"I know what you mean. For me, it started a few weeks ago, when my father was murdered. Since then, my entire life has been turned upside down. Before this, I have been an armchair sort of person, surrounded by books, thinking and reading about the world rather than going out and touching it. All my life I've felt as if I were hiding in a cave. Only now am I discovering how much I have missed in the real world."
Her hand tenderly touched my shoulder. "I am glad you waited until now. I would surely have missed you otherwise. Still, the whole situation is a little strange, do you not think? There are so many mysteries, it is difficult to see the situation clearly."
"With every step we take, I am more convinced this is just a glimpse of what is really going on. I can only hope the little ditty holds the key."
While talking, I reached down and pulled out my glasses. This conversation was important. I squinted at the road as I put them on, surreptitiously pressing the record button. I noticed her frown and a slight biting of her lower lip but she remained uncharacteristically quiet. My squinting must have been better than I thought.
Unfortunately, I had forgotten about Coulter's programming skills. He had left a monitoring program running, which alerted him as soon as the glasses were activated. His dishevelled face suddenly appeared in front of my eyes, causing me to swerve sharply. I corrected quickly but not quickly enough to evade Raymonde's sharp sarcasm. "Apparently, the glasses do not improve your driving. Is everything all right?" she asked coyly. I wasn't fooled, not for a second.
"Finally, you're online. The others will be on in a sec, I've just flagged them. We need to talk," Coulter said
I froze. I had to answer both questions without letting on I was doing exactly that. "Uh, everything's fine, thanks," I coughed, trying to sound hoarse. "Can't, uhm, can't talk right now."
Jonathan Briar came online, complicating the situation even more. The screen split automatically into two smaller images, another display improvement by Coulter. Briar looked irritated.
"Would you like some water?" asked Raymonde in concern. I looked at her and nodded silently, desperately.
As she leaned back, reaching for a bag on the Porsche's minuscule back seat, Briar spoke up. "Finally, my boy, you are online. It's been a while. We have much to review and little time to do it in. You have provided us with such excellent material and we haven't had the chance to..."
Briar stopped in mid-sentence, interrupted by a grinning Coulter, "Hey, Briar, glad to see you. Sirenne seems to be in a bind and wants us to be quiet."
I could have strangled Coulter. Instead, I quietly accepted the water bottle from Raymonde and drank a gulp, taking my time swallowing. Briar was unhappy and getting vocal about it. "He WHAT? This will simply not do."
The screen changed into an oval, with a sleepy O'Flanahan appearing in the top section. "What's going on? This darn computer won't stop buzzing. What's the emergency?"
I was finding it difficult to keep my eyes on the road. I drank another slow gulp of water. By now, Raymonde was looking at me eagle-eyed. Briar took control of the conversation. "Enough of this. My boy, listen to me, this ridiculous situation has gone on long enough. We are grown men, trying to solve a complex mystery, egged on by a brutal killer, who murdered your parents let us not forget, a common goal requiring our valuable time and serious expense. But are we solving our mystery? No, we are not. Instead, we are STAYING QUIET, because one of us..."
"He means you, Sirenne."
"Be quiet, Coulter, don't interrupt me, because YOU," Briar pointed right at the camera. "You have elected to keep this a secret in an elaborate attempt to turn this crucial collaboration into a total FARCE." Briar's face was apoplectic. I was sorely tempted to reply, stopped only by the fact that I was sitting in a car, supposedly alone with Raymonde.
"Paul, you seem a little distant? Are you all right?" she asked.
O'Flanahan was laughing at Briar's last explosion. "Come on, Briar, give Sirenne a break."
"No Sir. It is time to end this. Either Mister Sirenne speaks now or I leave this idiotic group and go on to more productive pursuits."
"Aw, come on, you don't mean that!" Coulter said.
"Paul? Are you going to answer me?" Raymonde asked again.
I had four people talking and I was trying to drive, not to mention drinking a lot of water. I needed to find a way to answer everyone at the same time and keep the deception going.
"Just a second, I'm busy." As soon as I uttered the words, I wished I could pull them out of the air and pop them back into my mouth. What had sounded reasonable only an instant before, now seemed completely inappropriate. Briar stopped talking, Raymonde's face grew red, her eyes flashing, and O'Flanahan gasped aloud. "He blew it. Sirenne blew it with the dame. Be quiet everybody, I want to hear what happens next."
The worse thing was not being able to tell my friends anything as they rambled on and on, messing everything up. Raymonde's mouth tightened and she said, in a strangely neutral tone. "What do you mean 'you are busy'? Doing what? What is keeping you so busy?"
My stomach tightened as O'Flanahan laughed some more.
"Yes, I know, but, I meant something else, uhm..." I was feeling incredibly guilty. Moments stretched into eternity. As I wallowed in my guilt, I saw something enter into her eyes, a glimmer of understanding.
"Stop this car." she said quietly.
"Right here? Don't you think we should..."
"Stop the car, right now. Park right over there," she ordered, pointing at a wide shoulder coming up. I had no choice but to obey, dreading her next statement. "Ever since we met, there was something odd about you. Now it has become clear to me. That's right, pull up right here. I would have to say I first became suspicious when you put your glasses on when we went to talk with Maman. No matter what you said, I knew you had some other reason for putting on those ridiculous glasses. People wear glasses to see far or to see close. You put them on for both of those reasons. Therefore, you do not wear your glasses to see better, you wear them for some other reason. The reason you looked distracted and were too 'busy', is that you were distracted and busy. Get out of the car," she ordered flatly.
She got out herself and stood there waiting, her arms crossed. Superimposed over her, I could see my three friends, hanging on her every word, as if they were watching the best soap opera.
"Good Luck, Paul," Coulter said in sympathy.
"Yeah, good luck. You're going to need it, pal, he-he-he," O'Flanahan added.
"About time, I would say. Just rewards and all that, my boy," Briar said, waxing the moral authority.
"Thanks for everything guys," I whispered, trying to inject, in those simple words, as much sarcasm as was humanly possible. I opened my door and walked around the car, coming to a stop in front of Raymonde, looking at her sheepishly. "Give me your glasses right now."
"What? You can't be..."
"Be quiet and give me your glasses."
I removed them, catching a last glimpse of a grinning O'Flanahan waving goodbye. She took them gingerly, surprised by their weight. Examining them from all angles, she finally caught sight of the miniature view screen and, glaring at me in victory, put the glasses on.
She stood for a second, somewhat bemused, until finally, she spoke, "Uhm, hello?"
She fell quiet, listening to the three traitors. She nodded her head and smiled, then laughed aloud. I realised the guys probably had a full frontal view of me in my abject misery.
"Well, my name's Raymonde. I am the daughter of Victoire Leblanc, and you are?" she continued her one-sided conversation while walking away, leaving me to my own thoughts. She was so vibrant, so beautiful. I truly loved her. For whatever reason, I had been led to this woman and I was not going to lose her because of a pair of glasses.
She had finished her conversation with my team and was walking back, taking off the glasses. She looked better without them. She also looked upset. "Raymonde, before you say anything, please listen. I know I lied. It was a bi
g mistake. It started with O'Flanahan and the airplane thing which I couldn't explain because I might lose your trust." Her nostrils flared. "At first, I couldn't tell you for fear you might not talk to me again and later, I couldn't find the right moment to explain."
She held up her hand, motioning me into silence. "Enough! Stop these excuses. What you did was wrong. You lied and things got complicated but it's because you lied in the first place."
I dejectedly kicked at the gravel with my left foot. "I am really sorry. I admit I made the wrong choice. However, I promise I won't make that type of choice again. I don't want to lose you. I... I can't lose you."
Her eyes stayed hard for a moment then softened. The smallest of smiles graced her lips. "All right then. We have wasted enough time on this. It seems your friends have information to share but it will have to wait. For now, I want you to show me how to turn these off," she asked, lifting the glasses.
I pointed at the small button, which she pressed. The miniature screen faded away. "I'm keeping these. I want you to stop in Orleans. I'll direct you when we get there. Now, before we go..." She gave me a long kiss and we embraced. After what seemed forever, we separated, both feeling much better.
Getting into the car, I noticed another stopped vehicle, an old beat-up truck. Two men, one tall, one short, were working on the engine. I drove off towards Orleans. I had decided to connect to the A13 and cross the Seine near Lillebonne, since we had come across that small town in our research. After the Ferry crossing, the road followed the river meandering across the landscape.
When the road cut into the side of a rocky hill, I noticed the beat-up truck again, coming up fast. Checking my rear-view mirror, I identified the two people in the cab. "Raymonde, we're being followed. It's the Vallin brothers."
The truck edged closer, enough to hear its engine whining.
"Can't you go any faster in this thing?" she asked. I pressed on the gas and the Porsche accelerated, outdistancing them quickly. They wouldn't be able to keep up. The driver put his arm out of the window.
He was holding a gun.
A shot rang out, sounding like an explosion, quickly followed by another, and my side mirror blew off its mount, sending glass shards into the back of my hand. I lost control of the Porsche, veering sharply to the right, the car careening dangerously close to the cliff wall. I jerked the steering to the left, the car fishtailed and we drove off the road.
Sliding off the gravel shoulder, the car headed straight down the bank of a steep, rocky hill. A wire fence, no match for our speeding vehicle, snapped apart with a screeching sound. Everything was rattling in the car. Raymonde held on for dear life while I desperately tried to steer, feeling like some insane slalom skier. Several boulders directly ahead would finish us for sure. I pulled on the emergency brake, sending the back wheels into a slide. Turning the wheels left, I released the brake, floored the accelerator, and we shot sideways, missing the boulders by centimetres. A narrow bend in the river was now directly in front, a dirt road beyond. We might make it over the narrowest part, if we went faster.
I pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The car jumped forward and smashed over a small bump, sending us flying. Hitting the river surface, we skimmed the last part. The wheels hit the bank, finding traction. A massive burst of acceleration gave us enough momentum to reach the dirt road. I hit the emergency brakes and we skidded sideways, rocking to a standstill.
Dust was all around, little clicks and clacks coming from the engine. It turned over two more times and rattled to a stop. Raymonde was gulping big breaths, her hands tightly clasped to the edges of her seat. "I take it all back. That was incredible driving. How did you know there was a road down here?"
I stopped my finger from trembling long enough to point at the GPS display. "Nothing to it, my dear. All in a day's work,"
I opened my door and got out on shaky legs, hurrying to the other side to help Raymonde out. Holding on to her, I examined the skid marks in the grass and gravel. I had somehow taken the only path possible to survive. We had been very lucky. Peering at the top of the hill, I saw the edge of the road, where two men stood, looking down.
Instinctively, I waved and smiled, dusting off my arms and legs. I was fairly sure we were out of firing range.
The car still looked functional. The frame wasn't bent and the engine was in running order. The rental company might not be too happy about the dents and scratches but who cared about that? We were alive. Getting back into the car, we headed to Orleans, sticking to back roads, to avoid our would-be followers.
The Vallins had shot at us and I had no idea why. The developing relationship with Raymonde had made me forget how dangerous our pursuit really was. I vowed to be more careful.
Arriving in Orleans, I drove to an electronics store, as directed by Raymonde. I waited outside until she was done her mystery shopping. My credit card safely back in my pocket, she insisted we have supper. We ended up at a small bistro. She ordered trout and I followed suit. The waiter came back with our wine and I made a fuss, insisting to sniff the cork and fill her glass. "To our future. May there be less excitement in it."
She laughed and clinked her glass against mine, adding simply, "To us."
After our meal, we rented a room in a small Pension, near the bistro. Collapsing into bed, we fell asleep within moments. I woke at some point in the night, her body rubbing against me. Her hazel eyes were open, looking deeply into mine. We made love slowly, with the strongest passion I had ever felt.
Then we fell asleep again, this time in each other's arms.
CHAPTER 8
Leblanc's Hidden Message
Next morning, we sat at the small breakfast table in our room, sipping coffee. She got up and returned with two things. A bag and my glasses. "This is for lying."
She snapped my glasses in two. My heart jumped. My glasses! She reached out and patted my hand. "There, there, now you've learned your lesson. It's all over. Now for the surprise."
She pulled out a gift-wrapped package from the bag. "This is for you."
As I opened the wrapped box, she explained, "Your friend Fabian Coulter helped me with this. They were supportive of you, when I talked to them, you know. They explained what had been going on and told me some of the things they had discovered. I realised we both needed to work with your friends if we were truly serious about figuring this thing out, and there was no way I was going to wear those ugly glasses for one more second than necessary. So I had your friend check online for the closest place where I could buy some better-looking glasses, in a matching style, of course."
Wrapping paper removed, I opened my box, pulling out a brand new pair of sleek glasses. Raymonde had a pair almost the same, except more feminine. She put them on. Style made a difference after all. When I put on mine, she nodded. "Much better, Paul," she laughed. "Much better!"
I checked myself out in the mirror. At least the 'dork' look was gone.
We were soon underway and this time, the miles flew by. We stayed on the main roads, certain we were not being followed. As I drove, we each put on our glasses and activated them. Within moments, the guys connected, all of them smiling.
"Gentlemen, you are on time," said Raymonde. She had planned everything!
Jonathan Briar was the first to speak. He could never resist the opportunity to pontificate. "It is an honour to finally talk with you officially, my dear. I must say your presence has us all excited."
O'Flanahan tactlessly interrupted him, "Why is your side-view mirror broken?"
I briefly explained yesterday's events. Although concerned, O'Flanahan's main regret was that I had not been recording with the glasses when I went over the hill. We all agreed things were getting serious. After that, we began discussing in earnest, Coulter leading the fray. "I have to show you some video for a second. Hold on while I call it up. Here it is."
The screen changed to someone walking along in an airplane. It was me. This was the video from my flight to France, just as I
returned from stretching my legs. The video froze while I was looking to the rear of the cabin. "I'm sure you all remember this scene. Let me paste this picture next to it. It's from a car commercial. The man you see in it, the announcer, is Harry Stiles."
The pasted image showed a thick man, with thinning white hair and a florid nose. Coulter continued. "Now, if you would look at the centre aisle and count seven rows behind Miss Raymonde. Examine the man sitting in the first seat on the right."
It was Harry Stiles!
"That can only mean one thing. We are looking at the Shadow-Killer," I said.
Coulter nodded. "Now you get it. If Stiles is dead, the man in his seat must be the Shadow-Killer. Let me see if I can't zoom in on his face." The image jumped forward, giving us a grainy face, out of focus. Coulter continued fiddling with his controls and the image clarified.
"Look at that nose. And the hair. It's damn near perfect. What do you think, Briar?" asked O'Flanahan. "He did a pretty good job on his disguise, eh?"
"Yes, he did, O'Flanahan. He did an excellent job, in fact," agreed Briar.
The images vanished and the faces of my three friends returned. Briar appeared annoyed at O'Flanahan's comment.
Who could blame him? O'Flanahan was annoying.
"This confirms Norton's story. The Shadow-Killer took Stiles' place on the plane, after prodding Sirenne with the murder of his parents," continued Briar.
"The Shadow-Killer is obviously great at planning and disguises," I concluded.
"That is what I've been wondering about. I've done some research, looking into Inspector Norton's history. It seems he's had a chequered past. Since the death of his sister, he has claimed to be on the trail of the elusive Shadow-Killer, doing most of the detective work on his own time. It seems his superiors don't necessarily share his belief in the existence of his serial killer. Furthermore, my contacts inform me Inspector Norton has just been suspended for dereliction of duty. He has gone missing after your parents' murders."
The Caves of Etretat: Part One of Four Page 9
