Séb leans over and clicks the mouse a few times. Thierry can smell stale alcohol and fried bacon wafting through the other man’s shirt, and the faint undertone of a spicy deodorant he’s used in an attempt to block out the other aromas. Thierry wrinkles his nose. ‘Out last night, were you?’
‘Marianne took me to that new place in Ollon. Barbecue and cocktails. Might’ve had a few too many.’ He glances at Thierry. ‘Don’t worry, I walked in.’ He rolls his seat over next to Thierry. They both watch the screen.
The man is peering into the fish tank. His mouth is moving, but they can’t hear what he’s saying. The woman is sitting on the sofa by the window, her face turned away from him. Her arms are crossed and she is hunched into herself, as if trying to roll into a little ball.
‘Why are they not telling us what happened to their friends?’ Séb zooms in on the man’s mouth, but the man is no longer talking. Just staring at the fish. He stands up straight, and his expression looks pained. He walks slowly over to the other sofa and sits down, then he leans back and closes his eyes.
Thierry frowns. ‘And why don’t they want to go to the hospital? Or even their hotel? I don’t like this. Not at all.’
‘They were on the Argentine, right? They said that much.’ Séb picks up his phone and starts scrolling.
‘So she said, but she’s said little else so who knows. Who are you calling?’
‘My friend Albert works up at the Refuge. He will have been there yesterday, all day. If our couple were there, and the “missing” couple, then he’ll have seen them. I can ask if there was anything strange—’
‘Ah . . .’ Thierry raises a hand. ‘Our couple. They mentioned their friends. They didn’t say they were a couple.’
‘I just assumed.’
‘Yes, so did I. But maybe our couple are not a couple at all. Maybe that’s got something to do with why they’re being so cagey.’
Séb zooms in on the woman on the screen. She’s glaring at him, her face directly on the camera, as if she knows they are watching her. Thierry half expects her to give them the finger.
Séb smirks. ‘My god, that face. If they are a couple, then he’s done something very, very bad.’
‘Or she has,’ Thierry says.
They wait, listening to the tinny faraway ring of the phone, then there’s a click, and someone answers.
Thierry sees something interesting on the monitor. The woman is shouting at the man, her arms gesturing wildly. He wishes now that they didn’t turn the TV up so loud, but the remote is broken and by the time he locates the stupid little switch to lower the volume, she’ll have finished what she’s saying. He keeps watching, his interest piqued. He’d probably be able to hear her if the sound was off, but then they wouldn’t have had the opportunity to talk about the couple without being heard. The walls are far too thin in this place. He zones out of Séb’s phone conversation, still watching the screen. Then smiles and gets up from his seat, just as the front door of the police station swings shut. He nods to Séb’s phone. ‘You deal with that. I’m going to have a chat with our lady on her own.’
Twenty-Two
SATURDAY EVENING
Ginny stood with her arms crossed, looking over Cat. She’d managed to get the boys’ attention, and they were on their way back down. Slowly and reluctantly. The sky had changed from the bright blue of the day to a darkening indigo as night crept in. Goosebumps skittered across the skin of her arms, and she hugged herself tighter. She was torn between feeling sorry for Cat, hating her for this further delay, and a growing sense of despondency about the whole situation. They were going to be navigating the descent in the dark. No question about it now.
Cat was still sitting on the ground, legs crossed, taking small sips of water. Ginny sat down beside her and unlaced her trainers. She pulled them off gingerly, and unpeeled her socks from her heels.
‘Oh shit,’ she muttered. ‘Maybe should’ve just left them as they were.’
The skin was shredded. What were once blisters had already rubbed off, leaving bloodied red-raw skin beneath. She winced at the pain, the fresh air hitting the delicate flesh and making them sting even more.
‘Jesus,’ Cat said. She turned away and made more dry-retching sounds.
‘Please don’t be sick right next to me.’ Ginny rolled the socks off completely, exposing her bare feet. She gently prodded the soft pads of flesh under her toes, where more blisters had formed – they felt like small, deflating balloons. She blew out a breath. ‘Tell me you have plasters in your bag?’