by Rachel Green
“You’ve been getting up to your old tricks with the Algerian, I take it?”
A pair of moody eyes turned to look at him. “His name’s Etienne.”
Etienne, yeah. Good old-fashioned French name that. Enzo had never liked him. His family had come over as illegals twenty-five years ago and for some reason the authorities had allowed them to stay. He and Paolo had been in the same class at school, and in their early twenties had decided to bring over a few migrants themselves: Etienne had the boat, Paolo the talent for forging documents. His brother had a naïve notion he was doing good, helping them find a better life in Europe, and would charge the bare minimum, throw in a few fake documents, even let them bed down for a few nights if they needed to. There was good money to be made from that game, but the kids were clueless.
“So what happened?”
Paolo went on bagging up his things. Enzo gave him a few moments and then took his feet off the table. “Come on, Paolo – talk to me. Whatever happened I can sort it out.”
“You reckon?”
“They fall off the boat and drown, or what?”
“Just stay out of it.” Paolo turned his back while he unlocked one of his cupboards. He shuffled some things around to make space for the passports.
“It’s not your fault if they did. They know the risks. If they can’t hack it they should go back to where they came from.”
Paolo’s head jerked round this time and Enzo tried hard not to grin. It was nice to know he could still find the right buttons to press.
“Is that what happened?”
No response.
“If you’re in any kind of trouble I really do need to know. Look at it from where I’m sat: my only brother gets mixed up with some dead migrants and the first I hear about it is on the TV. How do you think that makes me feel?”
Enzo would never show it but he was genuinely hurt. His mind went back to those two kids playing in the snow. That year they’d had a massive downfall and school was shut for days. Kids from every street had come out to play. Maybe the last time he’d ever been truly happy. He snapped back.
“Has Etienne got rid of the boat?”
“He came round this morning.”
“And?”
“He said he would take care of it.”
“Was there any other evidence?”
Paolo was taking his time locking up the cupboard so Enzo got up and went over.
“Any documents, phones, clothes? Whatever you used that night needs to be got rid of.”
“I’m not stupid.” Paolo sneered at him and went back to the table. Enzo followed, one last trick up his sleeve.
“Look. I’ve got something big going on. There’s a shipment coming in soon and I don’t want any attention coming my way. So if it’s money you need—” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a roll of cash. He tossed it onto the table where it bounced towards the edge. “You know I’m here for you.”
Paolo’s eyes went after it like a hungry dog. Standing at his shoulder, Enzo could sense the desire coming off him. The kid would take it, he always did. And Enzo would go on bailing him out, no matter how many stupid capers he got himself involved in.
Enzo retrieved the cash from the edge of the table and pressed it into his brother’s chest. “Take it. It’s yours.”
Paolo’s hand twitched as he reached up for it. “I’ll pay it back.”
Enzo nodded. “Let’s go down to the office. You can write me a receipt.”
***
Margot listened for the closing of the door and then cautiously came out from behind the curtain. They’d turned off the lights, so she switched on her torch and carefully made her way back to the door. When she tried the handle, however, she found it locked. Damn. She quickly scanned for another way out. The only possibility was the window, though it looked as if it hadn’t been opened in a while. Eyes searching the table, she found the passports gone. Foolishly she’d neglected to take any photos.
She moved a chair over to the window and at full stretch was just about able to raise the catch. Hooking her hands onto the thin metal frame she hauled herself up, kicking her legs to feed herself through. Luckily there was a flat roof below which she dropped onto with the gracefulness of a cat burglar. Reaching back up, she managed to close the window without making a sound.
Rooftops surrounded her. It was close to midnight and no lights shone from any of the buildings. Unsure of her next move, Margot paused. It was obvious from the conversation that Paolo was involved in smuggling the migrants, but it wasn’t exactly hard evidence. She could only hope that together with the contents of the backpack it would be enough to persuade the police to carry out a search.
She moved to the edge of the flat roof and peered down into the lane at the rear of the garage. It was a drop of at least five metres, but fortunately there was a sturdy drainpipe which she managed to shimmy down. She hurried round to the front of the building, and then paused at the corner. The bar at the end of the street was buzzing with life and some revellers had spilled onto the pavement. A black Mercedes was parked on the garage forecourt, and when Margot leaned out she could see light escaping from the waiting room window. It was a short hop across the street to the railway arch, another fifty metres to where she’d parked the car, but there was no way of getting there without passing the front of the garage. She had to risk it.
The security light caught her unawares. When it came on, Margot couldn’t help turning her head. As bad luck would have it, the front door opened just at that moment and two men emerged. Suddenly, it was like she’d been caught red-handed: the two men stood staring while she froze in the middle of the road. When Paolo locked eyes on her she knew she’d been recognised. But she quickly turned her head and carried on walking.
Margot felt their eyes following her every step of the way, though neither of them came after her. As soon as she was through the railway arch she increased her speed, and then broke into a run when she reached the line of parked cars. Tucking herself in behind the wheel, she closed the car door as softly as she could, and wasted no time manoeuvring out of the parking space. It was only when she was back on the main road, speeding towards home, that she realised she’d neglected to switch on her headlights.
***
Enzo stared into his brother’s surprised eyes and asked the question both of them appeared to be thinking:
“Who the hell was that?”
Paolo stepped into the street, confused. A hundred metres away a white Clio was heading away from them at speed, headlights out. When Paolo turned back, a look of realisation was dawning on his face.
“Goddammit.”
“What?”
“I know that car.”
Enzo stepped closer. “Who was it?”
“Some woman. She came into the garage earlier.”
“To do what?”
Enzo followed like a shadow as his brother marched back inside. “Paolo, who was she?”
Paolo halted in the middle of the workshop, rubbing the back of his neck. “She reckoned her engine wouldn’t start but it was just a pulled fuse.”
Enzo frowned. “You mean she faked it?”
Paolo shrugged irritably.
“What the …” The pressure in Enzo’s temples started to build. His head throbbed as he paced the workshop, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. He had a sixth sense for trouble. You needed to in his line of work. Halting, he pushed a flattened palm up into the air. “And where the hell did she come from just now?”
“Hell knows.”
“For god’s sake …”
“She was probably just some reporter, snooping around.”
“But how did she get your address?”
Paolo had no answer.
“Jesus, Paolo!”
Enzo strode into the office. For several long moments he kept his back turned, afraid of what he might say if he let loose. Sometimes his brother’s incompetence astounded him.
There wa
s silence for a while. Then Paolo said, “I didn’t get her name, but I took her registration.”
Enzo’s jaw slackened. He turned slowly to face his brother, still out in the workshop. “All right. Give it to me. I’ll deal with it.”
Chapter 13
It was well after midnight when Margot got back to Argents. She drove into the main car park in the centre of town and reversed the Clio into a dark corner, hidden from view of the surrounding buildings. Streetlamps lit the way as she walked home, but she kept her wits about her even though no one was around. Only when she’d made it safely back to her house and had closed the door behind her did she even think about relaxing.
She poured herself a large cognac. Perched on the edge of the settee with just the table lamp on, her hands shook ever so slightly. It was late, but she was keen to get her thoughts in order, jot down a record of what she’d seen and heard, remember as many details as she could. She would go to the police first thing in the morning, though the thought of seeing Captain Bouchard again turned her stomach. Better to call Pierre first, see what he could do. She drank the cognac in three gulps, and finally went to bed in the early hours, tossing and turning and waking again at four.
***
At nine o’clock she called Pierre’s office in Paris, but he was busy on a case so she had to leave a message. For thirty minutes she sat and stared at her phone, waiting in vain for him to call back. Needing to clear her head, Margot put on her Speedo and went to the cove.
The poor night’s sleep had left her with a headache and she’d barely swum out five hundred metres when her energy started to decline. Her arms and legs were as loose as jelly, her joints achy. To make matters worse, it started to rain, and not just lightly – hard heavy raindrops shot down from the sky in a way that reminded her of Paris. She swam straight back in and climbed up onto the rocks, shivering under the onslaught.
“There you are!”
Margot spun at the sound of a man’s voice. She was stunned to see Raul working his way towards her along the headland path, an open umbrella over his head. Annoyed at having her space so rudely invaded, Margot began gathering her things.
“So this is where you come to swim.” He reached the end of the path and stepped up onto the rock next to hers. “Awful weather, isn’t it?” He offered her the cover of his umbrella, but Margot shied away. “Don’t you have a coat?”
“I’m wet already.”
“But you’re shivering.”
Margot looked at him in consternation. “I’m fine,” she insisted, and snatched up her bag. She pulled out her clothes and started putting them on, despite the fact she was still soaking wet. She felt clumsy with him watching and struggled to get her trousers on, almost toppling as she hopped on one leg.
“Here – let me help.”
“No!” She turned away from his proffered hand.
Despite her protests, Raul kept moving the umbrella around to try and keep her covered. The fact he was still watching made Margot increasingly uncomfortable and she came close to losing her cool. Why wouldn’t he just go away?
“I saw you come in just now. You’re a very strong swimmer.”
“I’ve had plenty of practice.”
“Isn’t it rather dangerous, though? Going out so far.”
“Only when people drive their boats at you.”
He laughed. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
Not likely. Margot pulled off her bathing cap and shook out her hair. It sprayed the front of his trousers and made him step back, but she didn’t care. She gave him a look as if to ask why he was still there, though he didn’t seem to get it. “You’re not out playing with your toy today?” she sneered.
“No. I’m waiting for a telephone call. My daughter’s just gone into hospital. I may have to go to Madrid.”
Margot immediately stopped what she was doing. “You mean you’re leaving Argents?”
Raul seemed surprised by the question and didn’t answer right away. Margot lowered her eyes, realising her mistake. That probably wasn’t the first thing she should have said. The sound of the rain pattering his umbrella suddenly got louder.
“Hopefully it won’t be for long,” he said.
She finished getting dressed, a little less hurriedly now. Some shingle had found its way into her sandal so she shook it out before sliding it onto her foot. “Is she all right, your daughter?”
“They said it was just a precaution. She’s been having a difficult pregnancy. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Margot fastened her bag, knotting the drawstring a little more tightly than was necessary. The rain was running down her face now despite Raul’s attempts to shelter her.
“Are you going back into town?” he asked.
She nodded.
“In that case why don’t we find a nice warm café? I can buy you a coffee.”
“I’m sorry, I need to get back.”
He came a little closer, ostensibly so they could both be under the umbrella. Margot had no choice but to look closely at his face. Her gaze travelled tentatively across his soft pink lips, up to his pearly blue eyes, just like Hugo’s. There was something comforting about the way he was looking at her and it made her heart feel a little bit softer.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he said. “You seem a little troubled.”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help …”
Margot shook her head. “You’re very kind, but I have to go.”
He accompanied her back around the headland, but as soon as they reached the harbour they went their separate ways.
***
Margot went home and changed into dry clothes. She sat at the kitchen table and stared at her phone, but the screen didn’t change: no missed calls. Before she knew it, half the morning had gone. When she called Pierre’s office she was told he was still busy. No, she didn’t want to leave a message. Running out of options, it seemed she would have to go and see Captain Bouchard, though perhaps not just yet. Despite the bad weather, she walked to the car park where she’d left the Clio and then drove it back to the rental shop.
The man at the desk must have remembered her because he greeted her by name.
“Was everything satisfactory?”
“Yes.”
“You had no problems with the car?”
He was looking at her rather oddly: glancing up from the tops of his eyes while his hands got on with the paperwork. Margot frowned at him. What was he implying? Did he know she’d taken it to the garage? Did they automatically do that when a hire car came in for repair? Margot cursed herself, feeling an amateur. She should have come up with a better plan.
“Everything was fine,” she said and determinedly held the man’s eye when he looked up. She scribbled her signature on the bottom of the form.
She took a taxi back to town. Paolo would have taken her registration, that was to be expected, and he could have used it to find out where she’d hired the car from, though she couldn’t believe the rental place would have given out any of her details. Surely they wouldn’t have passed on her address. Unless they’d been got at in some way – who knew how far Paolo’s and Enzo’s influence extended. Margot had the taxi driver take her straight to the gendarmerie.
The same young man was on duty. His face lit up as soon as he saw her come in and he seemed pleased to see her this time.
“Ah, Madame Renard. Back again so soon?”
“I need to speak to Captain Bouchard. It’s urgent.”
The gendarme pulled a face. “I’m afraid the captain is not here today.” And it was obvious from his tone that this time he was telling the truth. “He’s away on a course.”
“Is there anyone else I can see?”
“I’m afraid we’re a little short-staffed at the moment. One of our investigating officers is off sick and the other is out on a job.”
Margot let out a sigh. Why did it seem lik
e everything was conspiring against her?
“Can I take a message?”
Margot shook her head. “No. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
The rain had stopped when she came back out. Shafts of warm sunlight were poking through the clouds, and the tourists were emerging from the shelter of the shops and cafés as she headed back down Rue Voltaire. Unable to escape the feeling that people were looking at her, Margot detoured into Place Saint-Marc where she was relieved to see Raymond serving tables outside Le Paname. She dragged a chair over to the corner and sat with her back to the square.
“A café crème?” Raymond prompted when she was slow to order.
“Please.” Elbows on the table, shoulders slumped, Margot radiated gloom.
“Bad day?”
“You could say that.”
“Did your friend manage to sort out her car?”
“Friend?” She queried him with a frown, but then quickly cottoned on. “Oh yes. My friend. The one with the car.” She leaned back in her seat while Raymond wiped the table. She struck a match and lit a cigarette, her mood mellowing as she pulled in that satisfying first lungful. “No,” she said, and blew a small cloud of smoke into the air. “I’m afraid my friend may have done something rather foolish instead.”
“Oh?” Raymond was all ears.
“She didn’t go to the Citroën garage.”
“Oh,” Raymond said again, though this time in a much lower tone.
Margot defused his curiosity with a smile. It would have been nice to confide in him but it was far too dangerous. He was such a sweetie.
“Sometimes I think my friend doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing,” she muttered, and all Raymond could do was walk away looking a little bit perplexed.