Eight

by James R. Vance

  Harcourt was not one to be thwarted by such a setback. “Let's find the nearest police station.”

  “Is that really necessary if he's out there cruising on the Mediterranean?”

  “At least, we can explain why we need to speak with him, give them copies of the I.D. photos and ask for their assistance in tracking him down. We'll stop for a coffee, ask directions to the police station and you can call your friend, Rebovka, for an update.”

  I need a bloody whisky not a coffee, thought Massey as they strolled across to the nearest bar. He tried Petra's number several times. It seemed to be permanently engaged…more frustration.

  8888

  The duvet was warm and inviting. Petra wanted to stay there forever. With one eye open, the blurred image of her digital alarm slowly came into vision. Seven thirty, but where was Alexis? The adjacent pillow was headless. She caressed the bed sheet beneath the duvet. The empty space was still warm. Still naked from a night of intimate lovemaking, she sat up in the bed. He must be special, she thought. Why would I let him penetrate my defences? How could I reject every principle from the depths of my soul to allow him to flood my mind with sensual feelings of total intimacy?

  Wearing only white cotton boxers, Alexis appeared from the kitchen carrying two porcelain beakers. “Good morning, Louise, I've made coffee. Hope you don't mind.”

  Petra propped herself on a pillow. She wished that he could stay, that this moment could be forever. “After last night, what do I care?”

  “I found some croissants. Would you like one?”

  She feasted her hungry eyes on him. “Just coffee and you. That's all I need.”

  He slipped once again under the duvet, placing his coffee on a bedside table. “If I remember rightly, I did ask you to surprise me, but this was totally unexpected.”

  Petra remained upright drinking her coffee. The hot caffeine cleansed her mouth, fomenting a sudden return to the reality of the situation. “What time must you be in your office?”

  “Eight thirty…tomorrow morning.”

  “Why not today?”

  “There's some in-house audit and all the junior staff, that's me and one other guy, have a day off.”

  “Does your grandmother know? She'll wonder where you are.”

  “I'll phone her shortly and explain. She'll understand. She's accustomed to my irregular hours and, anyway, she thinks you're wonderful…for some strange reason.”

  Petra put her beaker to one side and whacked him gently with a pillow. “What d'you mean… ‘for some strange reason’? What was your reason for last night's performance?”

  “You're irresistible. I couldn't help myself.” He leaned away from the prospect of further blows.

  “I think you helped yourself very well, monsieur.” Petra looked down her nose at him and turned her head away in a show of mock disdain. “Not that I'm complaining.”

  They launched themselves once more beneath the duvet into yet another passionate embrace. By the time they resurfaced, the coffees were cold.

  Whilst Petra showered, Alexis contacted his grandmother, apologised for his absence and promised to be home later in the day. She was delighted to hear that he had stayed over with Petra, heartening him even more with some information from which he could benefit. An idea materialized from her news.

  Wrapped in a bath towel, Petra returned to the bedroom to choose something to wear. She noticed a change in his demeanour; it was if he had won the lottery. She sensed that it was not the lovemaking; those moments had passed. This was something personal to him. “Why the smug expression? What have you done?”

  Alexis slid from the bed. “What are your plans for later? Will you be at uni all day?”

  “That depends on what enticing alternative you are offering to replace cultural enlightenment.”

  “I have something in mind, but need to stop off at home to change into something casual. A suit wouldn't be appropriate.”

  “You plotting to take me out for the day?” She crossed to a wardrobe to choose something to wear.

  “Plotting's a good word. Yes, I'm plotting.” He headed for the bathroom. “If you're intent on skipping uni, I'll fill you in en route chez moi, but first I need a shower before we leave. I don't suppose you have a razor in there. I could do with a shave.”

  “Oh, yes, I keep one handy for my moustache.” Petra grinned. “There's a small safety razor in the cabinet. I use it for my unwanted hairy bits. You could try that. Before you shower, tell me where we're going. I don't know what to wear.”

  “Anything casual will be fine.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

  Petra shook her head in despair. So much for advice on appropriate dress, she thought. She reached into a rail full of clothes on hangers to select an outfit to enhance her image, irrespective of what he was planning.

  Minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom with shreds of pink toilet tissue hanging from the lower part of his face. “Forget the razor. It's bloody lethal. I've already sliced off half my chin. I'll make do with just a shower for now.”

  Eventually, he reappeared, towelled himself and slipped into his suit trousers and shirt. “Louise, do you like concerts?” he asked as he gathered the rest of his belongings.

  “What kind of concerts?”

  “Next week at the Zenith, it's Status Quo in concert. D'you fancy it?”

  “Where and what is the Zenith?”

  “Sorry, I forgot you're not a local. It's a huge dome-shaped event centre. I believe that it's similar to the O2 arena in London.”

  Petra was unsure if he was joking. If this is his surprise, she thought, I'm not impressed. “Status Quo…are they still alive?”

  “Still going strong. They're very popular in France…a great rock band.”

  “A bit before my time, but if I'm still here, why not?”

  “What d'you mean, ‘still here’? Are you intending to return to England soon?”

  Petra was suddenly wary of saying too much. “It's open-ended. It depends on whether I've accomplished my objectives.”

  Alexis smiled knowingly. The word ‘objectives’ seemed out of context as overtly as her study materials were paradoxically out of sight. “I'll book the tickets anyway.”

  She found it strange that his enthusiasm had flitted from a mysterious excursion to a rock concert the following week. “Is that why you're looking so pleased with yourself?”

  Once again, his reply was vague. “Not really. Let's make a move. We're going to carry out some undercover detective work.”

  Shit, thought Petra, what's he up to? She followed him out of the apartment as he raced downstairs. She hesitated on the landing.

  “Where are you taking me, Alexis?”

  “Trust me. Let's have an exciting adventure together.”

  That's all I need, thought Petra. What the hell am I doing? Traces of her normally reliable logic and reason began to filter back into her mind, replacing the emotional high of the previous night. The first meaningful sexual experience since her schooldays had clouded her judgement. It was time to concentrate and re-focus on her mission.

  “Alexis, slow down. Look, I've a few things to sort. I'll follow on in thirty minutes. Where shall we meet…at your apartment?”

  “Perfect. See you there. Don't be long.” He disappeared into the street below.

  Deep in thought, Petra closed the door. It was too early to contact Jean-Marie. Nothing could have changed since his call last night. Anyway, he had promised to update her later today. She tried to phone D.C.I. Harcourt but there was no response. Unsure of her next move, she sat on the bed and checked her watch. It showed nine fifteen, eight fifteen in the U.K. She called Rob. She had little to report. Her basic need was reassurance.

  After listening to her latest update Rob was angry, not with Petra, but with Massey and Harcourt. “Who authorised them to go chasing off to bloody Marseille? What do they hope to achieve? That guy, Dumas, is one of France's most wanted. He's under constant surveillance by Int
erpol.”

  “Why hasn't he been arrested?”

  “He's loaded and the local police are not averse to taking handouts. That way he keeps his nose clean with regard to minor offences. That apart however, he's heavily involved in major trafficking activities: drugs, arms, and people. It's an international organisation. If those two idiots set alarm bells ringing too soon, the current mission could be compromised. It would fold like a pack of cards. Bigger fish are within touching distance. He's only one major player in a global syndicate, but his actions could be a vital key to opening a revealing portal. We don't need a couple of inept detectives from Manchester making waves. Can you get them out of there asap?”

  “I've already tried to contact them this morning, but there was no response.”

  “Where are they staying?”

  Petra was wishing that she had not mentioned their trip to Marseille. “Not a clue. They just took off.”

  “Bollocks! Well, just keep trying before they fuck up everything. What's the s.p. on your suspect in Limoges?”

  “As I said, all I know is that he's been arrested for issuing false documents. I'm waiting on a call from Jean-Marie for an update.”

  “Okay, Petra. Keep in contact and let me know if you get any flak from the idiots in Marseille. It won't be just S.I.S. that'll come down heavy, but the full weight of the current European investigation team. They'll be back on the beat in Manchester if they cause the slightest ripple in Marseille. Frankly, I'm surprised that Massey's involved. I thought he had more nous than that.”

  “Serves him right, as far as I'm concerned. Harcourt seems to have the measure of him. From our meetings, I have the impression that she's pushing him, but why he's following like a lost sheep, I don't know.”

  Rob had some advice for her. “If Roche is in league with Dumas, he'll be a nasty piece of work. Keep yourself tooled up, just in case you get involved with him. Leave nothing to chance, not with that kind of villain. If you dig up any evidence to connect him, pass it on, leave the local authorities to follow it up with their security services and get yourself out of there.”

  Using a gun for protection was not an issue for Petra. Her main concern was its legality. “What's the situation regarding carrying a weapon here?”

  “Petra, who's going to know? Don't worry. If there's a problem, it'll be sorted. It's vital that you protect yourself. If there is a terrorist connection, you'll be dealing with some desperate and evil individuals. Call me tomorrow. I need to know the situation, especially with regard to the meddlesome duo from Manchester.”

  I needed support and reassurance, thought Petra. Trust Rob to make me feel more depressed and anxious.

  She reached down to drag the metal case from under the bed, from which she extracted a SIG Sauer P238 Nitron, a 9mm small lightweight handgun. Holding the weapon in her left hand, she picked up two 6-round magazines, slipping one of the clips into the handgun, the other into a make-up bag. She buried all the items into the bottom of her black suede shoulder bag, covering them with gloves and a wallet containing her passport, euro notes and credit card.

  Before leaving, she tidied the bedroom and re-arranged the crumpled duvet. Towels were strewn across the carpet. She dropped them into the shower tray. She could wash them later. Alexis had left her razor on the hand washbasin. She was about to rinse it and return it to the cabinet when she had a flash of inspiration. Taking a sheet of cling film from a roll in the kitchen, she carefully wrapped it around the head of the bloodstained razor. That has to hold his D.N.A., she thought. Perhaps it could one day provide proof that his grandmother had told the truth or that her tale was merely the ramblings of a deluded old woman.

  It was time to re-assume her principal role. The adventure promised by Alexis would have to sit on the back burner. She decided to join him to see what he had planned, but would invent an excuse not to stay too long. She needed to meet up with Jean-Marie to discuss Roche. Before leaving the apartment, she tried to contact Harcourt again, but to no avail.

  A revitalised Petra stopped in front of a full-length mirror. She wore a black sweater, black denims, black ankle boots and her black leather jacket. She slung the suede bag over her shoulder and posed to admire her reflection. Now she was confident. Dressed to kill, she thought.

  8888

  Alexis saw Petra arrive at his apartment. He dashed downstairs and greeted her as she alighted from the Clio. She looked like an avenging angel. Shoulder length blonde hair cascaded over a supple body enveloped in purposeful black. Sensational, he thought.

  She smiled, aware that he was impressed. He'll be less enamoured when I tell him that I'm not staying.

  He appeared even more animated than earlier, taking control before she could offer any kind of protest. “We can drive there in yours. It's not far from here.”

  How could she explain that she had matters that were more important on her mind? What might drive a student to turn down the promise of an exciting adventure in some secret detective work? She found herself in a difficult situation. Desperately, she demanded some answers in the hope that his proposal would not be that interesting. “What's not far from here? Where are we going? What are you up to, Alexis?”

  “Every morning Madame Raynaud, a neighbour, brings baguettes from the boulangerie for grand'maman. She also delivers the local gossip. When I called her earlier this morning, the word was that the gendarmes had arrested Ludovic Roche yesterday and they had searched his property. I know his house. I've been there several times with my father. I thought that we could pay him a visit, while he's not there. Perhaps I can find something to prove that he was involved in my father's death.”

  A flood of relief swept through Petra's body. His suggestion fitted perfectly with her current aim. Somehow, she had to maintain her student image. She needed to show some innocent trepidation towards his scheme. “But surely, the police will still be there searching the property or, if not, they will have sealed it off. We could be in trouble if they find us there. It'll be a crime scene, if he's being investigated.”

  “Really?” His expression changed as if he was astonished at her knowledge of such procedures. “Well, we can still go and check it out.”

  Petra wished that she had not made that last point about the crime scene. That was hardly the comment that one would expect from a student, she thought. Nevertheless, she continued with her pretence. “Even if the police are not there, surely the house will be locked up. How will you gain entry?”

  “There's a window at the back that doesn't lock. I know because he misplaced his keys once and asked me to climb inside. He was too bulky to get through the small aperture.”

  “What do you expect to find?”

  “I don't know, but it's a great opportunity knowing that he's banged up in a police cell and we won't be disturbed.” He was using his enthusiasm in an attempt to persuade her.

  For her part, Petra decided that her protests had been sufficient to convince him of her student status. It was time to give him the impression that he had won her over. Both were behaving like actors in a play without a script, wary of what they were saying and what reactions they were exhibiting. It appeared that neither knew of the other's hidden agenda. The double manipulation was complete.

  Petra gave him the green light. “Shouldn't I say hello to your grandmother, before we make a move?”

  “You can see her when we return. She'll keep us talking and we'll never get away. You drive. I'll give you directions.”

  They headed out of La Bastide, onto the D250 where they passed the Zenith and, after crossing the A20 motorway, headed for the main road towards Le Palais-sur-Vienne. He directed her into a side road, a cul-de-sac in a bad state of repair. It led towards the river. They pulled over near a lone house at the end of the lane. The immediate vicinity was deserted. There was no police presence or any sign of activity having taken place.

  The house was a medium size detached property badly in need of repair, not what Petra expected, given that the
general consensus deemed that Roche was making a fortune from his criminal activities. Next door, a large single-storey pre-fabricated building with metal window frames overlooked a crumbling tarmac forecourt. The ugly neglected structure was set back from the lane. The pot-holed frontage stretched the length of the façade, above which there was a dilapidated painted board, blistered and cracked by frosty winters and baking hot summers. It faintly displayed traces of the word: CARROSSERIE.

  Petra pointed at the sign. “What does that mean?”

  “It's a workshop that repairs cars, especially bodywork, before carrying out re-sprays and stuff like that. You never see anyone there. I think that it only opens when the owner has a job to complete.”

  Petra nodded, wondering why Roche would choose to live in such a run-down area. Immediately, it crossed her mind that the opportunity for doctoring stolen cars was conveniently on Roche's doorstep. Perhaps it was another moneymaking sideline hidden from the fiscal clutches of the state.

  Alexis stepped from the vehicle. “I'll go around the back and let you in at the front.”

  “Don't you think that it would be a good idea to check that it's empty first? Try the front door to see if anyone's at home.”

  Alexis grinned. “It's lucky that you're with me…not only beautiful, but smart too.”

  “Do you really need me? Wouldn't it be better if I kept watch out here?”

  “It'll be quicker with the two of us. The sooner we finish the better.” He crossed towards the house and rang the doorbell. He rang again…no response. He disappeared down a passageway at the side of the house.

  He said ‘the sooner we finish’, thought Petra…finish what? She waited and watched, comforted by the contents of her shoulder bag. A few minutes passed before Alexis appeared at the front door of the property. He beckoned her over. She glanced up and down the road; there was not a soul in sight. Clutching her bag, she entered the house.

  Ignorant of what she should be looking for, she followed Alexis as he flitted from room to room. Though the house was old, its interior furnishings were reasonably tasteful in quite a modern style. Alexis searched drawers and cupboards, looking for anything that might be relevant.