Intrigue in Geneva Episode 8

Sami Abrahams didn’t hesitate. He leapt out of the car and raced towards the prone, still body of Dvora. The pianist, still wearing his dinner jacket, appeared at the door and turned on the porch light. It lit up the pathway like a flashbulb, capturing the two struggling figures in harsh relief.

“Stop!” he shouted. “The police are coming! Stop!”

Ignoring him, Sami stooped down and gathered Dvora into his arms. Blood from her head wound dripped onto the ice. He struggled upright and turned back towards the car, fighting to maintain his balance as the heel of his left shoe skidded on the slippery walkway. His foot shot from under him, his knees folded and he fell heavily onto his side, winded, and with the dead weight of Dvora pinning him down.

The pianist’s eyes were like saucers.

Sami tried to rise, but a searing pain in his knee stopped him. He screamed screamed in Hebrew, in the direction of the car, his voice muffled by the snow.

“Help me! Come on!”

Inside the car, Anton cursed savagely. All of his training was telling him to drive away and leave them to their fate. But he couldn’t do it. He sprang out of the car and ran towards them, his footsteps crunching on the hard-packed snow. He lifted Dvora from where she lay across Sami, turned and began to stumble back to the Mercedes, the snow stinging his eyes. He could hear Sami’s laboured breathing from behind him. Sami opened the rear door and Anton placed Dvora on the back seat and slammed the door. He manhandled Sami into the passenger’s seat, ignoring his yelps of pain, then jumped in and gunned the Mercedes. It accelerated down the deserted road and fishtailed on the ice as it made a right turn heading towards the lake road.

The pianist remained in the doorway and, with shaking hands, lit a cigarette in an effort to calm his jangled nerves. He peered into the driving snow until the taillights disappeared in the flurries of snow.

From his vantage point at the piano, he had watched the scene play out. He had observed the woman calmly poisoning her husband, without a trace of anxiety or nerves. He had seen the German man pretending to shoot her as she left. Was it a lovers’ quarrel?