THE NOSTRADAMUS PROPHECIES

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THE NOSTRADAMUS PROPHECIES Page 28

by Mario Reading


  ‘And you we­re first on the sce­ne?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. My col­le­ague and I.’

  ‘And what did you see?’

  ‘Very lit­tle, Sir. The gypsi­es we­re im­pe­ding us on pur­po­se.’

  ‘Typi­cal.’ Mac­ron gla­red aro­und the squ­are. ‘I’m surp­ri­sed they get any to­urists at all in this pla­ce. Lo­ok at the filth aro­und he­re.’

  Cal­que cle­ared his thro­at - it was a ha­bit he had re­cently got in­to whe­ne­ver Mac­ron ma­de one of his mo­re of­fen­si­ve pub­lic ob­ser­va­ti­ons. Af­ter all, he co­uldn’t ac­tu­al­ly tie the man’s bo­ot­la­ces for him, co­uld he? Co­uldn’t tell him what - or what not - to think? ‘What did you de­du­ce, then, Of­fi­cer? If you co­uldn’t see.’

  ‘That the per­pet­ra­tor, La Ro­upie, had thrown his kni­fe at the vic­tim, An­ge­lo, catc­hing him in the eye.’

  ‘Ale­xi An­ge­lo?’

  ‘No, Sir. Ste­fan An­ge­lo. The­re was no Ale­xi in­vol­ved, as far as I un­ders­tand it.’

  ‘Is Mon­si­e­ur An­ge­lo pres­sing char­ges?’

  ‘No, Sir. The­se pe­op­le ne­ver press char­ges aga­inst one of the­ir own. They sort out the­ir dif­fe­ren­ces pri­va­tely.’

  ‘And of co­ur­se Mon­si­e­ur An­ge­lo was no lon­ger car­rying his own kni­fe when you went to his as­sis­tan­ce? So­me­one had di­ves­ted him of it? Am I right?’

  ‘I don’t know that for cer­ta­in, Sir. But yes. In all pro­ba­bi­lity he’d pal­med it off on to so­me­one el­se.’

  ‘I told you.’ Mac­ron stab­bed his fin­ger in the air. ‘I told you this wo­uldn’t get us anyw­he­re.’

  Cal­que glan­ced ac­ross at the church. ‘Anything el­se of no­te?’

  ‘What do you me­an, Sir?’

  ‘I me­an did an­yo­ne no­ti­ce anyt­hing el­se hap­pe­ning at the sa­me ti­me? Thefts? A cha­se? Anot­her at­tack? Co­uld it ha­ve be­en a di­ver­si­on, in ot­her words?’

  ‘No, Sir. Not­hing of that sort was bro­ught to my at­ten­ti­on.’

  ‘Very well. You can go.’

  The gen­dar­me sa­lu­ted and re­tur­ned to his mo­torcyc­le.

  ‘Shall we go and in­ter­vi­ew An­ge­lo? He’ll still be in hos­pi­tal.’

  ‘No. No ne­ed. It wo­uld be an ir­re­le­van­ce.’

  Mac­ron ma­de a fa­ce. ‘How do you work that one out?’ He se­emed di­sap­po­in­ted that his ini­ti­ati­ve over La Ro­upie had led them to a de­ad end.

  But Cal­que’s at­ten­ti­on was el­sew­he­re. ‘What is ac­tu­al­ly go­ing on he­re?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir?’

  ‘Why are all the­se gypsi­es he­re? Now? This mi­nu­te? What is hap­pe­ning? Why ha­ve they co­me? It’s not anot­her wed­ding, is it?’

  Mac­ron lo­oked in ama­ze­ment at his chi­ef. Well. The man was a Pa­ri­si­an. But still. ‘It’s the an­nu­al fes­ti­val of Sa­in­te Sa­ra, Sir. It ta­kes pla­ce to­mor­row. The gypsi­es fol­low the sta­tue of the­ir pat­ron sa­int down to the sea, whe­re it is im­mer­sed in the wa­ter. It’s be­en go­ing on for de­ca­des.’

  ‘The sta­tue? What sta­tue?’

  ‘It’s in the church, Sir. It’s…’ Mac­ron he­si­ta­ted.

  ‘Is it black, Mac­ron? Is the sta­tue black?’

  Mac­ron bre­at­hed de­eply thro­ugh his no­se. He­re we go aga­in, he tho­ught. He’s go­ing to scold me for be­ing an idi­ot. Why can’t I think la­te­ral­ly, li­ke him? Why do I al­ways go everyw­he­re in stra­ight li­nes? ‘I was go­ing to men­ti­on it, Sir. I was go­ing to ma­ke that sug­ges­ti­on. That we lo­ok at the sta­tue. See if it has any con­nec­ti­on with what Sa­bir is af­ter.’

  Cal­que was al­re­ady stri­ding to­wards the church. ‘Go­od thin­king, Mac­ron. I’m so glad that I can co­unt on you. Two minds are al­ways bet­ter than one, are they not?’

  The crypt was pac­ked with acoly­tes. Cand­le smo­ke and in­cen­se we­re thick in the air and the­re was the con­ti­nu­al mur­mur of pe­op­le at pra­yer.

  Cal­que ma­de a qu­ick ap­pra­isal. ‘Over the­re. Se­cu­rity. Yes? The one in pla­in clot­hes? With the na­me tag?’

  ‘I sho­uld think so, Sir. I’ll go and check.’

  Cal­que mo­ved to the si­de of the crypt, whi­le Mac­ron pic­ked his way for­wards thro­ugh the crowd. In the dim, flic­ke­ring light, Sa­in­te Sa­ra se­emed al­most di­sem­bo­di­ed be­ne­ath her many la­yers of clot­hing. It was next to im­pos­sib­le that an­yo­ne co­uld get to her un­der the­se con­di­ti­ons. A hund­red pa­irs of eyes we­re fi­xed on her at all ti­mes. The se­cu­rity gu­ard was a mas­si­ve ir­re­le­van­ce. If so­me­one had the te­me­rity to run ac­ross and mo­lest her, they wo­uld pro­bably be lynched.

  Mac­ron was re­tur­ning with the se­cu­rity gu­ard. Cal­que exc­han­ged iden­tity de­ta­ils and then mo­ti­oned the man up the sta­irs to­wards the ma­in body of the church.

  ‘I can’t le­ave. We’ll ha­ve to stay in he­re.’

  ‘Don’t you ever le­ave?’

  ‘Not du­ring the fes­ti­val. We ta­ke fo­ur-ho­ur shifts. Pa­ri pas­su.’

  ‘How many of you are the­re?’

  ‘Two, Sir. One on, one off. With a standby in ca­se of il­lness.’

  ‘We­re you in he­re when the kni­fing oc­cur­red?’

  ‘Yes, Sir.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I didn’t see anyt­hing at all. I was down he­re in the crypt.’

  ‘What? Not­hing at all? You didn’t go out in the squ­are?’

  ‘Mo­re than my job’s worth, Sir. I sta­yed in he­re.’

  ‘And what abo­ut the cong­re­ga­ti­on? Did they all stay?’

  The se­cu­rity gu­ard he­si­ta­ted.

  ‘You’re not trying to tell me that with a ne­ar ri­ot go­ing on out­si­de in the squ­are, every­body simply sta­yed in he­re and kept on pra­ying?’

  ‘No, Sir. Most of them went out.’

  ‘Most of them?’

  ‘Well. All of them.’

  ‘And you fol­lo­wed, of co­ur­se?’

  Si­len­ce.

  Cal­que sig­hed. ‘Lo­ok he­re, Mon­si­e­ur…’

  ‘Alber­ti.’

  ‘…Mon­si­e­ur Al­ber­ti. I’m not cri­ti­ci­sing you. And I’m not he­re on be­half of yo­ur emp­lo­yers at the Town Co­un­cil. What you say to me will not go any furt­her.’

  Alber­ti he­si­ta­ted. Then he shrug­ged. ‘Okay. When the crypt emp­ti­ed, I did go up for a short lo­ok-see. I sto­od right out­si­de the church do­or so that no one co­uld co­me past me, tho­ugh. I tho­ught it might be a mat­ter for Se­cu­rity. I tho­ught I ought to lo­ok.’

  ‘And you we­re right. It might very well ha­ve be­en a mat­ter for Se­cu­rity. I wo­uld ha­ve do­ne the sa­me.’

  Alber­ti didn’t se­em con­vin­ced.

  ‘And when you ca­me back. Still empty?’

  Alber­ti blew out his che­eks.

  Cal­que felt aro­und in his poc­kets and of­fe­red him a ci­ga­ret­te.

  ‘We can’t smo­ke in he­re, Sir. It’s a church.’

  Cal­que cast a ja­un­di­ced eye at the plu­mes of cand­le smo­ke ri­sing to­wards the low-slung ce­iling of the crypt. ‘Answer my qu­es­ti­on then. Was the crypt still empty when you ca­me back in­si­de?’

  ‘As go­od as. The­re was just one man he­re. Stretc­hed out in front of the sta­tue. Pra­ying.’

  ‘One man, you say? And you de­fi­ni­tely hadn’t se­en him when you left?’

  ‘No, Sir. I’d mis­sed him.’

  ‘Right. Mac­ron. Hold this man he­re whi­le I check out the sta­tue.’

  ‘But you can’t, Sir. This is a re­li­gi­o­us fes­ti­val. No­body to­uc­hes the sta­tue un­til to­mor­row.’

  But Cal­que was
al­re­ady stri­ding thro­ugh the mas­sed pha­lanx of pe­ni­tents li­ke Old Fat­her Ti­me with his scythe.

  43

  Cal­que sto­od out­si­de the church, squ­in­ting in­to the la­te-after­no­on suns­hi­ne. ‘I want six de­tec­ti­ves. You can se­cond them from Mar­se­il­le.’

  ‘But that’ll ta­ke ti­me, Sir.’

  ‘I don’t ca­re how long it ta­kes. Or how un­po­pu­lar it ma­kes us. They are to vi­sit every chef de fa­mil­le amongst the­se gypsi­es. Every ca­ra­van. Every le­an-to, tent and ca­ba­non. And I want them to ask the­se qu­es­ti­ons…’ He scrib­bled ra­pidly on a she­et of pa­per and han­ded it to Mac­ron. ‘… the­se spe­ci­fic qu­es­ti­ons.’

  Mac­ron eyed the she­et. ‘What did you find, Sir?’

  ‘I fo­und a ho­le in the ba­se of the sta­tue. And fresh sha­vings scat­te­red in and amongst the knick­knacks sur­ro­un­ding it. Al­so this pi­ece of li­nen. See how it curls up when you let it hang free? Not surp­ri­sing, re­al­ly, se­e­ing as it’s be­en sho­ved in­si­de a sta­tue for the past fi­ve hund­red ye­ars and used as a stop­per.’

  Mac­ron whist­led thro­ugh his te­eth. ‘So Sa­bir fi­nal­ly fo­und what he’s be­en lo­oking for?’

  ‘And what the eye-man is lo­oking for. Yes. Al­most cer­ta­inly.’

  ‘Won’t he get in to­uch with you, Sir?’ Mac­ron co­uldn’t qu­ite ke­ep the sar­cas­tic un­der­to­ne out of his vo­ice.

  ‘Of co­ur­se he won’t. The man has no idea who he is re­al­ly de­aling with.’

  ‘And we do?’

  ‘We are be­gin­ning to. Yes.’

  Mac­ron star­ted back to­wards the car.

  ‘Mac­ron.’

  ‘Yes, Sir?’

  ‘You wan­ted to know what I was up to? Back at the Do­ma­ine de Se­yè­me? With the Co­un­tess?’

  ‘I did. Yes.’ Mac­ron was un­com­for­tably awa­re that he was mis­sing so­met­hing aga­in. So­met­hing his boss had ma­na­ged to te­ase out and which he had mi­sap­pre­hen­ded al­to­get­her.

  ‘Tell the pin­he­ads back in Pa­ris that I’ve got a lit­tle test for them. If they suc­ce­ed at it, I’ll ack­now­led­ge that com­pu­ters might be of so­me use af­ter all. I’ll even ag­ree to carry a mo­bi­le te­lep­ho­ne whilst on duty.’

  Mac­ron wi­de­ned his eyes. ‘And what test might that be, Sir?’

  ‘I want them to tra­ce the Co­un­tess’s el­dest adop­ted son. Ba­le. Or de Ba­le. Firstly, thro­ugh the nuns at the orp­ha­na­ge - that sho­uld be easy eno­ugh. The boy was al­re­ady twel­ve when he was adop­ted. Se­condly, I want them to get me a full run­down of any ca­re­er he might ha­ve had with the Fo­re­ign Le­gi­on, inc­lu­ding a comp­le­te physi­cal desc­rip­ti­on, with par­ti­cu­lar at­ten­ti­on pa­id to his eyes. And if they find that he did be­long to the Le­gi­on, I want so­me­one to go and talk per­so­nal­ly to his com­man­ding of­fi­cer and ask him - no, tell him - that we want ac­cess to the man’s mi­li­tary re­cords. As well as to his own per­so­nal sum­ming-up.’

  ‘But, Sir…’

  ‘They are not to ta­ke no for an ans­wer. This is a mur­der in­qu­iry. I want no non­sen­se from the Le­gi­on abo­ut se­cu­rity and pro­mi­ses they may or may not ma­ke to the­ir men on sign-up.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky, Sir. I know for a fact that they ne­ver sha­re the­ir re­cords with an­yo­ne. I co­me from Mar­se­il­le, re­mem­ber - I grew up with sto­ri­es of the Le­gi­on.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The­ir HQ is at Aubag­ne, only fif­te­en ki­lo­met­res from whe­re my pa­rents li­ve. My se­cond co­usin even be­ca­me a Le­gi­on­na­ire af­ter he was let out of pri­son. He told me that they so­me­ti­mes bend the ru­les and let French pe­op­le jo­in un­der a fal­se na­ti­ona­lity. They even chan­ge the men’s na­mes when they jo­in. They get a new Le­gi­on na­me by which they’re known thro­ug­ho­ut the­ir to­ur of duty. Then, un­less they are shot and be­co­me Fran­ça­is par le sang versé - me­aning French by vir­tue of spil­led blo­od - or un­less they ta­ke ad­van­ta­ge of the right to be­co­me French ci­ti­zens af­ter three ye­ars’ ser­vi­ce, the­ir own na­mes are bu­ri­ed fo­re­ver. You’ll ne­ver find him. For all we know he might even ha­ve be­co­me French for a se­cond ti­me aro­und, but un­der a new iden­tity.’

  ‘I don’t be­li­eve it, Mac­ron. The­ir own na­mes are not lost fo­re­ver. And cer­ta­inly not to re­cords. This is Fran­ce. The Le­gi­on are li­ke any ot­her god­for­sa­ken bu­re­a­uc­racy. Up the­ir own ar­ses with pa­per­work.’

  ‘As you say, Sir.’

  ‘Lo­ok, Mac­ron. I know you don’t ag­ree with so­me of my met­hods. Or so­me of my de­ci­si­ons. That’s ine­vi­tab­le. It’s what hi­erarc­hi­es are for. But you’re a li­e­ute­nant and I’m a cap­ta­in. That ma­kes whet­her you ag­ree or di­sag­ree with me ir­re­le­vant. We ne­ed to find Sa­bir and the two gypsi­es. Not­hing el­se co­unts. If we don’t, the eye-man will kill them. It’s as simp­le - and as fun­da­men­tal - as that.’

  44

  The tic­ket col­lec­tor ga­zed down at Ale­xi as if he we­re an inj­ured wild ani­mal unex­pec­tedly en­co­un­te­red on an af­ter­no­on’s stroll. He was jo­ined by the ri­ver pi­lot and the oc­cu­pants of the van and two of the cars. The ot­her two cars had dri­ven off the ferry, ob­vi­o­usly pre­fer­ring to avo­id a sce­ne. The ri­ver pi­lot was pre­pa­ring to use his cel­lpho­ne.

  Ale­xi strug­gled out of the li­fe ring and threw it on to the deck. He bent for­wards at the wa­ist and crad­led his ribs in his arms. ‘Ple­ase don’t call the po­li­ce.’

  The pi­lot he­si­ta­ted, the pho­ne half­way to his ear. ‘It’s not the po­li­ce you ne­ed, my boy. It’s an am­bu­lan­ce, a hos­pi­tal bed and so­me morp­hi­ne. And may­be a set of dry clot­hes.’

  ‘Not them eit­her.’

  ‘Expla­in yo­ur­self.’

  ‘Can you ta­ke me back ac­ross?’

  ‘Ta­ke you back ac­ross?’

  ‘I’ve drop­ped so­met­hing.’

  ‘What? You me­an yo­ur hor­se?’ Both men la­ug­hed.

  Ale­xi sen­sed that if he stuck to conc­re­te facts and flip­pancy, he might just be ab­le to gat­her him­self on fir­mer gro­und - di­lu­te the men’s me­mory of the event and turn it in­to a prank that had go­ne wrong, rat­her than in­to the ne­ar-tra­gedy it so ob­vi­o­usly was. ‘Don’t worry. I can ar­ran­ge for the hor­se car­ca­se to be ta­ken away. The­re’s a lot of fresh me­at the­re. I know pe­op­le in Les Sa­in­tes-Ma­rie who will co­me to pick it up.’

  ‘What abo­ut our bar­ri­er?’

  ‘I will pay you wha­te­ver I get for the me­at. Cash. You can tell yo­ur emp­lo­yers that so­me­one dro­ve in­to the bar­ri­er and then ske­dad­dled.’

  The pi­lot squ­in­ted at the tic­ket col­lec­tor. Al­re­ady, three cars we­re wa­iting to bo­ard the ferry for the re­turn jo­ur­ney ac­ross. Both men knew that the bar­ri­er got bel­ted three or fo­ur ti­mes a ye­ar at le­ast - usu­al­ly by drunks. Or fo­re­ig­ners in ren­ted cars. The re­pa­ir­man was on a rol­ling cont­ract.

  The van dri­ver and the oc­cu­pants of the two in­co­ming cars had de­tec­ted the wind-down in ten­si­on. They drif­ted away to get on with the­ir jo­ur­neys. The inj­ured man was only a stu­pid gypsy, af­ter all. And gypsi­es we­re all crazy, we­ren’t they? Li­ved by dif­fe­rent ru­les.

  ‘You can ke­ep yo­ur cash. We’ll ta­ke you back ac­ross. But get rid of that hor­se car­ca­se, do you un­ders­tand? I don’t want it stin­king up the ter­mi­nus for the next two we­eks.’

  ‘I’ll call now. Can I use yo­ur pho­ne?’

  ‘All right. But no in­ter­na­ti­onal calls, mind? Do you he­ar me?’ The pi­lot han­ded Ale­xi his cel­lpho­ne. ‘I still think
you’re crazy not to go in for a check-up. You’ve pro­bably got a rack of crac­ked ribs af­ter that fall. And con­cus­si­on, may­be.’

  ‘We’ve got our own doc­tors. We don’t li­ke go­ing to hos­pi­tals.’

  The pi­lot shrug­ged. The tic­ket col­lec­tor was al­re­ady wa­ving his new cus­to­mers abo­ard.

  Ale­xi punc­hed in a num­ber at ran­dom and pre­ten­ded to ma­ke ar­ran­ge­ments abo­ut the hor­se.

  ***

  Ale­xi had ne­ver known such pa­in as he was fe­eling now. Crac­ked ribs? Con­cus­si­on? He felt as if both his lungs had be­en punc­tu­red with an awl and then stretc­hed out on an an­vil and po­un­ded with a mal­let for go­od me­asu­re. Each bre­ath he to­ok was agony. Each step he to­ok ec­ho­ed thro­ugh his right hip and sho­ul­der li­ke an elect­ric shock.

  He squ­at­ted down on the conc­re­te slo­pe of the ferry slip­way and be­gan se­arc­hing for the bam­boo tu­be. Pe­op­le ga­ve him cu­ri­o­us glan­ces as they dro­ve past him in the­ir cars. If the eye-man co­mes back now, Ale­xi tho­ught, I will simply lie down and sur­ren­der. He can do wha­te­ver he wants with me. O Del, ple­ase ta­ke this pa­in away. Ple­ase gi­ve me a bre­ak.

  The bam­boo tu­be was now­he­re to be se­en. Ale­xi strug­gled to his fe­et. The ferry was full. It was le­aving on­ce aga­in on its out­ward jo­ur­ney. He lim­ped off the slip­way and be­gan fol­lo­wing the co­ur­se of the ri­ver, his eyes fi­xed on the wa­ter­li­ne ne­arest to the bank. The bam­boo tu­be might ha­ve flo­ated downst­re­am. With luck, it might even be ca­ught up in the ve­ge­ta­ti­on at the ed­ge of the flow.

  Or it might ha­ve sunk. If it had sunk, the ver­ses wo­uld be spo­iled - Ale­xi knew that much. He wo­uld bre­ak open the tu­be and out wo­uld co­me a wad­ge of damp pa­per blot­ted with ink. He wo­uldn’t simply ha­ve the eye-man to fe­ar un­der tho­se cir­cums­tan­ces - Sa­bir and Yo­la wo­uld sla­ugh­ter him per­so­nal­ly.

 

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