A Crime of Fashion

by Carina Axelsson

  “Surely, this can—” Fiona started.

  “Easy, Claude, Fiona,” Philippe said. “She’s just trying to help. Surely we can spare a few minutes.” Turning to me, he said, “Axelle, why don’t you start? There’s a free table just here.”

  “Honestly, Philippe.” Claude turned to leave but my aunt stopped him.

  “I want to hear what my niece has to say, Claude. And as it concerns your siblings, I suggest you listen.”

  Before anyone else tried to leave, I cleared my throat and pushed all thoughts of failure out of my mind. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ellie give me the thumbs up.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your busy schedules. Thank you, but you needn’t worry – I’ll need less than a minute.”

  I stopped for a moment as I rummaged through my bag. I could see Claude and Fiona rolling their eyes. Dom was looking at his camera screen and Philippe and my aunt sat very still in their chairs.

  “Ah! Here it is!” I said as I pulled out a small wrapped package. Slowly I peeled off the two layers of paper covering the object and then set it on the table. I heard a sharp intake of breath all around.

  “It’s Belle’s missing shoe. I found it yesterday. It was in quite a strange place…but I’m planning on going back to that same place straight after the show – and I believe that if I look further, I’ll find Belle and Darius… But I’m afraid one of us sitting at this table is behind the disappearances.”

  Everyone was quiet.

  Finally, Philippe spoke. “And what about Rose?”

  “Don’t worry about Rose – she’s fine. Right now, we have to concentrate on Belle and Darius.”

  I moved my eyes slowly from face to face. Nobody moved, nobody said anything.

  “Anyway, like I said, I’ll be looking for Belle and Darius straight after the show. And if everything goes as I think it will, I’ll see you all later tonight.”

  Needless to say, I wasn’t allowed to leave that easily. After a moment of shocked silence, the questions and comments came:

  “Who are you to get so involved?”

  “I’m innocent!”

  “Great. A model policewoman!”

  “Where are the police?”

  Without another word, I turned and left.

  The show tent looked amazing. And, presumably, because it had been set up in the garden, Belle (who, according to the gossip circulating, had planned the show’s decor weeks before) had opted to bring the garden theme inside the tent. What she’d done, however, was to make it surreal. Everything was white. The topiary bushes I’d seen being transported across the lawn yesterday from the florist’s van were in fantastical shapes: some clipped like peacocks and rabbits, others into cylinders, cones and balls. Everything was coated in glittery, white “snow” and the special lights gave the scene a magical iridescence. It was like stepping into Alice’s Wonderland.

  The clothes were also white. Long white evening dresses, white trouser suits, white blouses, skirts and jackets. White handbags, shoes and scarves. It was bewitching and beautiful – Belle had done an amazing job designing it all. The only question on everyone’s lips was: would she ever come back? Or was this the last Belle La Lune collection there’d ever be?

  The show ran smoothly and as soon as it was over Ellie and I changed into our own clothes with lightning speed.

  “I refused to give Modelinia a quick interview,” Ellie whispered. “If only they knew what we’re about to do.”

  “And I’m supposed to meet my mum back here in ten minutes. Obviously that won’t be happening. How do I look?”

  “Like a fashion ninja,” she answered with a smile. “It suits you.”

  I was dressed in layers of soft black cotton, dark jeans and black trainers. It was comfortable and practical. I rolled up my lucky jumper and combat boots and put them into my work bag. Ellie and I then hid our bags under the floor of the tent. With what we were about to do, we didn’t need the excess weight. Hopefully the tents wouldn’t go down until morning. We quickly said goodbye to the other models, the hairdressers and make-up artists, then left.

  Sebastian was waiting for us near the bushes, as planned. He handed us each a water bottle, torch, string, copies of the floor plan and catacombs map, and a walkie-talkie.

  “In the house they should work fine. Of course, once we’re deep in the catacombs they’ll lose reception, but they’ll work for longer than our phones.”

  Then, when the coast was clear, we ran across the open gravel to the house.

  “We can’t go in from the terrace,” whispered Sebastian as we crouched low. “There’s too much security on that side of the house. But I’ve had a look around, and there’s an open side window in the study. From there we can access the secret passageway.”

  Carefully we snuck along the wall to the study window and climbed in. It looked much as it had on Monday night – only without Inspector Witt asking questions. On the off chance that luck would strike twice I couldn’t stop myself from closing and opening the fireplace damper – but nothing fell out.

  It didn’t take us long to find the small lever that, when pushed, opened the hidden door that led to the secret passages. Both the lever and the door were extremely well concealed in the wood panelling that lined the room – without the old architectural plans of the house, we’d never have found either. Pushing on the lever released the first spring, which in turn released the weighted lever that kept the door shut. We made sure to shut everything again from the inside – just in case the person we were looking for was behind us. As it was – they weren’t. They were ahead of us.

  We stood whispering as we discussed which route to take through the house and into the catacombs. Suddenly Sebastian put his finger to his lips.

  “Shhh,” he said as he nodded his head upwards.

  Holding our breaths, we listened. From the far end of the passageway above, we heard footsteps. Softly and stealthily, they crept along the length of the secret corridor, pausing for a moment directly above us. A few seconds later we heard a door open into the spiral staircase just near us. The footsteps quickly descended, pausing again on our floor before continuing down the stairs.

  “Come on,” whispered Sebastian as he started to move forward, “they’re on their way into the catacombs!”

  Together we moved down the passageway. The chase was about to begin.

  I insisted on going first – after all, it was my plan. And I didn’t want to put Sebastian or Ellie in more danger then necessary. I would lead, Sebastian would follow me as closely as he could without being seen, and Ellie would stop and keep watch at the first fork in the tunnel. From there she could easily hide and go for help if she needed to.

  Whoever we were following made quick time in reaching the catacombs entrance. In their hurry, they’d left the trapdoor open and the ladder unfolded. One by one we climbed down, then stopped to listen for the footsteps. Quickly we followed their sound – if we lost them we’d lose our chance of finding Belle. Together we followed the twists and turns of the tunnel until we came to the first fork. Here we left Ellie, with instructions to call for backup if we didn’t return within the hour. Then I loosened my ball of string and left. From here on out I’d leave a trail behind me. Sebastian would follow me in ten minutes.

  For some time all was well: the footsteps padded steadily ahead of me. I stayed just far enough behind that I could turn my torch on. I stopped to look at the map every so often to orient myself. It seemed we were going in circles, or maybe just taking the long way around. The kidnapper must have known I was down here. After all, just before the show, when I’d shown my aunt, the La Lunes and Philippe de Vandrille Belle’s shoe, I’d also clearly announced my plan to find Belle and Darius by returning to where I’d found Belle’s shoe and then going further. The kidnapper must have understood I meant the catacombs, so the circular route they were taking was either to find me or lose me. I was careful to stop whenever the footsteps did. I was also careful to keep my torch on low b
eam. I even had a scarf twisted around it to lessen the glow.

  After a while the footsteps slowed down a bit, their even patter echoing like a softly ticking clock. Maybe it was the lack of fresh oxygen – we’d gone down several staircases – but a wave of dizziness and nausea washed over me, leaving me momentarily dazed. I was no longer sure if the footsteps were in front of me or behind me. I turned my torch off and stopped to listen. I could hear them, but I couldn’t pinpoint them. They seemed to bounce off the walls and come at me from all directions.

  I took a deep breath, the muggy air sticking in my throat, then unscrewed the cap of my water bottle and took a sip. I could hear something scurrying beside me – probably rats if my last visit was anything to go by – but dared not turn my torch on for fear of giving myself away.

  I stood, ears straining for the slightest sound, my weight balanced on the balls of my feet, ready for a quick getaway. What had happened? Where were they? Had I lost them? How? And yet the hairs on the back of my neck were standing; I could sense someone nearby. But where? I was in total darkness; a slight draught ruffled my hair from behind. Somewhere not far from me water dripped, its regular splatter echoing like an underground heartbeat. I checked my walkie-talkie but I’d lost reception.

  And then I heard it: a sharp whizzing sound slicing through the air. Instinctively, I ducked. Something smashed on the wall just behind me, shattering like china. I covered my head with my arms as the bits fell around me. The footsteps started again, their pace urgent. I followed, and, after a few minutes, suddenly heard something like a bowling ball rolling on the tunnel floor. Too late I realized it was headed for me.

  My foot hit it straight on; I stumbled and fell forward, my knee cracking against the rock floor. Argh! I lay sprawled on the ground, my face and shoulders in a pool of water. My knee burned with pain. I was dizzy, desperate for fresh air. Come on, Axelle, get up, get up! With one of my hands I fumbled near my ankles until I found the ball – only it wasn’t what I’d thought.

  It was a skull.

  Exhausted, I let it roll out of my hand. I lay on my back, catching my breath. I tried forcing myself to concentrate, to get up. Suddenly one of my fingers smarted with pain, as if something was biting it. What was it? I lifted my head, stagnant water dripping down my cheek, and shook my hand. But as I reached with my free hand to turn on my torch, I heard another whistle through the damp air. I rolled over, but not quickly enough – this time the flying skull grazed my head. I caught my breath as another sharp spasm of pain shot through me.

  As I turned onto my side and sat up, I felt something grab at my hair. I shook my head in an attempt to loosen its hold and heard its high-pitched squeal fill the blackness. I grabbed it with both hands and pulled its writhing body. It jumped and jerked in my hands but wouldn’t let go. Its sharp teeth tore at my skin, and still it continued to shriek its horrible, high-pitched, fevered squeal. I wanted to cry out, disgust making my stomach turn. As I opened my mouth to yell, no longer caring who heard me, its long scaly tail brushed the inside of my mouth.

  I kept screaming. I figured whoever it was knew I was here so I had nothing to lose. At the same time I also realized that the person throwing the skulls must have night-vision goggles on. I cursed my own stupidity for not having thought of that and bit my tongue as another rat scurried across my lap. In a fury I grabbed the skull lying at my feet and flung it blindly out in front of me, not caring whether it hit its mark or not. A grotesque little laugh echoed down the walls as the patter of the footsteps resumed.

  I got to my feet. The chase was back on.

  The person I was following seemed to be losing patience: they kept stopping to hear if I was behind. After the third pause, I heard them resume their stride with a new, more urgent cadence. Now, the footsteps seemed to say, it’s time to get serious.

  Well, fine. I was ready. As I moved along I checked to make sure my string was still unwinding and reached for my water bottle. Drat! I’d lost it when the first skull had been thrown. Plenty of time to worry about that later, I told myself – and pushed forward, intent on keeping up.

  After some time the footsteps suddenly slowed, then turned up a stairwell. Quickly and quietly I followed. From above I could hear a key being inserted into a lock, the metal scraping as the lock was turned. Then the door slowly swung open, its hinges rusty with age. These hinges, unlike those in the mansion, had been neglected, presumably because no one had been expected to hear them. I increased my speed – I had to catch the door before it shut. There’d be more passageways beyond – and if I didn’t get through this door now, who knew when I’d find my way out – or if? Surely the person on the other side was hoping I’d make a mistake, hoping they could lock me up here too. With a last burst of energy I bounded up the final steps and, with my foot, only just managed to stop the door from shutting. I slipped through it and crossed the chamber beyond to another door.

  From behind the door I heard a familiar voice barking orders, presumably to Belle and Darius.

  “Shut up, you idiot,” the voice cackled, “I’ve brought you some company!”

  Throwing my weight against the door, I pushed it open and skidded in. What I saw shocked but didn’t surprise me. I held my ground as a face contorted with rage and hatred turned to me. Quickly I moved my hand to my belt and unstrapped the small can that was attached to it.

  Fortunately, the night-vision goggles were pushed up on the hair I knew so well – the way was clear. Although she’d known I was coming she obviously hadn’t expected me to come prepared to attack.

  In that second I shot the pepper spray full into the face of my Aunt Venetia.

  From the catacombs I was escorted directly to the police station – Inspector Witt’s office, to be precise, where I’d been just last Monday. It already felt like ages ago.

  After a doctor had thoroughly cleaned and checked my head, wrists and hands, I locked myself in the bathroom and gargled with the most powerful antiseptic at hand. But no matter how much I gargled, the feeling of that rat’s tail in my mouth wouldn’t leave.

  Meanwhile, a team of forensic specialists were dispatched to Aunt V’s to pack my things up while Inspector Witt organized a hotel for my mum and me. Staying at Aunt Venetia’s was clearly out of the question: it was now an official crime site – as was the La Lune mansion.

  Sebastian and his father had arrived about two minutes after I’d found my aunt. Inspector Witt had been in on our plan although he’d forbidden it at first, deeming it too dangerous. But who knew how long it would take to find Belle and Darius if Aunt Venetia didn’t lead us to them. Finally, for this reason, Inspector Witt relented and agreed to be on alert outside the mansion, waiting for Sebastian’s call. And it was he who had given me the pepper spray.

  After temporarily blinding Aunt V, I’d tied her up with my belt, and then freed Belle and Darius. Both were terribly weakened. Aunt Venetia had given them soup – but not quite enough. She’d had no plan in mind for their care when she’d caught her two surprise charges. Once a day she’d taken them some thin bouillon she’d made at home with powder. She’d carried it in her handbag – that was the liquid I’d seen dripping from her bag, what she’d claimed was water. If something had happened to Aunt V, Belle and Darius would have starved, their skeletons for ever lost to the catacombs. As it was, they were carried out on stretchers and taken by ambulance to the American Hospital in Neuilly. The initial feedback for Belle was positive. Apart from dehydration, and a couple of bumps on her head, she was all right. Darius required more supervision – although, it was a miracle he hadn’t suffered a severe asthma attack.

  I, on the other hand, was not all right. While I’d had the whole of a day – ever since my nightmare had led to the truth dawning on me – to come to terms with what my aunt had done, I still hated myself for having trapped her. Because of me, she’d be in prison. Because of me, her life was shattered.

  “It’s not because of you!” Ellie insisted.

  “It�
��s because of her greed that she’s going to prison. It’s because of her ruthlessness that her life is shattered,” Sebastian added.

  But they hadn’t seen her face. A face twisted in such anguish! A face poisoned by an uncontrollable desire for more! Apparently, it knew no bounds. By the time I’d left the catacombs, there were already search teams trawling through the cavities near where Belle and Darius had been held. The few that had been looked into were a treasure trove of art. Sculptures, paintings, furniture – even jewellery; anything that was easy to transport through the vast underground network that she’d mapped out as her own. She’d been at it for a long time and, with her practised eye, she’d chosen only the best. And, just like in her apartment, many items were packed in cartons and packages wrapped with tape displaying the logos of some of the finest art dealers in Europe. I supposed we’d later read in the papers that she’d stolen the tape too.

  The worst thing for me, however, was the one horrid phrase that wouldn’t stop replaying itself in my mind since I’d heard it: “Shut up, you idiot – I’ve brought you some company!” For her, I, like Belle and Darius before me, was simply an obstacle that needed to be pushed to the side. So she’d taken me up on my pre-show challenge and gone into the catacombs to lead me to her lair. What she planned on doing with me after she’d trapped me was anyone’s guess – including her own. I honestly believe she hadn’t thought things out further than that.

  Of course, I’d sprung my plan on her just before the show, knowing that she wouldn’t have the time to prepare for the chase without missing the La Lune show, which, in turn would raise a lot of questions about her whereabouts – something I was certain she’d want to avoid. My hunch had paid off. She’d been fidgety during the show; I’d noticed that from the runway. But still, pro that she was, she insisted on performing her role of front row fashion-editor-supreme – chase or no chase.

  One thing was certain, however: she’d already admitted to Inspector Witt that she’d planned to pin the disappearances on Philippe de Vandrille. She’d intended to use the packet of letters she’d hidden in the chimney flue – the very ones I’d found – to identify him as a vengeful heir. Whether this plan would have worked or not we’ll never know, but, at some point – if I hadn’t taken the letters – she’d have planted them on Philippe.