handed to him was written a St Gallen phone number.
Nagel would know the girl's voice well. Being Nagel he would have wanted proof of the identity of his caller. Irrevocable proof. Martel began to consider whether he could be going out of his mind.
'Something wrong?' Nagel enquired softly.
'Yes, I'm tired.' Martel folded the scrap of paper and put it in his wallet. 'What sort of a night are you having?'
'Routine so far.'
Again Martel was stunned. David Nagel, chief of. police Intelligence, had no knowledge of the traumatic event which had taken place in Bahnhofstrasse. There was no reason for him to conceal such knowledge – Martel felt certain of this. He had to tread damned carefully.
'Why do you mistrust Ferdy Arnold?' he asked.
'It was a political appointment – not a professional one…' 'And why does Claire Hofer-who works for Arnold -call you when she has a message for me?'
'Because she knows you and I are close friends.' The Swiss paused. 'I also employed her before she transferred to counterespionage…'
'You said you've had a routine night so far,' Martel probed.
'Except for the explosion aboard some tourist's launch out on the lake. Some poor idiot who obviously knew nothing about engines or boats – so he had an accident and lost his life. We did hear the faint boom of the detonation…' He pointed towards the open windows behind curtains which hung motionless in the airless night. The sound came up the Limmat from the lake…'
No, it didn't, Martel thought. It came straight up the funnel of Bahnhofstrasse and then down Uraniastrasse, the side street leading towards police headquarters. He was watching Nagel and the extraordinary thing was he was convinced the Intelligence man was not lying. Someone was trying to cover up the incident, to pretend it had never happened.
'Good to see you, David,' Martel said and stood up. 'And I'll call Claire Hofer soon but there's something I have to attend to, and you don't want to know about it…'
'That is a direct line which bypasses the switchboard,' Nagel suggested, pointing to one of three phones on his desk. 'I can leave you on your own…'
'It isn't that, David. I'm just short of time.'
'Enjoy yourself while you're in Zurich…'
It was 2310 hours when Martel left police headquarters. He had half an hour to catch the 2339 train to St. Gallen, but he still had things to deal with. He walked past a patrol car parked outside, a cream Volvo with a red trim. Two uniformed men sat in the front with the windows open. Where the devil had they been when all hell broke loose in nearby Bahnhofstrasse?
And he had lied to Nagel he recalled as he hurried back to the Hauptbahnhof. He felt certain he could rely on the Swiss but he had mistrusted the offered phone which passed through no switchboard. He was now gripped by a feeling of insecurity and determined to take no chances.
'Maybe I'm getting paranoid,' he told himself as he slipped inside one of the empty phone booths in the station. These were safe. Again he remembered the dead Warner who apparently had also haunted Hauptbahnhofs. As he dialled the number Nagel had given him he began to sympathise with Charles Warner. Martel himself felt hunted.
The receptionist at the Hotel Hecht in St. Gallen confirmed that Claire Hofer was staying with them. She asked him to hold while she tried her room. A girl's voice came on the line – decisive, sharp and wary.
'Who is this?'
'Our mutual friend, Nagel, passed on your message and I want you to take certain action very fast. Can you get to an outside payphone? Good. Get there immediately and call me at this number.' He read out the booth number from the dial. 'It's Zurich code,' he added tersely. 'I'm very short of time…'
'Goodbye!'
Martel found he was sweating. The atmosphere inside the booth was oppressive. He felt both exposed and
Nagel would know the girl's voice well. Being Nagel he would have wanted proof of the identity of his caller. Irrevocable proof. Martel began to consider whether he could be going out of his mind.
'Something wrong?' Nagel enquired softly.
'Yes, I'm tired.' Martel folded the scrap of paper and put it in his wallet. 'What sort of a night are you having?'
'Routine so far.'
Again Martel was stunned. David Nagel, chief of. police Intelligence, had no knowledge of the traumatic event which had taken place in Bahnhofstrasse. There was no reason for him to conceal such knowledge – Martel felt certain of this. He had to tread damned carefully.
'Why do you mistrust Ferdy Arnold?' he asked.
'It was a political appointment – not a professional one…' 'And why does Claire Hofer-who works for Arnold -call you when she has a message for me?'
'Because she knows you and I are close friends.' The Swiss paused. 'I also employed her before she transferred to counterespionage…'
'You said you've had a routine night so far,' Martel probed.
'Except for the explosion aboard some tourist's launch out on the lake. Some poor idiot who obviously knew nothing about engines or boats – so he had an accident and lost his life. We did hear the faint boom of the detonation…' He pointed towards the open windows behind curtains which hung motionless in the airless night. The sound came up the Limmat from the lake…'
No, it didn't, Martel thought. It came straight up the funnel of Bahnhofstrasse and then down Uraniastrasse, the side street leading towards police headquarters. He was watching Nagel and the extraordinary thing was he was convinced the Intelligence man was not lying. Someone was trying to cover up the incident, to pretend it had never happened.
'Good to see you, David,' Martel said and stood up. 'And I'll call Claire Hofer soon but there's something I have to attend to, and you don't want to know about it…'
'That is a direct line which bypasses the switchboard,' Nagel suggested, pointing to one of three phones on his desk. 'I can leave you on your own…'
'It isn't that, David. I'm just short of time.'
'Enjoy yourself while you're in Zurich…'
It was 2310 hours when Martel left police headquarters. He had half an hour to catch the 2339 train to St. Gallen, but he still had things to deal with. He walked past a patrol car parked outside, a cream Volvo with a red trim. Two uniformed men sat in the front with the windows open. Where the devil had they been when all hell broke loose in nearby Bahnhofstrasse?
And he had lied to Nagel he recalled as he hurried back to the Hauptbahnhof. He felt certain he could rely on the Swiss but he had mistrusted the offered phone which passed through no switchboard. He was now gripped by a feeling of insecurity and determined to take no chances.
'Maybe I'm getting paranoid,' he told himself as he slipped inside one of the empty phone booths in the station. These were safe. Again he remembered the dead Warner who apparently had also haunted Hauptbahnhofs. As he dialled the number Nagel had given him he began to sympathise with Charles Warner. Martel himself felt hunted.
The receptionist at the Hotel Hecht in St. Gallen confirmed that Claire Hofer was staying with them. She asked him to hold while she tried her room. A girl's voice came on the line – decisive, sharp and wary.
'Who is this?'
'Our mutual friend, Nagel, passed on your message and I want you to take certain action very fast. Can you get to an outside payphone? Good. Get there immediately and call me at this number.' He read out the booth number from the dial. 'It's Zurich code,' he added tersely. 'I'm very short of time…'
'Goodbye!'
Martel found he was sweating. The atmosphere inside the booth was oppressive. He felt both exposed and
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