by mark mctighe
“Don’ worry, I’ll call” Stephan said.
I left the two men talking over their third cup of tea; the map triggering a wave of childhood memories.
As I pulled open the car door Robert called out. “Wait we’ve just come up with a third possibility.” I jogged back in and spread the map. “It’s on the other side of the lake, between Pointe de Lona and Bec de Bosson. We only ever found it once; the stream must have carved it out, a flat roofed cave, high enough to stand up in. I think it was here, the entrance right next to the stream, Stephan thought it was higher up, with the entrance next to the other stream.” He showed me both locations.
“Von Arx Land?” I queried.
“Yes” they said in unison.
I raised my hand in thanks and drove off to find Pascal.
As I drove back through St Luc I wondered if the Epiney cousins had any grudges against Marc and Mattieau and their families. Was this good old fashioned local politics? Or was there substance in their accusations? I knew that Pascoe had it in him to murder. He had tried to eliminate me to get the photo; a photograph that linked him directly with the murdered. I kept coming back to one thing, focus on the living, assume he is living, and find Gustav.
As I drove into Pinsec I could see Pascal was leaning on his car inhaling the smoke of his cigarette deeply; lovingly.
“I’ve had him taken down to Sion for questioning” he said. “I couldn’t get much out of him, he’d gone into shock”.
“The old boys have come up with a couple of locations that need to be checked.” I opened the map on his bonnet; torch in hand; “this and this are the strong favourites; they’re also on the side of the valley that Simone saw the cars. This is the third.” I pointed to the location near Lona. “I could recce this one if your team cover the others, then I could look in at the Lona cow sheds to see if there’s any sign of Pierre or Raphy; then cut across to check on Rufus.”
Pascal looked at me hard “recce only Leo, and call in if you see anything”. Pascal knew it was time for desperate measures, that the likelihood of Gustav being alive diminished with every second.
“I’ll drive up to Moiry and pass these details on” Pascal said. “The signal is shit up there, so let’s try and get into areas with a decent signal at 5.00am and compare notes.” I transferred the locations onto Pascal’s map and handed it back.
“Let’s be careful out there” I said.
“Recce! And talk at 5.00” he reinforced.
We left Pinsec together and drove up towards Grimentz. Pascal took the road to Moiry and I took the service road to Bendola. I reckoned on being able to drive to within an hour’s march of the caves, thanks to the Defender.
The road was rough at best, ‘the approach hardly stealthily’ I thought. Bendola’s profile came over the horizon. The low, angular, concrete construction resembled an aid raid shelter; an ugly building surrounded by such beauty. The functionality could not be brought into question, built to withstand metre upon metre of snow, whilst feeding hundreds of starving skiers throughout the season. I parked the car close to the structure and prepped myself. ‘Rucksack, water, map, head torch, what’s this.’ I thought. I pulled out the transcript of the microfiche. “Mother’s statement” I whispered. I flicked on the head torch and started to read. It was short and Pascal was right it didn’t seem to shine any new light on things. “Wait” I said her words out loud; “I thought he might be at Lona”. Those few words set my heart galloping. Pascal would have thought they were referring to the cow sheds, but perhaps she’d meant somewhere else, the caves. I didn’t waste any more time. I tightened the laces on my boots, pulled up the rucksack and set off up the mountain. The obvious way up was to follow the grass covered piste. This avoided the unstable ground the loose rocks. If I could use the pistes to gain altitude I could traverse across to the caves later, I rationalised. I moved quickly, following the two-man chairlift. The ground levelled off and I transferred onto the path of two long drag lifts. I reached the top of the second draglift at about 4.00am, an hour and ten minutes of walking, jogging, and occasional scrambling.
“Jesus, this is further than I thought”. I took a swig of water and row of Lindt. “Come on Leo” I said encouragingly. The ground became loose. I’d more than enough altitude, now I needed to move south and west and probably lose 100 ft of height. After about five minutes I came to a track, no doubt created by the frequent footfall of the Chamois and Ibex. I followed the path for a short distance, and then stopped abruptly. Under a rock ledge to my left was a motorised cart. Perhaps 8ft long and 4ft wide its engine drove two tracks, like a tank or caterpillar. I proceeded slowly, carefully. The noise from the streams provided excellent cover as I approached. ‘Who’s right’ I thought, ‘Robert or Stephan, Stephan thought it was up there, and Robert down there’. I looked up and down to see if there was any obvious opening; nothing.
I took out my phone and put it onto silent, ‘good signal strength here’ I thought. Then I had an idea. I pulled out the number I’d taken from Marc’s chalet and called it. It rang and rang, then went to messages. I tried again, this time it rang once and was answered. “Raphy, whob, ray Pierre wol, signal, outside”. I hung up and called again immediately. About 50ft in front of me a man came out of the mountain side holding a ringing phone.
SIXTEEN
I killed the phone immediately and pushed the screen into my shirt. It was too dark to make out any features on the man, but I could hear him muttering to himself. I felt my phone gently vibrating as he returned the call. After a short while the phone stopped vibrating, he looked around, checked his watch again, and went back into the cave.
I backed off and composed a text to Pascal; ‘found Lona cave, it’s occupied! No helicopters please, surprise the key’ I pressed send. I thought for a minute or so and composed a second text; ‘seems to be a path up, may be possible to bring quad bikes close, but not too close.’ I sent the message and my phone immediately vibrated. I opened the inbox and read Pascal’s message; ‘sit tight, will be there 2 hours max. No intervention. Pascal’. The phone vibrated again, ‘make that 90 minutes’.
I took up a position just over the brow of the next ridge, with a direct line of sight on the cave entrance and the track. Taking out the binoculars I focused on the area where I’d seen the man. The morning light was just starting to break and I could make out a hollow in the undergrowth. I ducked down as a man came into sight. Slowly I raised my head and glasses. He wore a checked shirt and brown trousers. He looked short, strong, and as brown as a nut. His face I’d seen before ‘the banshee boy’ I thought, this must be cousin Pierre, ‘yes, family resemblance.’
He didn’t waste any time, scrambling up the bank, and throwing a bag into the cart. The engine caught immediately, he slid it into gear and started to move. ‘What to do?’ I thought. For some reason I expected him to head back towards the cow sheds, but instead he came straight towards me, passing within 20ft. ‘Where are you going now?’ I thought. I could hear the pop pop of the engine as he disappeared over the ridge; the cart, with its low centre of gravity and tracks making light work of the most challenging of terrain. I moved quickly to the cave entrance. There was no sound so I edged in slowly. My eyes took a minute to adjust, the distant pop popping giving me the confidence that I still had time to check. I flicked on my head torch, there just wasn’t enough light to see properly. I scanned the cave; camp bed and sleeping bag, gas bottles connected to a heater and small hob; tins of food. I moved to the back of the cave; empty, nothing to indicate that Gustav had ever been here. The popping of the engine had stopped, I couldn’t afford to lose track of Pierre so I started to leave.
It was pure luck that I was standing in the darkest corner of the cave when Pierre came scuttling in. The beam of his torch had seen better days and seemed to illuminate only the ground in front of him. He knelt next to his bed, thrust his hand underneath, and brought out a case; seconds later his was gone. I waited and listened, after what seemed an intermin
able period I heard pop pop, and knew that Pierre was on his way.
Pascal answered immediately, “Leo”.
“He’s left the cave, no sign of Gustav, I’m following” I said.
“Good, track him; he may lead us to the others. Marc and Mattieau have gone AWOL as well, fuck knows what’s happening, but I feel we’re getting closer.”
“I’ll text my locations on a regular basis; I’ve got my Garmin so I’ll just send the coordinates.”
“We won’t jeopardise your position Leo, but we need to take over the surveillance as soon as”.
“I understand” I said.
I sent my first coordinates to Pascal after 30 minutes. Progress was slow so I knew it wouldn’t be long before he caught up and took over.
Perhaps it was the exhaustion that made me start to think irrationally, but I kept thinking about Gustav, and how every second was now vitally important. I knew that if Pierre didn’t lead us to Gustav, then the best that Pascal could do was to arrest him and interview him. Well that wasn’t going to be any good for Gustav. I, on the other hand, had none of their restraints. This was a man who had come to my home and tried to cripple me, who doubtless knew exactly where Gustav was. He wouldn’t respond to questioning, he’d say nothing and then it would be too late.
If I was going to exert my own pressure on Pierre I needed to do it now. Everything would be ‘by the book’ and stagnate the minute Pascal arrived. I didn’t need to behave like police.
I made the decision to intervene.
We had been climbing constantly and the terrain had changed. The greenery and undergrowth had been replaced with rock and lichen and we were now well above the tree line. This made it much harder to follow Pierre. I used rocks as cover and tried to follow below or above, as the ground and cover allowed.
I stood behind a large boulder and called Pascal; “there’s no cover up here Pascal, you’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you follow.”
“Where the fuck’s he going?” Pascal replied.
“We wouldn’t be going up this ridge if Sasseneire wasn’t his destination, we must be nearly here” I said. We were now above 3000m and the cold wind brought a flurry of snow.
“We’ve lost you in the cloud” he said, lowering his field glasses.
“It’s snow, and judging by those clouds there’s a dump to come.”
“But it’s fucking September.”
“Don’t worry; it’ll be rain where you are. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve found out where he’s going”
“Ok” he said reluctantly; there was no choice.
Pierre stopped the cart and pulled a tarpaulin over the bags. ‘We must be here’. I scrambled over the ridge and edged closer, using the ridge to screen my approach. The last 200 metres were slow, I chose each foothold carefully, it was critical that I retained the element of surprise. I could see the cart, about 30ft away; He sat on the back smoking, the hood of his jacket pulled up. The snow was heavy now, settling on the tarpaulin, the hood, and shoulders of his jacket. ‘What the fuck’s he waiting for now?’ I thought. He sat like that for a further 15 minutes, smoking two more cigarettes. His phone rang.
“Yes, I’m here, no” he looked down the mountain to check he’d not been followed but the snow and cloud obscured his view. “I’m absolutely positive, I’d have seen them, it’s too exposed; should be there about” he checked his watch and made a calculation, “say midday, cheers”. He put the phone away.
My fingers were numb from the wet cold; I shook the blood back into them placing them carefully back on the rock face for balance. My finger dislodged a small rock which in turn knocked a larger one and so on and so forth, seemingly in slow motion, the rock fall began. I saw him move to his bag, ‘a gun’ I thought. I slid my legs over the ridge and followed the path of the rock fall 30 ft down, near vertical. An overhanging rock stratum sliced at my face, cutting deeply into my cheek. The pain; excruciating, but still I managed to land squarely on my feet. I sprang forward onto Pierre and knocked him into the cart. He was strong, but not a fighter, I drove the heel of my open hand into his nose, flattening it like a pancake, the gristle cracking audibly; he screamed. I pushed him to the floor and grabbed his bag turning it out into the back of the cart. Spreading the items I scanned the contents for a gun, running my fingers through, back and forth; nothing. I pulled the suitcase over, the one he’d returned to fetch from under the bed; it was locked.
I turned to face him; he remained on the floor, sitting in a pool of our blood. Behind him an enormous wooden door guarded an opening, bolted, and padlocked; not visible from the ridge.
“Is he in there? …….Keys” I said offering my open hand. He said nothing. “Fucking keys Pierre”. He sat on the floor, motionless, plotting his next move. I watched him carefully as I checked the items I’d thrown into the back of the cart. There was nothing that was going to get me through the padlocked entrance. I found a screw driver by the carts controls, small, probably used for fine tuning the petrol mix on the carburettor. I jammed it behind the catch on the unopened case and levered it forwards, it wouldn’t give. I tried the other side; as the catch started to rip out of the body of the case Pierre sprang an attack. Hurling a rock, he charged, body low; in his other hand he held a wedge of rock, the size of a brick, sharp, flint like. The first rock made a glancing contact with the side of my head. I didn’t feel any pain, just a jerking motion as my head jarred to the left. I steadied myself. I parried the swinging arm and drove my fist into his solar plexus. As his head collapsed downwards, the wind knocked out of him, I lifted my knee into his broken face. He passed out.
His phone was the only contents of his pockets. There was no need for a wallet up here. I turned my attention to the case. Ripping out the catch enabled me to open one side, then I just used force and leverage to open the other side. The case was foam filled and contained five chalices; simple, gold. I picked one up and weighed it in my hand. ‘That’s not going to break the padlock’ I thought. On the back of the chalice an eye was engraved.
I pressed the call button on my phone.
“What’s happening?” Pascal blurted out.
“Clear for you guys to come up, we need some serious bolt cutters, there’s a lock up of some sort, and I think Gustav’s inside” I hung up. Pierre was starting to come around.
I turned him over “where are the keys Pierre? Where are they?” I could feel the phone vibrating in my pocket.
“The police will be here with bolt cutters in 10 minutes, so you might as well tell me”. In retrospect it was probably those words that made him feel it was now or never. In his mind it was his last chance to see me off and make an exit. I’d killed his family and he was going to try to take me down. He staggered to his feet feigning a desire to show me where the keys were. He led me up the ridge and made a feeble swing. He fell and slid and tumbled down to the bottom of the ridge. He wouldn’t survive that.
The phone vibrated again “Pascal”, I said.
“Jesus Christ Leo, I thought that was you. Can you stop sending me fucking bodies?”
“He fell, more suicide than anything else. How long before you’re here?”
“I’ve sent one of the mountain guides up ahead, he’s the fastest here, another 10 to 15 minutes I guess.”
“I’ll keep looking for keys, they’ve got to be here somewhere” I ended the call.
Unwittingly Pierre had implied that the keys were hidden. I walked back up the ridge he’d fallen from. Another ten feet on and there was a hollow; large enough for a man to get in; half way up there was a hole in the rock. ‘It can’t be this easy’ I thought. I pushed my hand in; empty. I twisted my hand upwards, the hole continued and doubled back. I could feel something; keys; ten seconds later I had the key in the lock. It turned easily and the padlock fell open.
SEVENTEEN
If anyone had been able to see into the mountainside they would have witnessed the most pitiful of sights.
A naturally formed cave provided t
he absolute soundproofing with the entrance barred by an oak door of epic proportions, bolted, and padlocked. Inside a lantern flickered in the poisoning atmosphere. A body, life draining out of it, tied to a witheringly cold slab of granite; so cold, so lonely, so silent; hopeless.
The lock had opened easily enough but the door was a challenge. Perhaps it was the blood draining from the facial gash, the glancing blow from the rock, or the cumulative effect of sleep deprivation and injury, whatever, I was spent. With one final effort I opened the oak and metal door just far enough for me to slip in. After the piercing brightness of altitude and snow the cave offered the visibility of a black hole, all light absorbed entirely.
“Gustav” my voice was strong. The word Gustav echoed back; holding for a second in the frozen atmosphere. I searched my pockets for the head torch. ‘Shit, must have fallen out of my pocket’ I thought. Slowly my eyes began to adjust to the black. A blade of light from the open door cut through the first few metres. I walked back and pushed the door from the inside, forcing another 6 inches of opening, I pushed again, another inch, another inch, another inch; the door opened.
“Gustav” the same soulless echo replied.
My eyes began to adjust again. The cave was deep. The black walls absorbing whatever light could muster the interest to penetrate. The air was stale and with the door closed it would have felt hermetically sealed. A dull putrid smell, possibly the smell of fear, of human crap had been awoken by the open door and a circulation of air. My eyes had now adjusted as much as they were going to. I peered into the dark recesses of the cave, careful not to impair my vision by looking at the incoming light. Still nothing; “Gustav, for fuck’s sake, it’s Leo”; the acoustics of the cave playing games echoed ‘Leo’ back, as if he was calling for me. I stumbled and slipped on the uneven surface, falling forwards, I lay still and listened. A dripping sound was audible from my left as water particles accumulated and fell from the cave’s roof. Every three to four seconds another drip. “Gustav” I shouted, pulling myself back up to my knees. I crawled forwards to the end of the cave, a passage curled away to the left, towards the only sound; drip. Surely my eyes couldn’t be fooling me, it seemed lighter, ‘perhaps a second entrance’ I thought ‘no, the air wouldn’t smell like this’. I stood and slowly walked around the corner. A lantern flickered and almost died, the paraffin perilously low. First I saw a foot, a blue white colour; a blood black binding having bitten deeply and barely distinguishable from the encrusted ankle it held. I moved forward bracing myself for what I was about to discover. “Gustav, Gustav, Gustav” I kept saying his name whilst searching for any sign of life, a pulse, a breath. His body was so cold, naked and tied to a large slab of rock. The self inflicted wounds of struggle marked his wrists, ankles, and neck. His translucent skin seemed to move with the dying flickers of the lamp. His stomach and thighs were blackened and covered with rough hard whelks. ‘It looks like they were torturing you, threatening to castrate with fire, the bastards’. Still I could feel no pulse, if there was a heart beat it was now so slow and weak that I couldn’t detect it. I stood with him and held his hand; I needed Pascal’s team to arrive.