Frosser shook his head slowly. ‘I can’t believe it, sir, you deliberately set me up.’
‘She had to be released but the charges could hardly be dropped with the amount of media coverage this case has already attracted.’
‘Had to be released?’
‘Had to be released,’ Kuhlmann repeated. ‘I don’t like it any more than you do but there are times when pride has to be swallowed.’
‘Who was she?’
‘It’s classified. All I can tell you is that she’s an undercover operative. She was on assignment when she shot Rauff.’
‘What if I choose not to drop the case?’ Frosser challenged.
‘I know for a fact that a promotion’s in the pipeline for you. It has been for the past four months in case you’re thinking it’s some kind of pay-off. Don’t throw away your future over the death of some insignificant criminal, Bruno, it’s not worth it.’
‘No, sir, I guess not.’ Frosser got to his feet. ‘Consider the case closed.’
Kuhlmann left the office.
Frosser raised the mug in a toast. ‘Here’s to equality and justice.’
The coffee tasted bitter.
Nine
Graham drank down the last mouthful of coffee then sat back contentedly. ‘I’ll say this for the Italian railways, the food’s great.’
‘Delicious,’ Kolchinsky confirmed between mouthfuls of cassata.
Graham looked past him at the end table on the other side of the dining car. ‘Werner’s just paid for the meal. They’ll be leaving any minute now.’
‘There’s no point in tailing them while the train’s moving. They can’t go anywhere.’ Kolchinsky consulted his wristwatch. ‘When are we due in Piacenza?’
‘The waiter said around 8.30.’
‘Ten minutes,’ Kolchinsky replied, then spooned the last of the ice cream into his mouth.
Graham called over the waiter. ‘Can we have the check?’
‘Il conto, per favore,’ Kolchinsky said when the waiter frowned at Graham.
The waiter nodded, then left.
Werner and Hendrique got to their feet and walked down the aisle between the rows of tables.
‘Excuse me, aren’t you the gentleman who was with Sabrina?’ Werner asked, pausing to look down at Graham.
‘Sabrina?’
‘The young lady who was arrested at Vergiate.’
‘Yeah, I was with her, but we’d only met the night before. I didn’t even know her name. Do you know her?’
‘I did once. A long time ago.’
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Kolchinsky said, indicating the two vacant chairs on either side of the table.
‘Why thank you, Father,’ Werner said and sat down beside him. He introduced himself and Hendrique, using the alias Joe Hemmings.
‘Father Kortov,’ Kolchinsky said, shaking Werner’s hand.
‘What part of Russia are you from?’ Werner asked.
‘Moscow originally but I was forced to leave. I work in America now.’
‘Yes, the Russian authorities are notorious iconoclasts.’
Graham took the bill from the waiter and mentally worked out what he owed. Kolchinsky paid the balance.
‘A drink perhaps?’ Werner asked and indicated that the waiter should stay.
‘What does one drink after a meal in Italy?’ Kolchinsky asked.
‘The favourite liqueurs are Amaretto and Sambuca.’
‘Amaretto? That’s almond flavour, isn’t it?’ Kolchinsky asked, feigning ignorance. ‘Liquor isn’t one of my strong points.’
‘I should hope not, Father,’ Werner said, chuckling. ‘You’re quite right though, it’s an almond liqueur.’
‘That would be nice, thank you,’ Kolchinsky replied.
Werner looked at Graham. ‘How about you Mr–?’
‘Green. Michael Green. Nothing for me.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Due Amaretti, per favore,’ Werner said to the waiter, who then hurried away.
‘Any sign of your missing conductor?’ Graham asked Hendrique.
Hendrique shook his head.
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for his disappearance,’ Werner said, breaking the uneasy silence.
The waiter returned with the liqueurs.
After paying for them Werner held up his glass. ‘To the future.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Kolchinsky said, touching glasses.
Werner took a sip. ‘I can’t imagine Sabrina involved in anything as sordid as murder. She always struck me as the epitome of refinement.’
‘Murder has no class boundaries,’ Hendrique said.
‘True enough, but I still can’t imagine her as a murderess.’
‘Perhaps she’s a spy,’ Hendrique countered with a faint smile.
‘Piacenza, Piacenza,’ the assistant conductor announced from the doorway.
Werner drank down his Amaretto, then stood up. ‘I think I’ll turn in and read a few chapters of my book. Nice to have met you both. I’m sure we’ll meet again.’
Kolchinsky gripped the proffered hand. ‘I’m sure we will. And thank you for the drink.’
‘My pleasure,’ Werner replied with a curt bow.
Hendrique pushed back his chair and followed Werner out of the dining car.
‘We know they know and I’m pretty sure they know we know. It’s a stalemate. And if they know we know they’re almost certainly going to change their plans. We have to be ready for that.’ Kolchinsky finished his Amaretto and put the glass in the centre of the table.
‘Right,’ Graham said without any conviction. Kolchinsky had left him behind after the first sentence. He stifled a yawn and got to his feet. ‘You coming?’
‘Sure,’ Kolchinsky replied.
They reached the compartment as the train came to a halt in the brightly illuminated Piacenza station. The corridor windows were facing the platform and Graham scanned the assortment of passengers waiting to board the train.
‘There’s a nun out there,’ Graham called out over his shoulder.
‘Come in and close the door,’ Kolchinsky urged. ‘If she sees me she’s sure to want to talk. Come inside.’
Graham entered the compartment and slid the door shut. ‘This waiting game’s playing on my nerves. We’re running out of time and those bastards could give us the slip any time. Who’s to say they’re even going to Rome? All they need to do is uncouple the freight car and we’ve lost them.’ There was a knock at the door.
Graham unholstered his Beretta and slipped it into his jacket pocket, then peeked through a hairline crack between the two drawn curtains. ‘It’s the nun, she must have seen you from the platform.’
‘That’s all we need. You’d better open the door.’
‘We could ignore her,’ Graham suggested.
‘We can’t ignore her. Open the door, I’ll speak to her.’
Graham shrugged and did as he was told. The nun picked up her holdall and came in, her head bowed.
‘This compartment’s already occupied, Sister. I’m sure–’ he tailed off when she looked up at him. ‘Sabrina?’
‘I’d say we’ve got the same tailor,’ she said, removing her black-rimmed glasses. ‘One Monsieur Jacques Rust.’
Graham locked the door. ‘What the hell’s going on? How did you get out of custody? How did you get here for that matter?’
She held up her hands defensively. ‘Give me a chance to sit down and I’ll answer all your questions.’
‘Fancy a coffee?’ Kolchinsky asked. Her smile answered the question.
‘You can get something to eat later. The dining car’s open till ten. I’ve no idea why, there are barely enough passengers for a first sitting,’ Kolchinsky said on his way out in search of coffee.
When he returned it was with a small tray on which was a cup of hot coffee and a slice of chestnut cake with freshly whipped cream. She refused the cake so he ate it while she described what had happened, from the time of her arrest at Vergiate to the helicopter flight from Zurich.