by Mel Comley
‘Come on, guys. You’ve had your fun.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Let me go now, eh!’
Three of the men held onto their detainee while the fourth threw a thick rope, with a noose at the end, up and over one of the thickest branches of an old oak tree. Even the Arabian horses in the nearby stables sensed the man’s plight and became restless.
The colour drained from Benji’s face as he realised what was about to happen and he turned to plead with Julio again. ‘Julio, mate, come on, it was a simple mistake. A mistake any one of us could’ve made. Tell the boss I’m sorry … dock me a month’s … no a year’s wages … It’ll never happen again, come on, give me a break, man!’
Julio placed the noose around the twenty-six-year old’s head, pulling the rope tight, in a strained voice, laced with regret, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Benji, but you royally fucked up, mate. I’ve tried, believe me, but you know what happens when the boss has made up his mind. Take your punishment quietly, take it like a man.’
Before Julio could back away Benji spat in his face.
Grabbing the rope from the guy holding it, Mario hoisted his brother off the ground, to the surprise of those with him.
After Benji’s neck snapped, silence hit the courtyard. No more screaming. No more pleading. Just silence. The stunned group stood and watched the body swing in the breeze for a few minutes before Mario stepped forward to lower his brother’s body to the ground. Without saying a word, he made a sign of the cross and stared down at his brother’s body.
‘I tried, Mario, I pleaded with him to let Benji live. We all know what we signed up for here. Benji was a fool, forget about this, don’t be an arse and follow in his footsteps.’ Julio placed a comforting hand on the man’s huge shoulder.
Mario shrugged the hand off and turned to Julio, his eyes blazing with contempt, and said, ‘I will avenge my brother’s killing one day of that you can be certain, Julio. I chose to kill him out of respect, I didn’t want any of you scumbags doing it, he would’ve understood that. But be warned my friend, you’d better watch your back.’
Mario strode back into the house with the other men close behind him, while Julio remained where he was and watched them go.
Chapter Eight
Lunch consisted of half a baguette, filled with Camembert cheese and roasted ham, washed down with a bottle of Panache. Tony hadn’t wanted to hang around the hotel twiddling his thumbs and waiting for Interpol to get their arses into gear, so he insisted they should take in at least one of the tourist attractions Paris had to offer. Of course, he’d opted for the cheapest one, a leisurely stroll along the Seine with a picnic lunch bought from a nearby patisserie.
‘I must say, Tony, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.’ Lorne teased, sounding and feeling far more relaxed than she had in ages despite not knowing what lay ahead of them. She laughed as Tony’s hand shot up to his chest as if he’d been mortally wounded.
‘And you, dear lady, know how to hurt a man. What more could a woman want out of life … to be wined, well lagered actually, but that’s by the by. As I was saying to be wined and dined by the side of the river, in the city of lurrrvvveee.’
‘Idiot.’ She laughed again and poked him in the leg, it felt strange to hear her own laughter filling her ears, but at the same time it felt good too, and it had certainly been a long time coming.
‘That’s better.’
The relief on his face sent a pang of guilt through her for burdening him with her problems.
‘We better head back soon.’ Tony smiled at her.
‘What time did you say we’re due to leave?’
‘Around two. It’s compulsory in France to have a two-hour lunch, from twelve to two. It’s not as bad as it used to be. I came here on an assignment about ten years ago and literally everything came to a standstill, it doesn’t seem quite so bad now.’
‘Does that mean it’s followed by a siesta, you know, like in Spain?’
He laughed, ‘I don’t think the French have quite reached that stage, yet.’
‘Christ, they don’t know they’re born. The way my working life panned out most days I barely managed to fit in half a sandwich, and often I had to bolt that down while filling out paperwork, urgent paperwork needed by someone as equally stressed out as me. I guess it just shows what mugs we are back in England, huh! I bet it’s the same in your line of business?’ Lorne hoped the agent would open up a little in their relaxed surroundings, she knew very little about what made him tick, and even less about his personal life.
‘Your assumption is first class, as usual, Lorne,’ he said, swivelling on his heel he set off in the opposite direction. ‘Come on, let’s get a shift on.’
‘A man of few words, aren’t you, Tony? One could almost say you’re a man of mystery.’
‘Goes with the territory you of all people should know that.’
‘Talking of which, what’s the game plan for this afternoon?’ For a moment she paused on the embankment to watch the boats, large and small, bobbing on the river. In the distance a couple of large tourist boats could be heard, giving their passengers the usual blurb about their location, in both French and English.
‘In what respect?’
‘You know, with Capitaine Amore. It’s obvious the guy doesn’t want me hanging around, not that he doesn’t have a point, I’m guessing this is probably the first time an ex-Met Inspector has turned up on his patch expecting to be involved in a case.’
‘Leave him to me. I did some background checks on him in my hotel room last night.’
‘You did? And?’
‘He seems more than capable. He’s been a copper since leaving school, been decorated by the President himself for capturing several dangerous criminals. He’s the guy who has been entrusted with the daunting task of tracking down 34,000 pieces of stolen art.’
‘You’re kidding. This art, was it all stolen here in France?’
‘No, all over the world. He spends a lot of his time working for Interpol. Apparently they have a file that is updated regularly and circulated to every known buyer in the trade, also to museums, auction houses, police, and customs in every country.’
‘If that’s true, then why is he involved in The Unicorn/Baldwin case?’ she asked, her rustiness for the job clearly showing.
‘Think about it, Lorne.’
They remained quiet for the remainder of the walk, then finally Lorne’s brain cells merged and her mind sparked into life. ‘I get it. Baldwin’s been a naughty boy and stolen some paintings. He’s branching out into yet another deceitful field.’
Tony smiled, amused at how long it had taken Lorne to suss everything out, and shook his head. ‘Not just paintings, Lorne, different forms of art, anything with a hefty price tag. Sculptures, paintings, in fact if it comes under the art genre then you can guarantee The Unicorn will want a piece of the action.’
‘Christ, is there ever anything that guy refuses to get tangled up in?’
‘Yeah,’ Tony said, straight faced. ‘Anything that’s legal!’
Chapter Nine
They set off on time, at exactly two-fifteen, with Lieutenant Levelle behind the wheel for the 230 kilometres drive to Normandy. Their trip would have been a pleasant one, if only the car hadn’t been filled with an awkward silence. The landscape surrounding them reminded Lorne of childhood family summer holidays spent in the depths of the beautiful Devonshire countryside.
It was the Capitaine who finally broke the silence, turning in his seat to look at her, he said, ‘Ah, I see our countryside brings joy to your face, Madame Simpkins.’
Her smile vanished, how the hell could he see me? When she noticed the small mirror in the pulled down sun visor, she had her answer. How long had he been watching her? More to the point, why, had he been watching her? In for a penny in for a pound, if I have to work with this guy there’s no harm in being civil to him.
‘The countryside is very similar to where I used to visit when I was a child. I guess it’s ha
rd not to reminisce.’
He surprised her by saying, ‘Let me guess, your childhood was spent in Devon, yes?’
How on earth had he figured that one out? She tried to suppress it, but found it difficult to prevent her amazement showing. Maybe he was a bloody clairvoyant in his spare time!
He surprised her further by letting out a full belly laugh before she could respond. ‘I am from around here, and as a young boy I heard many English people say the same thing.’
She lifted a brow. ‘Oh, I see.’
The awkward silence filled the car again. Lorne found it hard to put her finger on how she felt; the Capitaine appeared to be something of an enigma, she didn’t know what to expect from him next.
After travelling for nearly two and half hours they pulled up outside their hotel, located in the centre of town, a few metres past the magnificent and extremely imposing Caen cathedral.
‘We will rendezvous again at seven for dinner.’ The Capitaine informed them.
Aware that she hadn’t packed anything suitable for dinner in a nice restaurant, Lorne pulled Tony to one side. ‘I don’t have anything to wear, Tony.’ Could this trip possibly get any worse?
‘Don’t worry about it, Lorne. The French don’t tend to dress up much for dinner, it’ll be cool. You’ll be fine with whatever you have.’
After being allocated their rooms, all on the fifth floor, they went their separate ways.
In dire need of freshening up after their journey, Lorne ran herself a hot bath. As the bubbles tickled her skin, she rested her head against the back of the bath and thought about the evening ahead. She wondered which of the two Capitaines would turn up at the restaurant, the obnoxious, off-hand one, or the kinder one that had surfaced in the car.
After dressing in a fresh pair of jeans and her best t-shirt, she returned to the bathroom to apply her make-up, which she had already decided should be subtle, and definitely not overdone. A knock at the door interrupted her. ‘Just a minute, Tony,’ she called out. ‘I’m in the middle of making myself look beautiful.’
Still laughing at her little quip she opened the door to find an amused looking Lieutenant Levelle standing there.
‘Madame, you do not need to make yourself look more beautiful.’ The woman smiled. She was dressed in a tight fitting cream top and a snug black pencil knee-length skirt. Her glossy long hair which had been tucked up in a bun all day, was hanging loosely down her slender back.
‘Lieutenant, this is a surprise. Am I late?’ Lorne asked, gazing down at her watch.
‘No madame, you are not.’ She gave Lorne another faint smile. ‘I was wondering if I could have a private word with you, before you enter the Lion’s den.’
Lorne raised an inquisitive eyebrow and opened the door wider, inviting the woman to take a seat on the end of her bed. Lorne perched her bottom on the small console table a couple of feet from the Lieutenant. ‘Lion’s den? Is that a French term for restaurant or is it your intention to place fear into my heart? Please explain yourself, Lieutenant.’
‘Please, call me René while we are off duty, Madame Simpkins.’
‘Only if you agree to call me, Lorne.’
René nodded, and smiled. ‘Lorne, I wanted to warn you, if you like.’ The young French woman said in English not quite matching the fluency of her colleague.
‘Go on.’ Lorne crossed her arms in front of her.
‘I just wanted to say that the Capitaine means well.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, in what respect?’
René coughed self-consciously before going on with her revelation. ‘He comes across as a man without a heart, but it is a façade, underneath he is … how you say, a real pussycat.’
‘Forgive me if I seem a little stupid but I don’t really understand why you’ve taken it upon yourself to visit me, Lieutenant.’
‘I am sorry, Lorne, if you think I am speaking out of turn, but I wanted to tell you that the Capitaine, myself, you and agent Warner are all singing from the same hymn sheet. Is that how you say it?’
Lorne soon realised the woman’s intention was to keep the peace between the four of them. Maybe her visit was in the nature of a diplomatic mission? Relaxing, she laughed and told the Lieutenant, ‘Actually you call the Capitaine a pussycat in my book he’d give a Bengal tiger a run for its money.’
Both women laughed, and Lorne could tell that they were indeed trying to sing from the same hymn sheet.
Lorne excused herself and stepped back into the bathroom to clean her teeth. After taking a last look at her under-dressed appearance, she returned to the bedroom, where her uninvited guest was sitting watching her. She glanced down at her outfit, held her hands out to the side and apologised. ‘It’ll have to do, I’m afraid. Agent Warner gave me little time to pack, and I didn’t anticipate dining out.’
‘Nonsense, Lorne, you look fine.’ The Lieutenant said, as they headed for the door. ‘I am sure the Capitaine will be pleased by what he sees.’
Lorne inwardly questioned the woman’s response, wondering if she meant what the comment implied.
Chapter Ten
The ‘pussycat’ and Tony were already seated at the table, and as the two women weaved their way through the empty tables Lorne sensed someone watching her. She shrugged the feeling away. What is this guy’s problem? Sensing the Capitaine to be the cause of her discomfort she made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with him.
‘Madame Simpkins.’ The Capitaine held out the chair for her, bowing he added, ‘May I say how lovely you look tonight.’ He gave her a smile she had trouble deciphering.
You can say it, buster whether I believe you is another matter entirely! ‘Thank you.’
‘We shall order drinks and our food before discussing our likely strategy.’ The Capitaine announced, making sure, they all knew he was in charge of proceedings, whether they were on or off duty.
The two French Officers ordered typically French cuisine, escargots served in garlic butter, followed by duck a l’orange, while Tony surprised her by ordering his food in excellent French, he explained that he ate out a lot in restaurants and only understood culinary French. The Capitaine appeared both pleased and impressed, he stared at Tony and nodded. Lorne however, struggled with the menu and after a while plumped for the coq au vin, the only dish she could read and understand.
The Capitaine laughed. It helped ease the tension around the table. ‘Madame Simpkins, I see you are a very independent person, if you could not read the menu you should have asked for some advice.’
‘It’s Lorne, and I didn’t want to put anyone out. Anyway, if you had ordered for me, I sense I would have ended up with some unthinkable part of an animal, such as a pig’s head!’
‘So to me it is clear you do not trust us. Instead, you ordered the safest thing on the menu.’
‘Ah, I see you French men have a problem with strong independent women.’ She looked over at Tony, who shook his head, his eyes pleading with her to shut up. ‘It must be a Force thing, the Met hate strong women, too.’ She noticed Tony cringe and realised she’d overstepped the mark.
The Capitaine laughed. Instead of being pissed off by her stubborn words, he appeared to be amused by them. Is he laughing with me or at me? She wondered, ‘I see I have found an equal in you, Lorne. It surprises me that you are no longer a police officer, with your attitude it would be a considerable advantage.’
His expression turned serious and Lorne wondered if his backhanded compliment had been intended.
‘Times change, I guess, people change, Capitaine.’
‘That they do, Lorne. And in your circumstances I can understand why you chose to turn your back on the law. You must feel let down by your colleagues, non?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘My circumstances?’
‘With this Robert Baldwin, The Unicorn if you will. I’ve read the dossier on what this scoundrel, as you English say, did to your friends and family.’ His words shook her, she didn’t believe his insen
sitivity was intentional, but that was the way it came across. She barely knew the man and yet here he was talking about the raw subject that had almost destroyed her life a year ago, and doing so as though they were discussing something as trivial as the weather.
Feeling cornered, she glanced over at Tony for help, but he and the Lieutenant were too caught up in their own conversation to notice her discomfort. Her uneasiness grew, and she suddenly began to feel isolated and trapped, like a deer on a country road frozen in the headlights of an approaching car.
She sipped her glass of water and searched for an adequate response to the Capitaine’s probing. Get a grip girl, he meant nothing. You’re looking for problems that simply aren’t there.
As if sensing he’d made her feel uncomfortable, the Capitaine leaned over and whispered. ‘If I have offended you, Lorne, I am truly sorry.’
She placed her glass back on the table and looked up at him. She studied his blue eyes and thought she saw compassion lingering deep inside. He smiled, a smile that made her think she’d misjudged him. Her powerful sixth sense prodded her conscience and for some unknown reason she felt a bond of trust had formed between them.
When she didn’t respond to his apology, he leaned toward her again and whispered, ‘Has the cat got your tongue, is that the phrase you English use?’
Lorne shrugged. ‘I guess I’m a little confused!’
‘Confused, yes that is understandable. You come to our country and I must admit I did little to welcome you. You must forgive me for my previous aggression towards you. I read the dossier about your horrendous ordeal only in the past few hours.’ His following words hit her the hardest. Leaning in again so the others at the table could not hear, he whispered, ‘I knew Jacques Arnaud.’
Her eyes grew wide and instantly misted up. Lost for words she stared at the Capitaine.
‘Forgive me, Lorne, for digging into old wounds. But you see we have something very much in common.’
