most part, Soviet-era full-copper-jacket ammunition. So did the Bosnian police. It was Red Army surplus and found in all their unfired weapons. But the seven Bosnian men in the station were killed by 5.56-millimetre rounds throwing a very different kind of bullet – the kind given to NATO peacekeepers, in fact.’
Pottersfield picked at her meal with chopsticks, thinking. After several bites, she said, ‘So maybe one of the men who were killed that night had a NATO weapon and the sisters got hold of it and fought their way out.’
‘That’s one plausible scenario. Or a third party helped them, someone who was part of the NATO operation. I’m leaning towards that explanation.’
‘Evidence?’ she asked.
‘The bullets, primarily,’ Knight said. ‘But also because James Daring and Selena Farrell were in the Balkans in the mid-1990s attached to that NATO mission. Daring was assigned to protect antiquities from looters. But apart from that photo I saw of Farrell holding an automatic weapon in front of a NATO field truck, her role in the operation remains a mystery to me.’
‘Not for long,’ Pottersfield said. ‘I’ll petition NATO for her files.’
‘The war-crimes prosecutor is already on it,’ Knight said.
The Scotland Yard inspector nodded, but her focus was far away. ‘So what’s your theory: that this third entity in the escape – Daring or Farrell or both – could be Cronus?’
‘Perhaps,’ Knight said. ‘It follows, anyway.’
‘In some manner,’ she allowed while still managing to sound sceptical.
They ate in silence for several minutes before Pottersfield said: ‘There’s only one thing that bothers me about this theory of yours, Peter.’
‘What’s that?’ Knight asked.
His sister-in-law squinted and waved her chopsticks at him. ‘Let’s say you’re right and Cronus was the person or persons who helped the sisters escape, and let’s say that Cronus managed to turn these war criminals into anarchists, Olympics haters, whatever you want to call them.
‘The evidence to date reveals people who are not only brutal, but brutally effective. They managed to penetrate some of the toughest security in the world twice, kill, and escape twice.’
Knight saw where she was going: ‘You’re saying they’re detail-orientated, they’ve planned to the last factor, and yet they make mistakes with these letters.’
Pottersfield nodded. ‘Hair, skin, and now a fingerprint.’
‘Don’t forget the wig,’ Knight said. ‘Anything on that?’
‘Not yet, though this war-crimes angle should help us if DNA samples were ever taken from the sisters.’
Knight ate a couple more bites, and then said, ‘There’s also a question as to whether Farrell, Daring or both of them had the wherewithal, the financial means to concoct a deadly assault on the Olympics. It has to cost money, and lots of it.’
‘I thought of that too,’ Pottersfield replied. ‘This morning we took a look at James Daring’s bank accounts and credit-card statements. That television show has made him wealthy. And his accounts show several major cash withdrawals lately. Professor Farrell, on the other hand, lives more modestly. Except for hefty purchases at expensive fashion boutiques here and in Paris, and getting her hair done at trendy salons once a month, she leads a fairly austere life.’
Knight recalled the dressing table and the high-end clothes in the professor’s bedroom and tried again to make it fit with the dowdy woman he’d met at King’s College. He couldn’t. Was she dressing up to meet Daring? Was there something between them that Knight and his colleagues weren’t aware of?
He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll pay and take my leave, then. The new nanny is working overtime.’
Pottersfield looked away as he put his napkin on the table and raised his hand for the bill. ‘How are they?’ she asked. ‘The twins?’
‘They’re fine,’ Knight said, and then gazed sincerely at his sister-in-law. ‘I know they would love to meet their Aunt Elaine. Don’t you think they deserve to have a relationship with their mother’s sister?’
It was as if invisible armour instantly enclosed the Scotland Yard inspector. Her posture went tight and she said, ‘I’m simply not there yet. I don’t know if I could bear it.’
‘Their birthday’s a week from Saturday.’
‘Do you honestly think I could ever forget that day?’ Pottersfield asked, getting up from the table.
‘No, Elaine,’ Knight replied. ‘And neither will I. Ever. But I have hope that at some point I’ll be able to forgive that day. I hope you will, too.’
Pottersfield said, ‘You’ll settle the bill?’
Knight nodded. She turned to leave. He called after her, ‘Elaine, I’ll probably be having a birthday party for them at some point. I’d like it if you came.’
Pottersfield looked over her shoulder at him, her voice raspy when she replied. ‘Like I said, Peter, I don’t know if I’m there yet.’
Chapter 70
IN THE TAXI on the way home to Chelsea, Knight wondered if his sister-in-law would ever forgive him. Did it matter? It did. It depressed him to think that his kids might never get to know their mother’s last living relative.
Rather than sink into a mood, however, he forced his mind to other thoughts.
Selena Farrell was a
It bothered him so much that he called Pope. She answered, sounding as if she was in a bad temper. They’d had an argument in Hooligan’s lab earlier in the day about when and how she should deal with the war-crimes information. She’d wanted to publish immediately, but Knight and Jack had argued that she should wait to get independent corroboration from The Hague and from Scotland Yard. Neither man wanted the information attributed to Private.
Pope said, ‘So did your sister-in-law corroborate the fingerprint match?’
‘I think that will probably be tomorrow at the earliest,’ Knight said.
‘Brilliant,’ the reporter said sarcastically. ‘And the prosecutor at The Hague is not returning my calls. So I’ve got nothing for tomorrow.’
‘There’s something else you could be looking into,’ Knight offered as the taxi pulled up in front of his home. He paid the driver and stood out on the pavement, describing the dressing table and clothes at Selena Farrell’s home.
‘High fashion?’ Pope asked, incredulous. ‘Her?’
‘Exactly my reaction,’ Knight said. ‘Which means a lot of things, it seems to me. She had to have had sources of money outside academia. Which means she had a secret life. Find it, and you just might find her.’
‘All well and good for you to say,’ Pope began.
God, she irritated him. ‘It’s what I’ve got,’ he snapped. ‘Look, Pope, I have to tuck my kids in. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’
He hung up, feeling as though the case had consumed him the way the mythical Cronus had consumed his own children. That thought left him supremely frustrated. If it wasn’t for the Olympics he’d be working full-time to find out who had killed his colleagues at Private and why. When this was over he told himself he would not stop until he solved that crime.
Knight went inside and climbed the stairs, hearing a door slide over carpet, followed by footsteps. Marta was leaving the nursery. She saw Knight, and held her index finger to her lips.
‘Can I say goodnight?’ he whispered.
‘They’re already asleep,’ Marta said.
