‘You think there could be something from the people who’ve got her among all the stuff that’s come in?’
Claudine shrugged: ‘If there is it’s going to be a hell of a job finding it.’
‘I don’t like the helplessness of having to wait for them to make a move. They’re orchestrating the entire thing.’
‘That’s the whole point,’ insisted Claudine. ‘They’re getting their satisfaction from control: making us follow their lead.’
‘Similar to Norris?’
‘Marginally.’
‘Let’s hope it’s the only way they’re getting their satisfaction,’ said Blake heavily.
‘I wish to God I could be more certain about that,’ admitted Claudine. ‘If she is still alive and they’ve started abusing her she’ll break – become subservient, and totally confused by adults doing things to her she won’t fully understand. Why it’s happening, I mean.’
‘She’s been gone more than three days,’ the man reminded her.
‘They might still not have touched her, physically. Don’t forget the usual way is to try to convince the child that sex with an adult is quite normal: talk about it first and show them photographs and films of it happening to other children.’
‘That sounds bad enough to me,’ said Blake.
‘I’m hoping for arrogance,’ said Claudine. ‘And that’s how I’m connecting the daytime abduction with their first contact. Both are arrogant – the daylight snatch, on a crowded street – even reckless. That’s in Mary’s favour.’
‘How long will it go on like that?’
‘I wish I knew,’ admitted Claudine honestly. ‘Just as I wish I could guess how much longer Mary can hold on, whether she’s being sexually molested or not.’
‘We’ve established that she’s strong-willed.’
‘That will have helped at first. Made it easier for her to convince herself she isn’t frightened. Which she will be, of course. Terrified. Gradually – there’s no way of predicting how gradually – the terror will replace the resistance. When that happens she’ll start wanting to ingratiate herself. Think that if she does what they want they’ll treat her kindly. Let her go, even.’
‘Making it easier to convince her about the sex?’
Claudine nodded, abandoning the rest of her meal.
‘You haven’t eaten much.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘That all?’
‘It’s been a long day. I’m tired.’
‘It doesn’t show.’
It would have done, if she hadn’t concentrated upon her make-up, more than once rearranged her hair after showering and taken the time to choose between three dresses before coming out. She was glad she had. He’d changed too, she realized. ‘I’d like to believe it.’
‘After the knife attack on the last case you were authorized to carry a weapon?’
Claudine was startled by the abrupt change of direction. ‘Yes?’
‘You carrying it now?’
She was still bewildered. ‘No. I’m embarrassed about it: it was an over-reaction.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Back in The Hague, in my safe.’
‘Not a lot of use there, is it?’
‘What about you, after Ireland?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you carrying?’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘I left it at the hotel. Which is not just stupid but a very good reason for me to be disciplined.’
‘Touche!’ What the hell was this all about?
‘You enjoy Europol?’
Now which way were they going! They’d had this conversation, surely? ‘I didn’t want to stay in England after my husband died. I wish there was more to do.’
‘Lots of opportunity to meet people.’
‘If you want to meet people,’ she agreed.
‘Which I hear you don’t.’
‘From whom?’ At least he’d held off for the first few days. She supposed she should have been irritated now but she wasn’t. Oddly the tiredness was easing, too.
‘Just talk.’
‘I’m not interested in one-night stands. Any sort of stand, for that matter.’
Blake pushed his own plate aside. ‘Is there anyone?’
Claudine realized, surprised, that she hadn’t thought of Hugo Rosetti since the Brussels case began. ‘There’s a friend. Nothing serious.’ Why had she said that, dismissing the situation with Hugo? She loved him and knew he loved her: was prepared – anxious even – for the affair that his rigid, self-imposed rules prevented his entering into. So maybe the dismissal had been justified after all, although not describing it as ‘nothing serious.’ Bizarre was more accurate. How long was she prepared to go on with it? Until Flavia really died, instead of remaining suspended in a living death? The question was as repugnant as the actual prospect. No matter what she felt for Hugo, she couldn’t tell him that. It would sound like an ultimatum: which it would be, she supposed. The way to end it, even. She didn’t want to end it, unsatisfactory though it was, nor did she want it to drift on indefinitely. Impasse. What was the clinical word to describe someone supremely confident of their professional ability whose private life was an insoluble mess? Idiot came easily to mind.
‘I think I’ve overstepped the boundaries,’ said Blake.
‘Perhaps you have.’
‘Are you offended?’
‘No.’
‘I’m still sorry. Embarrassed, too.’
Claudine didn’t think he was. ‘We should be getting back.’
‘Kurt’s got this number, if anything comes up.’
‘I’d still like to get back.’
‘So you are offended.’
‘Tired.’
Claudine thought Blake was going to protest at her paying her share of the bill – shifting the colleague-to- colleague understanding – but he didn’t and she was glad. On their way back across the square he kept even further away from her than he’d previously done. There were two telephone calls from Rosetti logged at the reception desk.
‘Anything?’
‘Personal.’ She didn’t feel like returning them tonight.
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight.’
He nodded towards the corridor bar, holding her eyes. ‘I thought I’d have one last drink.’
Claudine answered the gaze. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ She wasn’t offended, she decided, as the open- sided elevator took her upwards. There wasn’t any possibility of a personal situation developing between them, but the suggestion she might have responded to one was flattering. He was, in fact, a very attractive man.
‘You looked very grand on television. Autocratic, like de Gaulle.’ Francoise was totally naked, examining herself in the full length mirror. She did it most nights when she slept there, which wasn’t a lot. It went beyond narcissism to become a permanent taunt directed at him.
Sanglier had collected the Europol masterfile on the McBride disappearance on his way from the railway station. He didn’t bother to look up from it until he became aware of the woman, close to his bed.
