presence. Laszlo parked the cart in the centre of the platform and made for Coach Seven instead. A Eurostar attendant stepped down to intercept him. ‘You’re too late, mate. We’re boarding. All cleaning personnel should be off the train by now.’
Laszlo shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ve left my supplies in the toilet. If I don’t get them back I’ll be sacked. I’ll only be a moment.’
The attendant hesitated. ‘Oh, all right – but be quick about it, for heaven’s sake. We’re due to depart in five minutes.’
Laszlo gave him a grateful smile and stepped up into thecarriage. He went straight to the Disabled toilet and locked the door behind him. He took off his cap, stripped off his overalls and dumped them in the rubbish bin. He washed his face and hands and checked his reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. The man staring back at him looked like just another anonymous business executive on his way to Paris.
28
THE EUROSTAR ATTENDANT had remained on the platform by the entrance to the carriage, but was growing increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked by. He glanced towards the rear of the train, where the dispatcher was chatting to the guard and chivvying the last few passengers as they hurried along the platform.
The attendant hesitated for a few more moments, then boarded the train. There was no sign of the cleaner, but the toilet was occupied. He knocked, waited, then knocked again. There was no response from within.
On the other side of the door, Laszlo stood motionless, the kitchen knife in his hand. He heard a rattle of keys and then a faint metallic click. ‘What the hell do you think—’
The man never completed his sentence. Laszlo seized his hair, dragged him inside and kicked the door shut. Tightening his grip, he forced the man’s chin down towards his chest and drew the blade across his throat. He dropped the knife to the floor and clamped his fingers around the man’s jugular, stopping the blood spurting and covering their clothes. ‘Stay calm. Don’t struggle,’ he murmured. ‘It’s too late . . . You have lost. Accept . . . just accept it. Think of your family. Think pleasant thoughts . . .’
The attendant’s eyes bulged, but whether he was soothed by his killer’s voice or too terrified to risk moving, he stopped struggling. Laszlo turned him around so that he was facing the toilet. Clamping his other hand on the back of the attendant’s neck, he forced his face down, then released his grip on the jugular. At once, blood began pulsing into the bowl.
Laszlo felt the man’s life ebbing from him. His head would soon begin to spin as his brain started to suffer from the lack of oxygen that his blood would normally provide.
Maintaining an iron grip, Laszlo held him there until the crimson stream faltered and stopped, then lowered his body to the floor. He went to the basin, rinsed the blood from his right hand with cold water, then stripped the man of his uniform.
29
DELPHINE WALKED DOWN the aisle, looking for her seat. She put the presents for her niece and nephew into the luggage rack and was about to sit down when she saw a frail, white-haired man a few rows ahead of her struggling to lift his bag. ‘Let me help you with that,’ she said, taking it from him.
‘Thank you. Just one of the joys of getting old, I’m afraid. I used to be as strong as a bull when I was young, but now I can barely turn the pages of my newspaper.’ He gave her a wintry smile. ‘The clockwork’s running down, I suppose. And yet, do you know, the strange thing is I don’t feel any different inside? In my mind I’m still the young buck I was all those years ago, but then I open my eyes and . . .’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry – as my daughter keeps telling me, I do have a tendency to ramble on . . .’
‘You mustn’t apologize,’ Delphine said. ‘I bet your daughter will miss you terribly while you’re away. Are you staying in Paris or travelling
Laszlo shrugged apologetically. ‘I’ve left my supplies in the toilet. If I don’t get them back I’ll be sacked. I’ll only be a moment.’
The attendant hesitated. ‘Oh, all right – but be quick about it, for heaven’s sake. We’re due to depart in five minutes.’
Laszlo gave him a grateful smile and stepped up into thecarriage. He went straight to the Disabled toilet and locked the door behind him. He took off his cap, stripped off his overalls and dumped them in the rubbish bin. He washed his face and hands and checked his reflection in the mirror. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. The man staring back at him looked like just another anonymous business executive on his way to Paris.
28
THE EUROSTAR ATTENDANT had remained on the platform by the entrance to the carriage, but was growing increasingly anxious as the minutes ticked by. He glanced towards the rear of the train, where the dispatcher was chatting to the guard and chivvying the last few passengers as they hurried along the platform.
The attendant hesitated for a few more moments, then boarded the train. There was no sign of the cleaner, but the toilet was occupied. He knocked, waited, then knocked again. There was no response from within.
On the other side of the door, Laszlo stood motionless, the kitchen knife in his hand. He heard a rattle of keys and then a faint metallic click. ‘What the hell do you think—’
The man never completed his sentence. Laszlo seized his hair, dragged him inside and kicked the door shut. Tightening his grip, he forced the man’s chin down towards his chest and drew the blade across his throat. He dropped the knife to the floor and clamped his fingers around the man’s jugular, stopping the blood spurting and covering their clothes. ‘Stay calm. Don’t struggle,’ he murmured. ‘It’s too late . . . You have lost. Accept . . . just accept it. Think of your family. Think pleasant thoughts . . .’
The attendant’s eyes bulged, but whether he was soothed by his killer’s voice or too terrified to risk moving, he stopped struggling. Laszlo turned him around so that he was facing the toilet. Clamping his other hand on the back of the attendant’s neck, he forced his face down, then released his grip on the jugular. At once, blood began pulsing into the bowl.
Laszlo felt the man’s life ebbing from him. His head would soon begin to spin as his brain started to suffer from the lack of oxygen that his blood would normally provide.
Maintaining an iron grip, Laszlo held him there until the crimson stream faltered and stopped, then lowered his body to the floor. He went to the basin, rinsed the blood from his right hand with cold water, then stripped the man of his uniform.
29
DELPHINE WALKED DOWN the aisle, looking for her seat. She put the presents for her niece and nephew into the luggage rack and was about to sit down when she saw a frail, white-haired man a few rows ahead of her struggling to lift his bag. ‘Let me help you with that,’ she said, taking it from him.
‘Thank you. Just one of the joys of getting old, I’m afraid. I used to be as strong as a bull when I was young, but now I can barely turn the pages of my newspaper.’ He gave her a wintry smile. ‘The clockwork’s running down, I suppose. And yet, do you know, the strange thing is I don’t feel any different inside? In my mind I’m still the young buck I was all those years ago, but then I open my eyes and . . .’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry – as my daughter keeps telling me, I do have a tendency to ramble on . . .’
‘You mustn’t apologize,’ Delphine said. ‘I bet your daughter will miss you terribly while you’re away. Are you staying in Paris or travelling
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