missing, because there’s not enough to have made it look as bulky as it did on the camera. They’re considering the possibility that the murder weapon came originally from Petitier’s case, but that Augustin took it away with him when he left for the airport. CCTV footage apparently shows him carrying a bag. Is that right?’
Knox frowned. It was right. A large cream canvas bag with something bulky inside. ‘What’s that?’ he’d asked. ‘Mind your own business,’ Augustin had retorted. Knox felt a first chill of anxiety. ‘It didn’t look heavy,’ he told Charissa. ‘I mean, nothing to brain a man with.’
‘How do you know that? Did you take it from him?’
‘This is ridiculous!’
‘I’m only asking you what the police will ask. What happened to it?’
Knox sat back, striving to remember. He’d stayed with the car himself, wanting Augustin and Claire to enjoy a private reunion. ‘He took it into the terminal,’ he said.
‘You’re sure?’
Knox nodded. ‘I remember him holding it aside when he met someone coming the other way.’
‘What about when he came back out?’
Knox frowned and shook his head. ‘He had all Claire’s luggage stacked up on a cart. It may have been amongst it, but I can’t remember.’
‘Think,’ urged Charissa.
‘This is preposterous,’ protested Knox. ‘This whole thing is preposterous.’
‘You have to understand something, Mr Knox,’ said Charissa. ‘Last year, our Athens police shot and killed a fifteen-year-old boy. You may remember—we had riots right across Greece. The situation here is still extremely tense. The authorities will be praying that nothing happens to exacerbate it; they’ll be desperate to show that Augustin only got what he deserved. If that means being selective in their investigation, or smearing him or leaking incriminating details to their pet journalists, then that’s what they’ll do. Our job right now is to anticipate every move they might make, and be ready. So I ask again: did he bring this bag back out?’
‘I can’t remember,’ said Knox. ‘But isn’t this all beside the point anyway? I mean, Augustin had no earthly reason to kill Petitier. Aren’t murderers supposed to have a motive?’
It was a rhetorical question; he didn’t expect an answer. So it was something of a shock when Nico half turned in his seat and pulled an apologetic face.‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I hate to say this, but I’m rather afraid your friend did have a motive after all.’
III
Nikortsminda Castle, Georgia
Kiko Zdanevich had never seen anything quite like it, not outside of school trips and history books, at least. A moonlit fortress of ivy-covered stone with high battlements for its archers and towering pointed turrets from which brave knights-errant like himself could rescue beautiful imprisoned princesses, all set on a small island close to the edge of an ink-black lake, surrounded by ancient forest and snow-capped mountains. He pressed his face against the window as they wound along the country lane toward the island, watched open-mouthed as the drawbridge lowered for them, and the great wooden gates creaked open. ‘Is this really where we’re staying, Mama?’ he asked.
‘I suppose it must be,’ she said sternly, as though offended by his excitement. She’d been in a strange mood ever since Alexei Nergadze and the men in black suits had come for them earlier with a message from their father that they were to spend the weekend with the Nergadzes.
They passed through the outer gates into a vastcentral courtyard, spotlights illuminating lawns and interior battlements, open flights of stone steps up to them, a chapel with a tall spire and a long line of white-painted stables and garages, not to mention the central keep of grey stone, outside whose front doors they now stopped.
Liveried servants hurried down to collect their luggage from the boot, while Alexei Nergadze led them inside, then down a long and gloomy gallery
Knox frowned. It was right. A large cream canvas bag with something bulky inside. ‘What’s that?’ he’d asked. ‘Mind your own business,’ Augustin had retorted. Knox felt a first chill of anxiety. ‘It didn’t look heavy,’ he told Charissa. ‘I mean, nothing to brain a man with.’
‘How do you know that? Did you take it from him?’
‘This is ridiculous!’
‘I’m only asking you what the police will ask. What happened to it?’
Knox sat back, striving to remember. He’d stayed with the car himself, wanting Augustin and Claire to enjoy a private reunion. ‘He took it into the terminal,’ he said.
‘You’re sure?’
Knox nodded. ‘I remember him holding it aside when he met someone coming the other way.’
‘What about when he came back out?’
Knox frowned and shook his head. ‘He had all Claire’s luggage stacked up on a cart. It may have been amongst it, but I can’t remember.’
‘Think,’ urged Charissa.
‘This is preposterous,’ protested Knox. ‘This whole thing is preposterous.’
‘You have to understand something, Mr Knox,’ said Charissa. ‘Last year, our Athens police shot and killed a fifteen-year-old boy. You may remember—we had riots right across Greece. The situation here is still extremely tense. The authorities will be praying that nothing happens to exacerbate it; they’ll be desperate to show that Augustin only got what he deserved. If that means being selective in their investigation, or smearing him or leaking incriminating details to their pet journalists, then that’s what they’ll do. Our job right now is to anticipate every move they might make, and be ready. So I ask again: did he bring this bag back out?’
‘I can’t remember,’ said Knox. ‘But isn’t this all beside the point anyway? I mean, Augustin had no earthly reason to kill Petitier. Aren’t murderers supposed to have a motive?’
It was a rhetorical question; he didn’t expect an answer. So it was something of a shock when Nico half turned in his seat and pulled an apologetic face.‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I hate to say this, but I’m rather afraid your friend did have a motive after all.’
III
Nikortsminda Castle, Georgia
Kiko Zdanevich had never seen anything quite like it, not outside of school trips and history books, at least. A moonlit fortress of ivy-covered stone with high battlements for its archers and towering pointed turrets from which brave knights-errant like himself could rescue beautiful imprisoned princesses, all set on a small island close to the edge of an ink-black lake, surrounded by ancient forest and snow-capped mountains. He pressed his face against the window as they wound along the country lane toward the island, watched open-mouthed as the drawbridge lowered for them, and the great wooden gates creaked open. ‘Is this really where we’re staying, Mama?’ he asked.
‘I suppose it must be,’ she said sternly, as though offended by his excitement. She’d been in a strange mood ever since Alexei Nergadze and the men in black suits had come for them earlier with a message from their father that they were to spend the weekend with the Nergadzes.
They passed through the outer gates into a vastcentral courtyard, spotlights illuminating lawns and interior battlements, open flights of stone steps up to them, a chapel with a tall spire and a long line of white-painted stables and garages, not to mention the central keep of grey stone, outside whose front doors they now stopped.
Liveried servants hurried down to collect their luggage from the boot, while Alexei Nergadze led them inside, then down a long and gloomy gallery
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