Jones continued steadily on her way, deliberately letting her arms hang loosely at her sides. Apparently she did not look suspicious because, even though it was so early in the morning and she had yet to see another pedestrian, after a few seconds the police car proceeded on its way, accelerating past her up Nassau Street.
She had half expected to be stopped, walking through the town in the early hours, and less than two days after a fatal explosion. Being a woman had probably helped, she thought, even in this age of almost obsessively applied gender equality.
As she turned right into the Princeton campus, past Nassau Hall, she was further surprised that, apart from the lone patrol car, there appeared to be no visible police presence. This was Princeton though, she reminded herself. The campus blended seamlessly with the town. She knew the authorities had evacuated the university buildings, but it would be virtually impossible to physically shut them off from the town. And the university itself had never been too hot on security, not in her day anyway.
That had been before 9/11, of course, and the various international terrorist attacks which had followed. But only a few weeks after the tragedy of the Twin Towers, Jones had chatted to a colleague, who had just returned from a trip to Princeton, and expressed surprise at the continued lack of security there.
The famous Orange Key Tours still ran several times daily, when not only prospective students but any casual visitor to the town, and indeed any would-be terrorist, could join a small group and be shown around the campus by an eagerly informative student.
Dormitories and lecture rooms were all on the itinerary for a visit as well as the main university libraries, including the cavernous Firestone, the Art Museum, Nassau Hall, and other hallowed places. Those joining the hour-long campus tours underwent no security checks whatsoever. There were no electronic gates to pass through, no bag searches, certainly no body searches, and not even a routine identity check. Indeed visitors weren’t even asked to give their names, let alone show proof of identity.
Jones continued to walk along shadowy paths, which she did not have to be able to see clearly in order to know were immaculate, the buildings around her bringing back even more memories. She crossed the lawn at Nixon’s Nose, and scuffed at the ground with the toe of a shoe. It had been a favourite place for her and Ed. She was reminded again of how badly she had treated him.
The Science Research Building was just around the corner now, but the RECAP lab was at the far end. She assumed the main entrance to the building would be a protected crime scene, and she was right. She stood very still in the shadows by the corner of the block, hoping to see without being seen.
The front of the science building was lit by arc lights, as, being an aficionado of TV detective shows, she had expected. Yellow tape stretched around the building cordoning it off. Four armed men in dark uniforms, flak jackets, and helmets, were standing by the door silhouetted against the stark light of the arc lamps, casting elongated angular shadows across the paved forecourt. She could see quite clearly the bulk of their body armour and the angular shape of their automatic rifles as well as the bulge of their pistol holsters. Jones had no idea whether they were police or military. Either way she didn’t intend to allow herself to be confronted by them.
Instead she backed slowly and quietly off and began to make her way in a big loop around to the right of the affected building in order, she hoped, to arrive unnoticed at the site of the lab at the rear. It was no accident that she had chosen to wear black.
Another set of arc lights illuminated the building which housed the RECAP lab — or rather, she realized with a sudden flash of unpleasant reality, the place where the RECAP lab had once been.
Jones had known what to expect. Or she’d thought she had. The TV news items on the explosion had shown the scene only from a safe, almost discreet, distance; a television reporter standing in the foreground. But, like most people, Jones had over the years seen enough television footage of bombings to feel that such a scenario, however horrific, would hold no surprises for her. However, she’d never before actually been present at the scene of a major explosion, nor indeed of any similar incident involving huge devastation, and she found that she was completely unprepared.
Once again this area of campus was cordoned off and guarded. Once again Jones held back, reluctant to confront those patrolling the site. After all, what would American security forces make of a lone Englishwoman wandering around a designated crime scene at this hour? Particularly when the possibility of an attack by unknown terrorists was still being investigated. American security services, rightly or wrongly, had a reputation for being rather quicker on the trigger than their British counterparts. And even the British police, in the widespread near-panic which had followed the 7/7 London Underground bombings in 2005, had at one point killed an innocent man by mistake.
Jones positioned herself behind a conveniently placed tree, and stood as still as possible while she surveyed the scene. The lab area was partially concealed by a large tarpaulin construction. Nonetheless Jones could see clearly the level of devastation. And even if the presence of security forces had not halted her, she would have been totally stopped in her tracks.
It seemed that a large chunk of the ground floor of the building, and of the first storey above, had been totally demolished. Metal-reinforced concrete girders hung, broken and twisted, at crazy angles. The Science Research Block was four storeys high, and the rest of the structure too had been severely affected to such a degree that it leaned sideways at an angle, giving the curiously shocking impression of being a brick and concrete jaw, gaping wide open.
Jones could only imagine what it must have been like to have been inside the building when the explosion occurred. She realized now, looking at such devastation, just how remarkable it was that so few had been killed and injured, even taking into account the time of the blast.
The three people who had died, including her two old friends, would, she thought, have known absolutely nothing about what had happened. But she couldn’t help thinking about the injured students, at least one of whom, according to news bulletins, had been very seriously hurt. They may well have been aware of the full horror.
Jones shuddered.
Pulling her hood over her head, she took a cautious step forward, trying to guess exactly where a bomb might have been placed in order to cause the devastation she saw before her. It was hard to tell exactly, but there seemed little doubt, she felt, that its location would have been within the RECAP lab.
Jones could feel her brain beginning to work properly again, but, as certain unwelcome thoughts began to race through her mind, she reckoned she would probably prefer to be still wandering around in a jet-lagged fog.
Her vision of the lab the way it had been before was still extraordinarily vivid. She wondered if the bomb had been given to the lab by someone, disguised within one of those famous cuddly toys Connie had always welcomed, or maybe just hidden behind the old sofa. Nobody would have checked. Nobody would have dreamed of it.
Jones moved slightly to her right, trying not to make a noise. She was grateful for the various trees and undergrowth which surrounded this corner of the building, and which, thankfully, were somewhat less manicured than in other areas of the campus.
She noticed that a large piece of tarpaulin had come loose from the building, and that the only two guards she could see were standing together some distance away. Their heads came close, almost touching, brought into sharp relief by a small flash of light. It looked like they were having a smoking break. It was more than likely that they were not the only security operatives present, of course, but Jones still decided to take the opportunity to make her way a little nearer to the building.