Then the images were gone, replaced by a helicopter’s perspective of what was once an extensive bridge over a vast body of water, with only the two supporting concrete and steel structures left at either end of the span. Tom assumed it was the First Bosphorus Bridge, but then couldn’t help thinking how similar it looked to the Golden Gate Bridge before rationalising that all suspension bridges would look the same if subjected to a massive earthquake.
Inspector Gervaux was sitting behind his desk again, much to Tom’s annoyance. This time, however, he didn’t wait to be asked to vacate his seat, as he saw Tom coming.
‘Ah, there you are. My officers have been looking for you,’ he said as Tom stepped into his office. ‘There have been some developments and we would like you to clarify a few points down at the station.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ Tom replied, a little bemused by the request.
‘I’m afraid so,’ the inspector said firmly. ‘I have a car waiting, if you would like to follow me. Do you want to get your jacket? It’s rather chilly outside.’
‘I don’t have one,’ replied Tom. ‘My clothes were vandalised, if you remember.’ His annoyance at having to accompany the inspector was showing through.
‘Ah yes, the break-in…’ The inspector left the words floating ambiguously mid-sentence. ‘This way, please.’
He led Tom out of the building and around the corner. A black Peugeot was waiting, the engine ticking over to enable its occupant to keep the heater on.
‘You two already know each other,’ Inspector Gervaux said, opening the rear door for Tom.
Sergeant Lavelle found it difficult to turn his bulky frame in the driver’s seat, so acknowledged Tom with a grunt as he got in the car.
‘Nice to see you again, too,’ Tom responded, but the sarcasm fell into the cultural divide.
Inspector Gervaux got in the back, beside Tom, who wondered whether this was hierarchical protocol or just in case Tom tried to make a break for it. I really will have to stop watching those crime thrillers, he told himself.
The short journey to the police station took place in complete silence. Tom watched out of the window as the landscape changed from countryside to suburbia. The wind had died down but there was a lot more snow in the air. A thin, white blanket covered the trees and rooftops, though it hadn’t managed to pitch on the ground yet. Tom hoped he’d be able to get back to the complex before it did.
They pulled up in front of an elegant four-storey building in the heart of Geneva’s old district. Its brown stone façade and wrought iron balconies were more befitting an upmarket hotel than a place where the city’s lowlifes were guests. The only architectural features belying its image as a luxury lodge were the bars on the ground floor windows.
As Sergeant Lavelle switched off the engine, Tom heard a distinctive click indicating that the rear doors were unlocked. If he was indeed a criminal and had wanted to make a run for it, now would be his chance. Instead, he waited patiently until the others had sorted out their paperwork and personal belongings before opening his car door and stepping out into the freezing night.
They made their way into the building in single file, Inspect Gervaux at the front, Tom in the middle and the sergeant bringing up the rear. Only the absence of handcuffs would affirm to a sharp-eyed onlooker that he wasn’t being arrested. They walked past the duty sergeant dealing with an early evening drunk, who had difficulty standing on his own two feet without the assistance of the other two officers flanking him, and up a flight of stairs to a suite of interview rooms.
Inspector Gervaux chose the nearest empty one, switched on the fluorescent lights and ushered Tom in. The room was large, about the size of Frederick’s office, but without the homeliness. Cream walls smelt of new paint. Tom wondered what had happened to prompt the make-over. A single white metal table sat in the centre of the room, its tubular legs bolted to the shiny tiled floor. Three uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs were haphazardly dotted around it. There wasn’t a two-way mirror covering one wall, as he had envisaged there would be; instead, two CCTV cameras hung from the ceiling at either end of the room to record both the interviewer’s and interviewee’s audiovisual responses.
They took up their respective seats, Tom on one side of the table, the two inquisitors on the other. He tucked the flight bag he was still carrying out of sight, under his chair. Inspector Gervaux checked his watch and said, in a louder than normal voice, that the time was eighteen thirty-three. It took Tom a second to realise that the recording device must be voice-activated.
The palms of his hands were damp. He hadn’t felt nervous on the way to the station, but now he was in this formal environment it was clear that he was there for more than just a friendly chat. And, despite having done nothing wrong, he felt the onus was on him to prove his innocence.
Sergeant Lavelle read him his rights.
‘Am I being arrested?’ Tom’s voice cracked.
‘Not at the moment. We have brought you in for questioning,’ the inspector informed him.
‘Could you please tell us your name and date of birth for the record?’ the sergeant said in a monotone voice, clearly bored with having to ask the menial questions. Tom could sense that he was desperate to be lead interrogator, but that duty went to Inspector Gervaux.
‘Do you recognise this man?’ the inspector showed Tom a picture of Ajay that had obviously been taken a few years earlier. It took him a moment to identify what was different about him, before he realised he was moustache-less.
‘Yes, that’s Ajay.’
‘Do you mean Anjit Bose?’
‘Yes, that’s his name, but I call him Ajay.’ Tom tried not to sound pedantic. He didn’t want to antagonise these two so early on in the interview.
‘And how do you know Anjit?’
‘I met him for the first time when he picked me up at the airport when I arrived here.’
The inspector searched through his papers and retrieved a slightly blurred photograph of an Asian talking to Tom; the MIT administration building could clearly be seen in the background. He slid it across the desk.
‘And who are you with in this picture?’
It could have been one of a number of his undergraduates. MIT had strong links with several South Asian countries. The first Indian student had entered MIT just fifteen years after the Institute opened its doors at the end of America's Civil War. Tom usually had two or three students from that region in each academic year. The only similarities between the individual in the photo and Ajay were the dark skin, black hair and slight build.
‘I couldn’t tell you, off hand,’ replied Tom. ‘It’s probably one of my undergraduates.’
‘Is it Anjit Bose?’ Sergeant Lavelle piped in, desperate to get in on the action.
‘No. I told you, the first time I met Ajay was when I got here. I taught a number of South Asian students during my time at MIT. It could be any one of them.’
Inspector Gervaux put the photo back, then tried a different tack. ‘How well do you know Anjit?’
‘I wouldn’t say I know him that well at all,’ replied Tom, ‘as I told you when you asked me the same question in my office.’
‘Can you tell us what you did, on the first day you arrived at CERN?’
Tom couldn’t work out where this was leading. He thought back – it had only been two days ago, but it felt like months.
‘I arrived and was met at the airport by Ajay. He took me to the complex, where I met Herr Volker, who introduced me to the team. I was feeling a little jetlagged in the afternoon, so I had a nap before going out to dinner with Herr Volker in the evening.’
‘And then what did you do?’
‘I went back to my apartment.’
‘Did you go straight to sleep?’
Tom suddenly realised where the line of questions were leading. ‘No… I… er… I went to Ajay’s room.’
‘And why did you go there?’ the inspector asked evenly.
‘To look at his sc
rapbook,’ Tom replied meekly. He knew it would sound implausible, even before he’d said it. Why hadn’t he made something up? Why hadn’t he just told them they were discussing the merits of nuclear thermodynamics in developing countries or something? They wouldn’t have known the difference. But then again, if they had managed to arrest Ajay and he was being interviewed in one of the adjacent rooms, their stories wouldn’t have matched, which would make it look more suspicious than it was. No, as ridiculous as it sounded, he had to stick with the truth.
‘Pardon?’
‘I went to look at his scrapbook. He is the grandson of Satyendra Bose, who I’m a great admirer of.’ Tom tried desperately to make it sound credible.
‘Scrapbook? What is scrapbook?’ the sergeant asked Inspector Gervaux. There was a brief exchange in French between the two detectives, followed by a peel of laughter.
‘What’s so funny?’ Tom asked irritably.
‘I explained to Sergeant Lavelle what a scrapbook was, and he said that his four-year-old niece has one which she sticks pictures of princesses in.’ The inspector’s smile faded as he asked his next question. ‘Professor Halligan, are you attracted to Anjit?’
The insinuation took Tom completely by surprise and knocked his composure. He raised his voice. ‘I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but my sexuality has got nothing to do with you. But, just for the record, no, I’m not gay.’
The gloves were off. It was Sergeant Lavelle’s opportunity to impress his boss. He slammed his palms down on the tabletop.
‘What do you take us for?’ he shouted. ‘Do you think we are bumbling fools, like your Inspector Clouseau in the Pink Panther movies? Do you honestly expect us to believe that, after travelling all the way from America, working a full day in the office and then going out for dinner in the evening, you still had the capacity to visit a young man’s room? A man whom you say you didn’t know very well, in the early hours of the morning, just to look at his childish hobby?’
Putting it that way, Tom could see it from their perspective and it didn’t look good for him. ‘I agree, it may sound far-fetched,’ he replied, ‘but it’s the truth. I have no reason to lie to you. You must believe me.’
‘Why did Anjit visit your room last night?’ asked Inspector Gervaux. ‘I understand that you were in the company of…’ He took out the notebook from his breast pocket and thumbed through the pages. ‘A Miss Mayer.’
‘What are you suggesting now? A ménage a trios?’ Despite his predicament, Tom couldn’t help the gibe.
‘Professor, we are not suggesting anything. We are only trying to establish the facts,’ the inspector replied calmly.
‘Okay,’ said Tom, letting out a heavy sigh. ‘Ajay came to tell us about the earthquake in Istanbul. It’s a hobby of his.’
‘Like the scrapbook?’ the sergeant quipped, snidely.
Tom ignored the comment. ‘He thought we should know about it.’ He considered his words carefully. He didn’t want to alert them to the fact that he thought the Collider was responsible, at least not yet.
‘And why would you be so interested in the earthquake?’ Inspector Gervaux probed.
‘Because it’s such a monumental natural disaster,’ replied Tom earnestly. ‘I should think everybody who’s seen the images has been moved by the tragedy.’
‘Oui, c’est terrible,’ the inspector agreed. He rifled through a few more pages in his notebook until he found the relevant entry. ‘Moving on to the break-in you had. You said that you had no idea who was responsible, or what they could be looking for. Now that you’ve had a chance to think about it, do you still maintain that to be the case?’
‘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.
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