‘Is he in?’

‘I do not know. Do you wish to leave a message?’

‘Yes. Ask him to call me.’ Eusden dictated his mobile number. ‘You’ve got that?’

The receptionist read it back and added: ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘Possibly.’ Eusden thought for a second, then said, ‘Do you have any rooms for tonight?’

‘Tonight? I’ll check.’ A moment later: ‘Yes, we do.’

‘Good.’ There was a reaction now from Straub, though not much of one. He raised his eyebrows about a quarter of an inch. ‘I’d like to book a room.’

The booking was swiftly accomplished. Eusden ended the call and handed the phone back to Straub.

‘You’re coming with me to Cologne, Richard?’ he said.

‘What else can I do? Without being able to speak to Marty.’

‘The pills he takes are rather strong. I suppose the phone ringing would not be enough to wake him.’

‘Either that or he’s feeling a lot better and has gone for a stroll.’

‘Unlikely.’

‘Well, we’ll find out when we get there, won’t we?’

‘We will, yes.’ Straub smiled. ‘And it will be a pleasure to have your company on the train, of course.’ His smile broadened. ‘So, that is settled.’

‘Yes.’ Settled at a price, Eusden thought. The train fare to Cologne; a €250 room at the Ernst; another day’s leave at zero notice: Marty was suddenly having an impact on his life it was hard not to resent.

‘I think I will have another coffee,’ said Straub. ‘Can I get you one?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Excuse me, then.’

He stood up and headed for the counter, empty cup in hand. As he took his place in the queue, Eusden slipped his phone out of his pocket and dialled Gemma’s number.

‘Hello.’ Eusden swore under his breath. It was Monica who had answered. At least he assumed it was Monica, though they had never actually spoken before. She had just the gratingly chirpy voice he would have imagined.

‘Is Gemma there?’

‘Is that Richard?’

‘Yes.’ Another silent obscenity.

‘Hi. I’m Monica.’

‘Of course. Hello. Look-’

‘Gemma’s taking a shower. London’s so dirty, isn’t it? Well, maybe you don’t notice, living there all the time, but-’

‘Did she speak to Marty earlier?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Did she speak to Marty earlier?’

‘I don’t know, Richard.’ Eusden wondered if her use of his name was intended to be as irritating as he found it. ‘Is it important?’

‘Very.’

‘Well, I’ll have to get her to call you back.’

‘OK. She’s got my number.’ Eusden glanced into the café to check on Straub’s progress. He had reached the head of the queue. It looked like his coffee was already being prepared. And, while he waited, Straub was also making a phone call. ‘What’s the slimy bastard up to?’ Eusden murmured.

‘What did you say?’ asked Monica.

‘Nothing. Sorry.’ Having Gemma call him on the train, with Straub staring, sphinxlike, at him from the seat opposite, suddenly seemed like a bad idea. ‘On second thoughts, tell Gemma I’ll call her.’

‘When would that be? Only, we’re going to a five o’clock showing at the cinema. Have you seen Notes on a Scandal, Richard?’

‘What?’

‘Well, never mind. I just mean it might be a better idea if you leave phoning again until you get home.’

‘Until I get home.’ Straub had ended his phone call and was paying for his coffee. ‘Yeah, that’s a great idea.’

Avec Thalys, découvrez le plaisir de voyager à votre rythme en Europe. So the blurb declared in the timetable that Eusden had received along with his ticket to Cologne. But pleasure and rhythm were a long way from his grasp. Reassurance and logic, which he would have settled for, were also nowhere to be found. As the high-speed Thalys bulleted them east through the late afternoon and early evening, he struggled to get the measure of his companion – without success.

Extracting information from Werner Straub was as easy as grabbing an eel. The man had a gift for turning every question back on the questioner. There was little doubt in Eusden’s mind by the time their journey ended that Straub had learnt far more than he had revealed, particularly about Clem Hewitson, despite Eusden’s efforts to be as reticent as possible.

Nor had a message left on his phone by Gemma done anything to relieve his difficulty. Guessing she might ignore his request to wait for him to call her, he had switched it to voicemail and run a check during a visit to the loo. Sure enough, she had been in touch, though not to much purpose.

‘What’s going on, Richard? Monica said you sounded anxious. Sorry I didn’t tell you I was going to call Marty and warn him you’d be there instead of me. I actually only did it on the spur of the moment. Anyway, I didn’t get to speak to him. But he must have told you that himself. I suppose he did get my message, didn’t he? Of course he did. Otherwise you wouldn’t know about it. You must be on your way back by now. Call me when you get in.’

It was a bone-cold evening in Cologne. They exited the station on to a wind-swept piazza beneath the soaring, spired mass of the cathedral. According to Straub, the Hotel Ernst was only a short walk away and for that Eusden was grateful.

It looked as swanky a place as its room rates implied. The glitter of the lobby suggested there would be plentiful creature comforts to compensate him for the inconvenience of being there. Marty was obviously not in the business of saving his pennies – or his cents. But then, as Eusden sombrely reminded himself, his friend did not have much of a future he needed to worry about.

‘I will go straight up and see how Marty is,’ said Straub, steering him gently away from the reception desk. ‘Wait in the bar, Richard.’

‘I may as well check in.’

‘Do that later. If Marty is feeling better, he will want to see you right away.’ Straub smiled. ‘He will probably want to buy you a drink.’

Eusden was too weary from their verbal fencing match on the train to argue. And he certainly needed a drink. He headed for the bar, while Straub made for the lift.

Five minutes elapsed while Eusden made swift inroads into a large gin and tonic, which he fully intended to charge to Marty’s room. The bar was low-lit and wood-panelled, the atmosphere soothing. He began to devise a suitably barbed greeting for his friend. Then Straub walked in – alone.

‘How is he?’ Eusden asked as Straub sat down beside him.

Straub gave an enigmatic little smile. ‘I do not know.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Marty is not here, Richard.’

‘Not here? Are you saying… he’s gone out?’

‘Not exactly.’ The waiter appeared. Straub ordered a drink, then returned his attention to Eusden, dropping his voice to a confidential murmur. ‘I will explain the situation to you, Richard. But I must ask you to remain calm – and quiet – while I do so. Marty’s welfare depends on you doing that.’

‘What?’

‘I am serious.’ The intensity of Straub’s gaze left no room for doubt on the point. ‘Marty needs you to behave sensibly. His life is at stake. You understand?’

‘No, I don’t understand. What the hell-’

‘Calm and quiet.’ Straub propped his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers, cocking his head slightly as he looked Eusden in the eye. ‘Are you going to be?’ The question was suffused with a threat that was all the greater for being unspecified – and uttered sotto voce.

‘I’m listening,’ said Eusden levelly.

‘Good. Now-’ Straub broke off as his drink arrived: a blood-red Campari. Coasters and complimentary nuts were adjusted by the waiter in a pregnant hush. Then he glided away. And Straub resumed. ‘Marty did not come to Cologne yesterday, Richard. I travelled here alone. I booked in under his name. I brought his phone with me. That is how I knew you would be waiting for him in Brussels.’