‘I know what you mean. After three days here any sane man would jump off the balcony outside. I bet he hasn’t been here long. And wasn’t planning to stay much longer.’
Seurat nodded. ‘But where has he gone? And why isn’t he here now? I don’t get it.’
‘Come on. Don’t let’s hang about. There’s still the bedroom to check.’
The bedroom did nothing to lift their spirits. It held a double bed, and a cheap-looking desk with four drawers, containing a few pens and pencils, some rubber bands, paper clips and a lot of dust but no paper. A metal chair, a small bedside table on which sat a little lamp and nothing else, and a built-in cupboard that contained one empty suitcase completed the furnishings.
‘Honestly,’ said Seurat, gazing at the paltry contents of the room, ‘this could be a doss house. Do we know anything about this guy?’
‘Not much,’ admitted Isabelle. ‘We’re working on it, but for now we’ve only official records. We couldn’t exactly ask around here if we didn’t want him scared off.’
‘So what do we know?’
‘He’s a native Parisian – Yemeni mother, French father. The father is not in evidence, and the mother is dead. Ramdani grew up half a mile from here. He’s twenty-five, and when he left school he went and lived in Yemen for a few years – at least that’s what Immigration say; if he went anywhere else it didn’t get stamped in his passport. He’s on benefits now, but used to work in a little bar down the street – again, we didn’t want to ask questions; I got this from the Office of Employment.’ She added a little defensively, ‘We can find out a lot more than that, of course. But at this stage discretion seemed to be preferable to a lot of inquiries.’
Seurat sighed, looking around the dismal room. ‘I’m just frustrated the jihadis didn’t arrive. And this guy seems to have disappeared and left virtually no sign of himself. Your people are sure he couldn’t have got past them somehow?’
‘Absolutely. We’ve had the camera up for thirty-six hours. No one’s been out of this flat – or in. You’ve seen for yourself there’s no other way out. And if he were hiding in here, we’d have found him by now. There isn’t room to swing a cat in this place. He must have left before we started watching. That’s the only explanation, isn’t it?’ she added, since she wasn’t sure Seurat was paying attention to what she was saying.
He wasn’t. He had gone over to one corner of the room and was looking up at the ceiling, where there was a square metal grating.
‘What is it?’ asked Isabelle, slightly annoyed. Martin was always so inquisitive, she thought, even when it just wasted time.
‘It must be some kind of central heating system. There are no radiators in this place and it’s not freezing cold,’ he said, purposely misunderstanding her.
‘What about it? The officers will have checked that out.’
‘Maybe. But maybe not.’ He picked up the metal chair and put it under the grating. ‘There are no screws in this. How do you think it stays in place?’
‘Heaven knows. It probably rests on a ledge. Can’t you see?’
As he stood on the chair the cover was only inches above his upraised hand. He reached up and gently pushed. One corner of the grating lifted and then dropped back into place. He pushed again with both hands and the entire square cover lifted up and he was able to move it over to rest on the inside of the ceiling. He stared up into the hole above his head. He poked one arm through until it disappeared into the gap, and felt around in the blackness. Then he climbed down.
‘Find anything?’ asked Isabelle sarcastically. She shared Seurat’s frustration, but couldn’t see the point of what he was doing now.
‘Not yet.’ He reached into his pocket and took out a small metal torch. Then he repositioned the chair to place it directly below the opening in the ceiling and climbed back onto it again.
‘You’re not thinking of going up there, are you? Let the officers do it. They’re younger than you.’
‘Don’t worry – if anyone’s going to have to crawl along a shaft it won’t be me. I just want to take a look to see where it goes.’
He hoisted both arms up into the gap, holding his torch in his teeth, and leaned his elbows on the ceiling. Then before Isabelle could protest Seurat pulled himself straight up into the air until his head disappeared into the opening. He’s strong, thought Isabelle admiringly despite herself, for inwardly she thought this was all a waste of time.
‘Come on down, Martin,’ she said, staring at his legs hanging in the air. He must have replied, but his voice was muffled by the surrounding walls of the shaft.
‘What did you say?’ Isabelle half shouted, and just then he dropped back down again, missing the chair and falling onto the floor with a thud.
‘Are you all right?’ Isabelle was standing over him and held out a hand. But he sat up, shook his head and said, ‘I’m fine. My arms suddenly gave way.’
‘I told you it was a job for a younger man,’ she said unsympathetically. ‘What’s up there anyway?’
‘There’s a duct, quite wide. You could crawl along it if you were slim – and young,’ he added with a smile. ‘It must run along the top of all the flats in this corridor. I can’t swear to it, but I thought I heard something moving up there.’
‘It was probably rats. Or the pipes heating up.’
‘Mmm. Perhaps. We need to find out exactly where it goes. There may be an exit he could have used.’
‘Why would he want to go out that way?’
‘He may have spotted the surveillance and put two and two together.’
‘Yes, and he may have invisible powers too,’ she replied caustically.
‘But don’t you see? That would explain why the others didn’t show. He may have warned them.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Isabelle. ‘We’ve been very careful.’
Martin shrugged. ‘Well, whatever. But the duct’s certainly a possible way out – and in as well. Do you think we can get a plan of where it goes?’
‘I’m sure we can from the building management company. But I can’t see much point in doing it now. There’s nothing here to help us learn what the jihadis are planning to do, or where they are. And if you’re right and Ramdani saw the surveillance, he’s probably not coming back. If we stay here much longer we’re going to have the old lady next door coming out to find out what’s going on. I think we ought to leave now and get the “gas men” to tell the old lady that everything’s fine. Then we can get the plans tomorrow and see whether it’s worth sending someone to explore the ducting.’
Although he hated leaving the job unfinished, Seurat couldn’t think of any reason to object to Isabelle’s plan, so they put everything back as it was in the flat and went towards the front door where the two officers were waiting in the passage.
They closed the door behind them and Isabelle and Martin Seurat began to walk off down the corridor as the officer rang the old lady’s bell. Nothing happened. So he rang again and put his ear to the door, listening for her. Then the officer called out to Isabelle, ‘I think you should come.’
‘What is it?’ she said as she and Seurat walked back.
‘Listen.’
Isabelle bent down and opened the letter box. She could hear a gasping, choking sound.
She said, ‘I think she’s ill. Sounds like a heart attack. Open the door.’
The lock was no more difficult than the one on the flat next door and within seconds the door was open. Martin elbowed Isabelle out of the way and went in first. He’s acting as if the old bird is his grandmother, Isabelle thought with amusement.
The flat had exactly the same layout as the one next door and the sounds were coming from behind the closed door to the living room in front. Martin pushed the door open and saw the old lady standing up, held on her feet by a thin, dark young man. He had one arm round her neck and with his other hand he was pushing a revolver hard into the side of her throat. The old lady’s eyes were open but only the whites were showing; her mouth was slack and saliva was dribbling out and down her chin. Her skin was a bluish white and there was a raw, rattling noise coming from her open mouth.