143
Geneva Airport
The baggage claim area is busy. The luggage from several flights is arriving at a similar time, including the recent inbound Aeroflot flight arrival from Moscow. Lewis, Allen and Zeltinger, together with their police escort, make their way through the reclaim area. Quite a crowd is forming around two carousels directly in their path as they head for the ‘Nothing to Declare’ exit-channel at the far side of the hall.
Two Russian men suddenly begin an argument as they try to haul the same piece of heavy luggage off one of the carousels. Both seem to believe an over-sized bag to be theirs. A heated exchange gets underway and the commotion causes lots of heads to turn. Allen’s party is forced to come to a brief halt whilst the altercation gets sorted.
Neither Lewis nor Zeltinger sees what happens. Close circuit television images later only provide hints and even then it is hard to tell. Someone bumps into Mel Allen during those few seconds that she is standing still. It is a busy space, lots of people are standing around, trying to get out of the way of the two men who are arguing. Whoever it was knew exactly what they were doing. The good news, if there was any, was that it would have been quick. The tiny razor-sharp blade would have been designed to penetrate deep, its rapid upward trajectory slicing unnoticed through her abdomen and then up towards her heart before being hastily withdrawn. The whole procedure had probably taken less than a second. The pain would have been masked, the shock of being bumped into unexpectedly disguising the whole attack. As quickly as the wound had been inflicted, the knife would have been withdrawn, quite possibly hidden within folds of a jacket or perhaps under a coat slung over an arm.
Mel Allen even continues walking, for the next few seconds seemingly unaware of what has happened. It is only when Lewis and Zeltinger are stood by the open door of the police car outside the terminal that they realise. The deep crimson stain that was growing rapidly around her midriff telling them all they needed to know.
144
Champéry, the next day
“What do you think happens next?” Holly asks. A Swiss police car has dropped the two of them back at Leyla Zamani’s chalet. Lewis is lying on the sofa, admiring the view. Holly is perched on the floor beside him.
“The doctor said I needed to rest for a couple of days. I thought we could stay here. We’ve been given the keys to the place and there should be more than enough for us to read and keep us occupied, don’t you think?” Lewis waves his arm at the volumes of books and reading materials all around them.
Already there is almost no evidence of the previous day’s mayhem. Panich’s body has been removed and there are no traces of blood anywhere, either Lewis’s or the Russian’s. Typical Swiss efficiency, they had both thought.
“Saul Zeltinger seemed decent. Not what I expected a police detective to be like.”
“Detective Inspector,” Lewis corrects her.
“Precisely. But he was all right, don’t you think?”
“As long as he doesn’t cause either of us undue aggravation over any of this.”
“Are you going to be formally charged for any of what happened?”
“I hope not. I asked him that same question earlier. He gave me an enigmatic response: ‘If we were being charitable you might, I suppose, be allowed some credit for what you did.’ So then I asked him, ‘Enough to get me off the hook?’ to which he is evasive: ‘Now that’s an interesting question,’ is all he said.”
“Will you go and meet this Jake Sullivan person as he suggested? ‘Two peas out of a similar pod,’ is what he said.”
“Whatever that means. Perhaps. One thing’s for sure, I think my drifting days are behind me.” He smiles at her. “I give Zeltinger credit for one thing, however. He even spoke to my former CO, Colonel Fitroy.”
“What’s going to happen when we get back?”
“Listen, one day at a time, okay?”
She nods in silent understanding.
“Changing the subject, you don’t happen to know a good nurse? Someone who’d be able to help me convalesce?”
She hits him playfully on his arm.
“Careful. No hitting the sick and injured.”
She leans across and kisses him on the lips.
“I’m not sure you’re ready for complete rest and relaxation,” she murmurs, her hand rubbing him playfully, feeling him stir beneath her touch.
“Well,” he says eventually, “I think some physiotherapy might be just what the doctor ordered.”
The End
Acknowledgement
I’d like to thank my long-suffering family and friends for supporting my transition from commuting office worker to aspirant novel writer – and in particular to Sonia Land and her colleagues at Sheil Land, my agents, for sticking with me and guiding through the (hopefully) iterative process of becoming an increasingly better writer!
The Dossier (Ben Lewis Thriller Book 1) Page 31