"Someone murdered my father and his wife. I know how serious this is."
"And you think that impresses me? I have personally seen seventeen of the Shadow-Killer's victims, including my beloved sister, Helen." He stopped abruptly, holding back a sob. Now I knew why Norton was so vehemently obsessed with the Shadow-Killer. He had a personal vendetta. Looking at the man again, I tried to sympathise with him and failed.
It was his eyes. The way they shifted, scanning the horizon without cease, never settling on anything. He seemed unhinged. I watched him take a deep breath, visibly trying to contain his emotions. He drove to the beach area and parked near a bistro. "I just want to have a quick drink and talk quietly for a while. The situation has changed. There are things you must be made aware of."
He was making an effort of some sort. I nodded in agreement. He wove his way between the tables in front of the bistro, walking to the very back and sitting down. His eyes continued roving everywhere, as he placed his order with the waitress. "Do you know a man named Harry Styles?"
"No."
"Doesn't matter, I didn't expect you to. He was the manager of a car dealership in Ottawa. He was on the same flight you were on."
"Okay."
"There's a big problem with him being on that plane. He was killed twenty-four hours earlier!"
"What?"
"You heard me. Killed, dead as a doornail, yet he got on, or rather, someone used his ticket and got on that plane. I've got some news for you. The Shadow-Killer is right here, right now!" His eyes darted madly in every direction. He looked haunted, or perhaps, hunted! "Look, Sirenne, I don't know what you think you're doing here but you've got to know he is toying with you. I'll tell you something else. I'm convinced you lied to me, back there, at your house, when we spoke the second time, maybe something about that package you received. You know something and you're not telling. The killer left a message and you got it all right. Since then, you've been spending money all over the place, big money. Then you disappear, or at least you try to. These are not the actions of an innocent man. These are the actions of a man with something to hide."
"Inspector..."
"No, let me finish. I don't care what you're doing here. I don't even care you lied to me. I just care about getting the Shadow-Killer. You go ahead and keep your little secrets, it doesn't matter. I'll find out about them eventually. Listen, Sirenne, this is the first real chance I've had to get close to that murdering monster. I can feel it. You can't imagine how frustrating this has been, how all-consuming it has become. Yet, no matter how hard I try, I always come up empty-handed. Not a single shred of physical evidence has ever been left behind. No hair, no dead skin cells, no saliva, nothing! It's impossible. He'd have to be wearing a damn body-condom! And, of course, there are never any witnesses, nothing out of the usual. Even this last murder, surely done on the spur of the moment, was perfect. He didn't bother with any of his usual games, mind you. It was a clean kill."
Shuddering, he sat up straighter and continued, "Despite the lack of any evidence, Harry Styles' murder and the murder of your parents have spoken to me. The killer was acting hastily, almost rashly, not caring about the consequences, about the attention these murders might attract. This is totally out of character for him. He wants something from you, Mr Sirenne."
"Me?"
"Yes you, and I can tell you something else. Not much frightens me anymore but I am frightened now. The killer is here and he is watching your every move, waiting to pounce when the time is right. He could be anywhere, he could be anyone. Your only value is that you have not yet given him what he wants. When he gets it, the only thing between you and him will be me! Perhaps you'll start singing a different tune then." He laughed loudly and off-key. The man was no longer in his right mind, obsessed with the Shadow-Killer. His assurances of protection gave me little faith. Yet, I had to heed his warning. I was not sufficiently prepared for this situation.
Norton left the bistro, muttering to himself. Even if the Shadow-Killer had murdered another man to come here incognito, my task remained unchanged. I had to keep on the hunt, or I would end up in the killer's wake, a dangerous place to be.
I headed to Etretat's City Hall to examine their older records. It was possible Coulter had missed something. According to my tourist map it was located on Place Maurice Guillard, only a few blocks away. I hurried down a narrow street, arriving at the building quickly.
Entering, I approached a long counter. A thin, small man stood up from a desk, an unlit cigarette hanging precariously from his mouth. He wore a half-cap and armbands, his cuffs folded up. Despite being shorter, he somehow managed to look down at me. "Yes. What do you want?"
"I was wondering if I might check some of your older records?"
He looked at me piercingly. "You're not from around here. Why do you want to examine our older records? What records?" he asked, demanding an answer with his eyes.
"I'm looking for records from the early 1900's, hopefully around 1911. Court documents, newspapers, that sort of thing."
"No. Absolutely not. You're not allowed. We don't keep the documents here anyway. You'd need a form 1138-G and those are only issued with approval from the mayor and he's away for two weeks," he shot back with finality, returning to his chair and studiously ignoring me.
I stood briefly at the counter, baffled by his reaction. He added brusquely, "I must close. It is time to leave." Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a set of keys. Lifting a section of the counter, he dropped it back down after walking through it. "Come on, let's go. I must close. Summer hours," he stated, gesturing with his arms.
I was literally pushed out, watching him lock the door and head behind the building. Frustrated, I started back towards the Villa Leblanc.
Halfway there, I felt like I was being followed. Turning around, I saw a man some distance away. I pressed the tiny button on my glasses, activating the zoom mode. The screen came on, displaying an enlarged view. Tapping the button a couple of times, I increased the magnification, revealing the man from City Hall.
I turned around and shut the binocular mode off. He was following me, no doubt about it. The question was why? He couldn't be the Shadow-Killer. As for Leblanc's adventures, they happened almost one hundred years ago. How would that man even know about any of that?
I would've broken out into a fast run but I was exhausted and my feet were aching.
***
Arriving at the Villa, I found Mrs Leblanc at the counter. "Ah, Monsieur Sirenne. How are you? Did you have a good walk?" Seeing my state, her eyes softened. "But what am I doing, talking on, while you are so obviously tired? Why don't you head up to your room? I will have some hot water and salts brought up to you, for soaking your feet."
"Thank you, Mrs Leblanc. That is exactly what I need. You have read my mind."
Once in my room, I sat on the bed, taking off my shoes and socks. After a moment of rest, I opened my laptop on the bedside table. I ensured it had recorded my meeting with Inspector Norton and the man from the Mairie. I saved it all and sent it to the team in Ottawa. As I finished, I heard a knock at the door. I stood up stiffly, moving slowly. Mrs Leblanc was there, a big bowl in hand. "I'm sorry monsieur Sirenne but my maid has gone home for the day. My daughter has recently arrived but she is still busy unpacking, so I came with the water, if you do not mind."
"Nonsense. I'm embarrassed for putting you to so much trouble."
She came in, motioning me to the chair by the desk. She placed the flat-bottomed bowl by my feet and I slipped them into the warm water while she poured a packet of salts into the steaming liquid. A pleasant herbal smell wafted up. She handed me a small towel and stood up. "There you are. Soon you will be back to normal. You did too much today, your first day here. You must learn to pace yourself," she paused, examining me curiously. "Did you enjoy our museum show?"
"Yes, very much. I was told you had a hand in creating it. It was fantastic. I'm afraid it is what inspired me to walk to the Needle,"
She laughed out loud. "You must be looking for the treasure of the Hollow Needle, like all the others who come here. Fooled by my grandfather's books."
"Not exactly like all the others. My father gave me a copy of The Hollow Needle when I was nine. I've dreamed of coming here since then."
"Yes, the trip brings you closer to your father, does it not? The memories and the adventure all together."
"You have it exactly. Leblanc and Lupin were my heroes during my youth. My father was the one who introduced me to them,"
A conspiratorial gleam appeared in her eyes. "Would you like to see Grand-Papa's office? The place where he wrote so many of his books?" she suggested. "It is closed to the public but I will make an exception for you. I think you would appreciate it much more than the average tourist, don't you?"
I lifted my feet from the steaming water, towelled them dry, then grabbed my socks, shoes, and glasses. "I'm ready!"
She laughed, waiting for me to slip on the shoes. Soon after, we arrived at a door on the first floor. Before opening it, she cautioned, "Please do not touch anything. It is being prepared for an upcoming presentation and many items have been placed specifically."
"Don't worry, I'll just look," I replied, thinking of the recording cameras in my glasses.
The room was light beige, complimenting the antique furniture. Leblanc's desk was simple enough, letters strewn over one side, a few reference books on the other. Behind his desk, an impressive built-in library rose from a wide drawer unit to the top of the wall. A few pictures were artfully placed on the ledge at the bottom of the bookcases. I examined everything avidly.
"I must return to the front desk soon. Perhaps we can come back another time?" Mrs Leblanc informed me after a few minutes. Before we could leave, I heard a woman's voice, coming from the hallway.
"Maman? Where are you? Maman?"
"Here, my dear, I am in Grand-Papa's office with Mr Sirenne"
I was standing deep in the office and could not see Mrs Leblanc's daughter from my vantage point. As soon as she entered however, there was no mistaking it.
It was the raven-haired woman from the plane!
"This is my daughter, Raymonde, Mr Sirenne."
"I think we have seen each other before, Mr Sirenne," she exclaimed with a twinkle in her deep hazel eyes.
"Yes, I'm sure we have," I replied with a smile.
She smiled back instantly, turning to her mother. "We are needed at the front desk, Maman. The large group has just arrived."
With a sigh, Mrs Leblanc followed us out and locked the door. After saying a few parting words, they headed down the hall, towards the front desk. My attention remained on the daughter, inexplicably feeling a deep connection to her.
I returned to my room and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering why I felt this way. I hardly knew her. Suddenly I was looking at Coulter and O'Flanahan on the techno-glasses' screen. They had been along for the ride for a while and had seen everything. "Hi guys, what's up?"
O'Flanahan took the lead."While we were enjoying your tour of Leblanc's office, we noticed something. Do you recall when you walked by the desk?"
"Yes, there were some letters and a few books,"
"Right. One of those letters caught my eye."
O'Flanahan's face disappeared, replaced by a letter, angled sideways on the desk. "Take a look at the handwriting on it."
I turned my head sideways to straighten the letter out, accomplishing nothing because the image was inside my glasses and moved with my head. "Sorry, can't make it out. What about it?"
"Do you remember about four years ago, the booklet I published about Hitler not dying in the bunker? The one claiming he escaped in a submarine convoy?" O'Flanahan asked, changing the subject completely."
"What about it?"
"I ended up working with copies of Hitler's letters and got pretty familiar with them. The letter on Leblanc's desk seems to be in the same handwriting," O'Flanahan dead-panned.
Next to him, Coulter was nodding. "I think he's right, Paul. This isn't nonsense. Even Briar agrees."
"Hold on, you can't be serious. Anyway, Mrs Leblanc said she placed all sorts of things in the office for an upcoming event. Maybe it's not even related to Leblanc."
"Those were our exact thoughts. Even if the video is too blurry, we can see the date just fine, January twelfth, 1910. That's just before the events with Old Man Vallin. Hitler or not, I'm convinced we need to get a closer look at it. We want you to sneak in there and get that letter," O'Flanahan stated with conviction.
"WHAT? You want me to break into Leblanc's office?"
"Calm down. We only want to look at the letter, not steal it. Just bring it up to your room. You can return it later on, when everyone is sleeping," Coulter oversimplified, adding, "Anyway, your glasses can see in the ultraviolet and infrared range."
"So?"
"We can use them to help you pick the lock on the door," Coulter explained.
They were serious. I had to admit, if Hitler was involved, I wanted to know about it as quickly as possible. I agreed to 'borrow' the letter, as they both knew I would. Secrecy was still paramount, so breaking in did seem to be the most viable option. I had a few small tools for my computer, in a little pouch. I could use them to pick the lock. I had never done it before but I was familiar the principle. It should be fairly easy.
I waited a few hours to let everyone settle in at the Villa Leblanc. Eventually, I decided the time was right and opened my door slightly.
No-one around!
I sneaked out, tip-toeing down the hallway and staircase, quietly finding my way back to Leblanc's office. I knelt by the door, pulling out my tools while looking nervously around.
"Stop turning your head. I can't focus on the doorknob," Coulter's voice blared in my ear, scaring the heck out of me. He sounded as nervous as I was.
Keeping my head still, a screen appeared in my glasses. The view of the doorknob changed to a green monochrome when Coulter altered the visual range to infrared. It did little to show the locking mechanism, hidden within the now green doorknob.
"That's not very helpful." I commented acerbically.
Coulter switched the cameras to the ultraviolet range. The door colours flipped into a bright red with a luminescent yellow border, the doorknob now totally black. Very psychedelic but equally useless. Increasingly exasperated, I grabbed my tools and tried to pick the lock. I slipped a small screwdriver into the key hole and jiggled it along the top, trying to 'scrub' the pins', not even sure where the pins were or what 'scrubbing pins' meant. Meanwhile, Coulter kept shifting from infrared to ultraviolet, the screen blinding me. I was about to voice some sort of protest, when O'Flanahan exclaimed. "Wait, look at the edge of the door, by the doorknob."
The metal flange, holding the door closed tight, was missing. I pushed my screwdriver in between the door and the jamb. The door instantly snapped open and slammed loudly against the side wall. I knelt there, listening for any reaction, frozen.
"GO, GO, GO, what are you waiting for? Grab the letter and get out of there," O'Flanahan blasted.
His scream galvanised me into action and, my heart hammering in my chest, I ran to the desk and snatched the letter. I rushed back out, slamming the door behind me, then walked nonchalantly along the hall and up the stairs, while trying to calm my racing heart.
Meanwhile, O'Flanahan and Coulter were laughing nonstop. "Listen to his breathing. Sounds like a train or something. That was funny. Did you see him go, go, go, when you said it? Ha-ha-ha," howled Coulter. O'Flanahan was laughing too hard to answer.
"Be quiet, both of you."
***
Moments later, I was in my room examining the letter closely. It was written in German, so Coulter used a translation program.
January 12, 1910,
Sir,
I have recently read your book, The Hollow Needle. I found it revealing and interesting. Allow me to come to the point. I have long been fascinated by h
istorical mysteries and treasures, both mystical and real, particularly those evidenced in architectural detail.
During my studies, I came across a historical reference to the same mystery and treasure to which your book alludes. Not in the same manner, to be sure, but sufficiently so to warrant further research. I am able to arrange a brief visit to Etretat in the near future, while visiting my sister in England.
It would be a perfect time to discuss certain matters which might be of value to us both.
I await your reply.
Johann Hister.
Coulter was the first to speak. "The name Hister sounds familiar. Let me do a quick search... Will you look at that. The search engine found it in Nostradamus' books. Several of his quatrains used 'Hister' to represent Hitler. That's a heck of a coincidence."
"I remember it too, now that you mention it," added O'Flanahan.
A tired-looking face appeared on the screen. It was Briar. He had been listening in.
"Hold everything, gentlemen. I just had confirmation from my very excited friend in Nuremberg, a specialist in World War 2 history. That handwriting is indeed Hitler's. Best of all, Hitler was in England for a brief period of time, quite early on in his life, visiting his sister, just as the letter asserts. It has to be him!"
"Could Hitler really have come to Etretat? Before World War One?" I wondered.
"Hitler knew something about the Hollow Needle. Perhaps he recognised inconsistencies in the story. He was obviously driven to contact Leblanc. Let's not forget we're talking about a young Hitler, during his formative years in Vienna. He had not even written 'Mein Kampf''. The whole thing is very plausible," O'Flanahan surmised.
"I could agree with that theory," supported Briar. "However, if he did come here, it was done quite discretely and has remained a secret ever since, not a simple feat to achieve. Unfortunately, Hitler's letter is not enough to prove he visited Leblanc, nor tell us what occurred during that visit? Both are dead now. We will never know."
"I want to know what Leblanc did back then," I said.
"How? What else can we do?" Coulter asked.
The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four Page 6
