Lost
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���That���s okay. I know where it is. Thank you.���
*
Lopez knew as soon as he arrived at Santini���s place that he was too late. He could feel it as he looked through the wide-open gates at the empty drive. As he climbed down the bank on to the road, the first drops of rain began to fall. When he reached his car, his hair was wet.
He sat in his car and lit a cigarette. He still smoked Ducados and he liked the smell of brown tobacco and rain, mixed. Maybe it was time to go home to San Sebastian. He took his mobile from his jacket pocket and dialled Stuart���s number. The secretary answered. She had a whining voice.
���I know it���s not your fault, madame. Just be kind enough to let him know that the story will be in the Islander tomorrow morning, in full.���
He hung up and while he finished his cigarette he looked for his opening line. A beautiful young woman, still grieving for the tragic loss of her husband, has been struck ��� Young woman or young widow. Which? It needed a link with the island. The young widow of a member of one of the island���s oldest families ���
Lopez saw the moving shape in the wing mirror before he turned his head to look. He held perfectly still until the car had driven in through the gates. It was Georges Rocca���s car. He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and climbed out.
He stood in the rain and looked for a way in. Santini���s villa was notoriously impenetrable. It was a bunker. That was why he didn���t need security guards. Security guards just took bribes. Lopez smiled, letting the rain drip into his mouth. He felt young again and excited. It was too soon to go home.
He followed the steep path that led from the lay-by down to the flat rocks and the sea. He could see the gulls standing down there, all facing in the same direction, standing stupidly in the rain, waiting for some gull messiah to scud in across the sea. He slipped in the mud and tore his suit vent on a root that was sticking out of the path. A ribbon of catholic oaths rolled from his mouth.
When he reached the shore he ran at the gulls, rain and sea stinging his eyes, and the moment of doubt came as the birds held their ground ��� they were preparing an attack. But they stepped lazily forward in response to some invisible command and lifted into the air, curling off to the next cove where Santini had built a little harbour and beach, all of cement. Lopez followed the narrow path over the rocks, his heart still beating from his moment of doubt with the gulls.
Only Santini���s mausoleum was visible from the cove. It was built on a piece of rock that jutted out beyond the cliff face. The mausoleum was the work of two brothers from a village in the north-east of the island that had produced stonemasons for generations. The marble was from Italy and the work was said to be very fine. Lopez had written a piece while it was being built questioning Santini���s right to burial on his own property. He had checked: Article L2223���9. Any person may be buried on a private property provided that the said property is situated at the prescribed distance from the confines of a town or village. Le Losange was not beyond the prescribed distance. It was a feeble assault, but Lopez knew that Coco���s mausoleum was a matter of the deepest significance to him and while it was not possible to make the authorities put a stop to it, they had been forced to think up a way round the illegality. In the meantime they had halted the building work, which had been a source of considerable irritation to Coco. Still, Lopez thought, Coco had him on a short leash. He knew if he ever sought to do him any real damage, he could forget his peaceful retirement in San Sebastian; no port would be far enough. It was a sad thing to discover that after all he had been through he was so afraid.
Lopez heard a clap of thunder in the distance. Coco no longer used the cove now that he had his pool, and his cement installations were daubed with gloomy obscenities. The old access up to his property was barred by a tall wire fence that had collapsed in places and lay curling in the undergrowth. Lopez climbed over and looked up through the rain at the cliff. The first part of the climb was easy. He followed the old path, hoisting himself up where a step had subsided, making his suit muddy at the knees. He talked to himself under his breath as he climbed, clasping on to the ice-plants when the path disappeared. He was grateful for being close to the ground. His size had never been a disadvantage. He could sneak and crawl still, past police barricades, into rival rallies, past ticket booths at corridas and football matches and also into women���s beds, into their mothering arms, where they would press their lips to the top of his head and in no time their wistfulness would turn and their mouths would slide from the O of surprise to the Ah of concupiscence and it was too late: he had insinuated his way past the turnstile of their desire. For he was in fact none other than a real-life, flesh-and-blood sex dwarf. Lopez smiled as he climbed up through the rain. It was the sausage heiress���s phrase and he liked it, for that was exactly what he was: a sex dwarf. No woman was safe.
He had reached a dead end. The rock on which the mausoleum was built rose up before him, impregnable as Colonel Moscardo���s alc��zar. The thunder was still a long way off. Lopez looked for a hold. The best face was where the rock overhung. If he fell from there he would hit the lower part of the slope about a hundred metres below. He would have to climb the smooth part where the rock met the cliff and a muddy stream now trickled. He took off his socks and shoes. His feet had been broken with cables by the Guardia Civil when he was in his twenties. When he had been released he had gone to see a physiotherapist, who had restored them with exercises that Lopez had joked were at least as bad as the torture. But he was a dour man from Huesca and he had not laughed. Lopez used his little feet to claw at the mud and he climbed slowly and steadily, trusting them with all his weight, using his fingers only lightly to correct his balance. The cliff was perfectly vertical and as he climbed he marvelled at his own agility.
He heard them before he reached the top. He recognised the sound immediately as metal striking stone. He gripped the long waxy grass that fringed the cliff edge and gazed at the white mausoleum, glistening in the rain. The banging was coming from inside. If they found him, they would shoot him, but if he tried to go back the way he had come he would break his neck, so whatever happened, he was going out through the front gate, be it dick or feet first.
He pulled himself up and lay on his stomach on the wet grass, his legs still hanging over the cliff. Santini���s house was further up the hill and out of sight. Lopez crawled on to the lawn and crept round the side of the mausoleum. He heard a woman���s voice. It was Evelyne.
���Lay them like that. Like bottles. Yes.���
���Careful!��� Lopez started. ���What do you think we���re dealing with here?��� It was Georges Rocca.
���Hurry up,��� Evelyne said. ���I���m getting wet.��� She was outside the vault. Lopez took a step back. He realised that if they found him, he���d simply go over the cliff.
���Okay,��� Georges said. ���Now the ammunition.���
It was an arms cache.
���Okay, now seal her up.���
Lopez listened to them slide the stone drawer back into place.
���Smoother than that,��� came Evelyne���s baby-doll voice. ���It���s got to be smooth. Look, there. It shows.���
They were applying the cement.
���Dog���s work,��� Georges said. ���Let me do it.���
���Hurry up, for Christ���s sake,��� Evelyne said. It was a voice job she needed, Lopez thought. ���Hurry up!���
Go on, Georges, hit her. You know you want to.
���I���m going back to the house,��� Evelyne said. ���Leave the gate open when you go. Clean up all that. I don���t want to see a speck of dust here in the morning.���
When she had gone he could hear them set about clearing
up. There was a sound of splintering wood.
���Okay. Let���s go,��� Georges said.
Lopez waited a few seconds, then advanced to the corner of the mausoleum and looked out. Georges was walking up the path that led to the house. Behind him were his two new skinheads. They were carrying the tools and a bucket of cement and Georges was carrying the broken pieces of crate. Lopez could see red Cyrillic lettering on one of the pieces and he whispered a long, liturgical oath.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Stuart drove Santini���s Saab up the hill to Santarosa. The rain was hanging in swathes on the road. The wipers could not move fast enough and it clung to the windscreen like a caul. Alice sat beside him, the only one in the car wearing a seat belt.
���How���s she handling?��� Coco asked him.
Stuart glanced at him in the mirror. He was sitting behind Alice with his hands cuffed behind his back. Next to him was Joachim, the youth from La Rochelle.
���Good,��� Stuart said, for he could not deny it; there was some pleasure in driving a good car.
Santini���s Saab was from another world, a long way north from here, in another Europe where people wore seat belts and drank decaffeinated coffee and only rarely killed each other. The idea that he should have chosen a car from such a place amused Stuart. He guessed it was Evelyne���s idea. Evelyne, Santini���s longest-standing mistress, whom he treated like dirt and who gave unswerving loyalty. She was the kind of woman the island produced: a cold heart capable of blind devotion.
They drove past the entrance to the cemetery.
���Madame Aron?��� Coco said. ���Can I ask you to move forward a little? The lever is under your seat.���
Alice obeyed in silence. Stuart could feel her hatred of Santini coming off her like heat.
Santini had relaxed a little since they had left the villa. Stuart had made the call to Lasserre from the car while they were still parked in the lay-by. When he told her the search had produced nothing there had been a prolonged silence. For a moment he had thought that he had lost her support.
���Are you with Santini now?��� she had asked.
���I am,��� he had answered. ���I���m going back up to the Colonna house. I���ll call you from there,��� and he had hung up quickly.
The rain thinned as they drove past the petrol station into the village. Paul was behind them in his own car. Sitting beside him was the blonde cop, Muriel or Mireille. G��rard, who was driving Alice���s Mercedes, was with the spotty youth. With Fabrice there were seven of them and four cars; it was not enough. No matter how invincible he felt, it was not enough.
When he drove up the narrow alley to the Colonna property the rain had stopped. Beneath the asphalt sky the lawn and the cedar glowed with their own light. He turned off the engine and watched Alice open her door. He hoped that she would turn and look at him before climbing out, but she did not.
*
Alice stood in the kitchen with Dan in her arms and hugged him hard while Babette waited patiently for her to return him to her. Babette carried Dan everywhere. Alice realised she was not in a position to object.
���Little Dan. My man,��� she said. But he was not hers; he could be taken from her at any time. ���Mummy loves you,��� she said, correcting herself.
He clung to her when she tried to hand him to Babette.
���Dan, Mummy has to go into the room with the policemen. They���re going to get Sam back for us.���
���I want to come.���
She hugged him again and kissed the top of his head.
���I want you to wait here, Dan the Man. I want you to be here when I come back. I want to know that you���re safe here, with Babette, waiting for me. I���ll have something to look forward to then. Do you understand?���
Dan relaxed his hold on her and she delivered him to Babette���s arms. Then she brushed his cheek with her hand and left.
Alice stopped in the doorway of the Colonna sitting room. In the golden light that was now coming through the windows, they looked like characters overacting the drama of waiting. Paul and G��rard were sitting side by side on the undersized sofa. Paul was leaning forward, inspecting his hands, and G��rard sat bolt upright, his arms crossed over his military raincoat. Santini was sitting on the edge of Stuart���s bed between two policemen, one of whom was the fat one who had barred her way the other night. They had both changed out of their uniforms into tracksuits. Santini���s hands were still cuffed behind his back. Stuart, who was standing by the fireplace talking into a mobile phone, seemed to be the only one not trapped by the languor.
She stayed by the door, repeating in her head fragments of what she had been told: they knew what area Sam was in; there would be a transmitting device in the bag of money; there would be four cars, all in radio contact. But the old anxiety had filled her, leaving no room for thought. Her body was cold with panic again and her mind slid off the facts.
She watched Stuart put his hand into the pocket of his trousers and take the weight off his right foot. He was wearing a clean shirt. Alice noted the shift in her perception of him and how her mind had covered its tracks, masking the way back. She was aware that she had placed all her hope in him, that this man who had been worthy of pity had somehow become heroic to her.
Stuart was punching out another number.
Santini shouted from the bed.
���Hang up. I said hang up. We said no calls, otherwise there���s no deal. Hang up, Stuart!���
Stuart looked at Santini while he yelled, but did not hang up.
���Mesguish, please,��� Stuart said into the phone. He kept his eye on Santini, who did not move. ���It���s me. I���m at the Colonna house. I need back-up. We have a lead to pick up the child. Lasserre knows. Call her.��� There was a pause. Stuart kept looking at Santini. ���I can���t go into details ��� I have four cars here. There���s a technician on his way with the tracking equipment. It���s beyond that, Mesguish. We���re moving to pick up the child. I need you to get everyone on standby. When I give the signal, you go in and get the child.��� There was another pause. Santini tried to stand up and the policeman with the crew-cut gripped his arm and held him down. The policewoman stepped closer in case she was needed. She had taken off her jacket and tie and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. ���I don���t know that yet,��� Stuart was saying. ���I hope I���ll be covering the drop-off. Do you have Cesari���s map? He eliminated the valleys. Yes, they���re on high ground. It���s about an hour and a half from you. Get two opaque vans. Take your men if you have to but take Cesari with you. He knows the terrain.��� There was a pause. ���No. We need men, not cars. They���re in the middle of nowhere. Just take one car with a decent radio. Call Morin and ask him for his dogs. Not trackers, Alsatians. Mesguish. This is your rescue operation, all right? It���s yours. Do you understand?���
He hung up and put the phone in his jacket pocket.
���I���m not joking, Stuart.���
Stuart glanced over at Santini.
���Can we have some light?��� he said.
The policewoman turned on a standing lamp beside her.
���If you want my help, Stuart, you���re going to have to play straight.���
���What are you talking about?��� Stuart said. ���You got what you wanted. I���m here with you. I���m not digging up your villa, am I? Let���s see you play straight.��� He looked at Alice for the first time. ���This woman trusted you. You boasted you could get her son back for her.���
Coco did not answer. He looked at Alice as though suddenly acknowledging that she was the real audience. She looked down and he turned back to Stuart.
���They don���t survive because you kill them,��� Stuart said.
���They don���t survive,��� Coco said. ���Full stop.���
���There���s the difference between us. You think people here are born corrupt. I think they just follow a leader. But you agree with me,��� Stuart added. ���Otherwise you wouldn���t have killed Titi.���
���It sticks in your throat that, doesn���t it?���
���It sticks in everyone���s throat.���
Santini glanced again at Alice. This time she faced him. The effect of the handcuffs behind his back thickened his neck, forcing his head forward.
Stuart looked at his watch.
���It���s two-fifteen. We���re going to call Karim.��� He looked over at Santini. ���Ready?���
���First let me out of these,��� he said to Stuart.
Stuart nodded at Joachim. The youth unlocked the handcuffs and delivered them over to Stuart, who then turned to G��rard and Paul.
���Wait in the kitchen, will you? When the technician comes, make him wait with you.���
Alice sensed that Stuart and Santini were preparing to act out their own private drama, that she would have to fight for a place in it. Santini was sitting with his ankle resting on the opposite thigh. The memory of their first meeting returned, filling her with disgust.
She stepped aside while the others left the room. She was afraid for a moment that Stuart would ask her to leave with them, but he did not. She stood by the door and watched him cross the room to Coco.
���You can use my phone,��� he said, holding it out. Santini looked at it but did not move. ���Come on, Santini. For God���s sake.���