by John Gubert
The police went with me and we had soon gone round the house. It was in a fashionable area and had a good-sized garden. It had two rooms downstairs, a sitting room with a pleasant terrace and a dining room off a modern kitchen. The bushes and shrubs were void of blossom at this time of the year but I realised that in summer the garden would have been a sea of colour. Upstairs there were three bedrooms, two with bathrooms en suite. Nothing spectacular. But the whole place gave the impression of quiet wealth. A bourgeois in retirement. Or, in reality, the wife of a minor hood living off black money.
When we went downstairs, Jacqui was closing a medium sized suitcase. “I had hardly unpacked,” she said, “That’s everything. What do I need to do now?”
“We have your statement typed up. As it is the key one, we need you to sign it.” They were understanding about her desire to leave the scene of so much sorrow and return to the arms of her loving father. If only they knew!
We went to the police station. As soon as we were alone in the car, I started to ask. “I have it,” she said. “It’s in the case.” We drew up outside the station.
“Let me wait in the car. I don’t want the case to be unattended. We could have been seen going into the house.” Jacqui nodded and headed into the grey police station. It was a strange building. The only sign of life was the flickering blue sign over the entrance. And that flickering was unintentional. It was just caused by a poor connection. I did not get the impression that there would be a quick reaction if I got attacked.
I sat in the car and kept a watch for any strange activity. When you are looking for something unusual, everything seems suspicious. The car slowing down for no reason. The man loitering at the corner. The car coming towards one and jumping the lights. The man carrying a coat but what was underneath it? Then I heard an irritated hooting of a horn. There was no obvious reason for it. I was nervous. I had seen what Jacqui’s people could do.
When her father found us in bed together, he had threatened me. He was careful not to hit me in front of her. He knew how to scare one. He believed I had taken her virginity. He thought it had happened that day. Neither of us had been that innocent but I knew better than to contradict him. He had wanted his daughter to be pure at her wedding. I had despoiled her. I was to leave and leave her alone. If I did not, she would suffer. Acid in her face. A car accident that left her a cripple. It was up to me. And that was why I needed insurance. Jacqui and I hadn’t talked about the incident. But she knew the score.
Within minutes she left the police station.
I said, “We need to get to Monte Carlo and to the bank. We have an account at the United. They have a vault. It has twenty four-hour security. It is more reliable than the one in Cannes. We need two copies of the tape. We will have to get to a tape recorder and copy it. That means that we won’t get everything finished today. First of all we need to get back to the house for the recorder. I also need to pick up my stuff; and I want a gun. There is a revolver there. I am not the greatest of shots, but I have been trained. And it is best to be prepared.”
Jacqui nodded and we headed back out of town. At the exit to St Tropez there was a huge roundabout. I passed the turnoff to Grimaud. We would be taking that later in the day. And it was then that I noticed the black sedan. I needed to get into the right lane for Croix Valmer and a van was in my way. I took advantage of a small gap that opened up and swerved in front of it at the last minute. There was an angry exchange of flashing lights and horns, but not at me. The van driver raised his fist and muttered “conard” or so it seemed through my rear mirror. Now the cars behind reacted noisily as a large black car with shaded windows drew in a couple of cars behind me. A black sedan. Just like the one they had seen the night before at the murder scene.
Jacqui had noticed it, too. “Trouble,” she said, “We have to lose them.”
“They’re faster than me. It’s going to be difficult. I need to think.”
Jacqui said, “There’s only one way. You can’t shake them off on a road like this. But they also won’t try anything too risky. They will prefer to wait till we stop and get out. The getaway is not easy in a stream of traffic. Even if it is fairly light. It would be all right for them at night but in the daytime they could get caught behind lorries and things. We can only hope that we can get them to crash. The question is how.”
“Make sure your seat belt is tight. This is going to be the drive from hell. It’s the only way.”
The road to Croix Valmer is not a fast road. It is mainly two lanes. There are several intersections. It is winding. And slippery at the bends. Only a fool takes it at more than 80 km an hour in the bad parts and it is difficult to make more than 120 on any section. I pressed down on the accelerator. My C class Mercedes convertible, a good run-around for the region but no more, burst into life and the speedometer climbed quickly. 60 to 80 to 100 and on to 140.
“Oh my God,” said Jacqui and I thought she was praying. In the end that convent education always shows itself. Convent girls have two common traits. They are either frigid or they love sex; that’s a reaction to the high walls of their convent schools from which all men are barred save their priest and a couple of aged retainers who mow the lawns and tend the boilers. And convent girls will revert to prayer in extreme circumstances, even if they give up mass, holy retreats and all the other rituals of their schooldays the moment they graduate to more liberal environments.
We came to the end of the straight road. We were just below the picturesque village of Gassin. That was the place where my parents had gone the night before. The town looked medieval from the road below. It is an old town with some good hill restaurants. Not too tarnished by the twentieth century. Perched high up a steep hill, it looked like an impregnable fortress set over the plains of the peninsular.
I pulled towards the junction that leads to Gassin. It is a nasty crossing. A staggered four-way junction. A white car pulled across my path and stopped in fright in the middle of the dual carriageway. I wrenched the wheel to the right. My car shrieked across the road. I pulled the wheel the other way and we veered to the left and right before gathering speed again as we drove on to Croix Valmer. I heard the horn of my pursuer and others as they in turn swerved round the unfortunate driver. I wondered when he would have the courage to restart his engine and get to safety. “France,” I said. “It’s full of blind bloody drivers. That or they’re blind drunk.”
I knew the sedan had realised they had been spotted. They had now drawn up behind us and were keeping pace with no difficulty.
“Here comes the dangerous bit. You’d better pray. For my driving because it won’t be as good as the guy behind. And for luck as we overtake in tight spots. But don’t forget he’s wider and longer than I am. So the odds are stacked a bit in our favour.”
“Holy shit,” said Jacqui.
“No, pray to God” I said, “He may be more useful.”
I pressed further down on the accelerator. The car screeched round the corner hitting nearly one hundred and sixty. I felt the wheels lift slightly from the ground as I wrenched the steering wheel round. The car had skidded into the centre of the road. A car on the other side screeched to slow down. It slid across the road. The black sedan had taken the corner easily. There was a grind of metal. The small car on the other side seemed to bounce off the side of the sedan and I guessed it crashed back into the bushes at the verge on its side of the road. All I saw was the sedan swerving a bit as it regained full control. “First score to us at least,” I shouted.
We hit a straight stretch of road. It was in need of repair and the car bounced dangerously as it gathered speed. I hoped the suspension would hold. At times we seemed to be flying. At others we seemed to try to plough over the bumps.
We were already in the next bend and hitting it at 180. I felt the car sway. I sensed it getting out of control. “Too fast, just too fast. I need to slow down,” I muttered. Jacqui’s lips just moved. I wondered to whom she was praying.
As we cam
e into the bend I tried to accelerate gently and saw we were holding our speed. I knew I couldn’t brake. Once again I felt the car rise on its side and this time it appeared to bounce as I slipped in a skid right across the carriageway. I was straightening up on the wrong side of the road as I came into the second part of the S bend. At that moment I saw the oncoming lorry and pulled further across, still facing the oncoming traffic. I tried to get onto the narrow grass verge and out of its way. I was slowing and bouncing as half the car ran on the grass verge and the other half on the road. The bushes and small trees were scraping the side of the car. Jacqui sat stiff, her mouth open, and her eyes wide in terror.
The lorry appeared to swerve away from me and that pulled him over the centre of the road in a shower of sparks. There was a loud crack as the mirror on the far side of the car shattered as it hit the side of the lorry but then I was clear and already pulling back over to my side. There were frightened shouts and noises from the cars behind the lorry. Luckily the first one, a small Fiat, was going slowly and had held all the others back. The gap was large enough for me, now that I had brought the Mercedes under control again. I veered through the gap between the Fiat and the lorry and cut across again to the right side of the road.
The Fiat went out of control and I saw it hit the verge. It jumped into the air and rolled over, crashing into the bushes and trees at the side of the road.
By now I had slowed down to 120. I was pulling away from the looks of fury and horror from drivers now shunting together in the wake of the crash ahead. For a crash there was. It may have already happened, for it seemed in the past by the time I registered.
I realised it at that moment when I became aware of the noise. A huge explosion and a ball of fire. Had the sedan hit the lorry? If so, it looked as if it had blown up. I thought quickly and said to Jacqui, “It must have been going at our speed and so it would have been well over the road. It must have hit the lorry and it could even have been head on. In that case I don’t think we will see them again. But we can’t check. We need to drive on and we need to change cars. This one will be wanted.”
“Won’t they be able trace it back to you?” queried Jacqui.
“I doubt it,” I replied. “ We bought both our cars with false papers. They were registered in the name of Feraud. That was after my mother’s favourite off the peg designer. You know Louis Feraud. They both have insurance in that name and I carry an ID card as Charles Feraud as well as De Roche. We reckoned we needed one additional escape route in case the De Roche name was discovered. We used the Feraud documents for the cars as we thought that we would need the cars and new identities if we were discovered immediately after the scam. Once we had got through a few weeks and were sure the trail had gone cold, our De Roche identities would be established and we would just re-register the cars in our names, having bought them from the Ferauds.”
Jacqui said, “They definitely did not make it through or they would be up with us.”
“We can’t be sure,” I said, “By now they would have guessed that we were heading for the house. They could have decided to hang back or to take us out at the house later. We still better be careful. In any event let’s listen to the radio.”
As we drove back, a warning came over the radio about an accident and the fact that the road would be blocked. No more details. “We will need to monitor what comes out,” I said as we turned into Croix Valmer. I drove down towards Gigaro Beach where we had our villa and pulled into a private road that led to a development of tourist cottages. Although it was off-season the place would still be half full. The car park was at the top of the property and only used when the residents could not find a nearer spot. Just next to the rubbish bins, there was space for half a dozen cars and I pulled in next to a little Twingo hire car. We would be unnoticed there, at least by the security people. They would assume we were visiting friends. The side mirror was a mess but that was a good thing. “When did you last see a car without a dent in it in this part of the world?” I joked to Jacqui.
MEETING THE MAFIA
I took Jacqui’s hand and we walked through the grounds down to the main road. Our house was five minutes away but we approached it with care. We had good cover, as the area is full of bushes and trees. The house seemed quiet. There was no movement. I turned to Jacqui.
“Hold on to the tape and wait for me. Let me investigate. If I switch the light in the hallway on and off three times within the next five minutes, everything’s OK. But, if not, run back to the car and get out. You have the tape and that’s our insurance. If I’m caught, I will use that to bargain with you. Take this phone. I can contact you through it.”
I walked to the back of the house. I quietly tried the door to the porch adjoining the kitchen. It was locked but I had the keys. I opened the door hesitantly and carefully walked in. I breathed a sigh of relief. There was no sign of life.
I entered the kitchen and peered round the door into the hall. Again no sign of life. I went into the study, squeezing gingerly through the half-opened door. I quietly lifted out the ventilator cover and took out the gun and ammunition. I placed the bullets on the study table and the gun in my trouser belt. I had checked and it was loaded. I looked around the study. It was all too neat. I felt it had been looked over. My parents would have taken all the papers and I had mine in my jacket. Someone had been here. Of that I was certain. The question was whether he or she was still around. I took the gun from the waistband of my trousers and took out the safety latch.
I crept back into the hall. I peered into the lounge. There sitting in a chair was a tall, dark-haired man in a black jacket over a black T-shirt. He did not look legitimate, but I had to be sure. I suspected he would not be alone, and then I saw her.
She could not see my gun. She did not realise that I could see her in the mirror on the wall. And it wasn’t a lipstick in her hand. It was a small gun and it was pointing at me. She had made no noise and that meant she wanted me alive. I had no such need. I knew that sort of gun was not effective at any distance and had no plans to let her get close. I turned round and fired. The bullet took her in the stomach and she fell. The gun clattered out of her hand and rattled across the parquet floor.
I turned back. The man was on his feet, gun in hand and diving for cover. I fired. The gun roared again and, out of luck rather than anything else, I realised he was dead. The body had dropped lifeless onto the floor and, as I moved closer, I saw that I had struck him clean between the eyes. I turned back to the injured woman. She was in a bad state. Yet she had managed to crawl over to the gun. A trail of blood smeared the floor behind her. A shot rang out. She was accurate, but weak from her wound. Her hand must have been trembling. Nevertheless the bullet clipped my arm. I felt a sharp pain. But somehow I held onto my gun. I pressed the trigger and saw the trail of the bullets as they spat out and hit her in the chest, the throat and the face. And then into the ceiling as, in fright, my hand continued in its upward path.
I pulled myself together and ran into the kitchen. I had to reload. I did not even know if I had any bullets left. I doubted there was anyone else but I had to check. I reloaded the gun and quickly looked over the house. Empty. I went to the hall and flashed the lights. It was an ashen Jacqui who came running. She saw me, gun in hand and bleeding slightly from my arm. She stopped as she came to the hall.
“Maria Angelica,” she gasped. Then she followed my gaze into the lounge. “Claudio Pasquale,” she muttered. She threw her arms around me. “They are killers. They are not part of our family. Never allowed to know more than they need. Only half trusted. Simply they were seen as too evil. Nobody wanted them around. They would have been sent to torture us to get the tape and to kill us. They would have been good at that. The car was only a back up then.” She turned to me, “What do we do now?”
“We sort out the tape and get out of here. We need to clean the place. We need to get rid of the bodies. And we must leave pretty soon.”
She had a quick look at my arm.
She went to the kitchen and came back with a plaster and some antiseptic spray. In a minute she had finished. I winced as the spray hit the open wound. “Don’t be a baby,” she joked. “It won’t even leave a scar. Which is more than we can say about your handiwork.”
We got down to work quickly. It was lucky that the television in my bedroom had an in-built tape recorder. The lounge television had a separate one. We took it to the bedroom and I told Jacqui to get to work. I packed one case and then went down, telling her that I would deal with the bodies.
I grabbed some sheets and wrapped the bodies in them. One by one I pulled them over to the front door. Checking that nobody was around, I lifted up the woman first and put her over my shoulder. I dumped her in the garage. I then did the same thing with the man.
I put the two guns on the table. I also went through the woman’s bag but there was nothing in it of any interest. I took that to the garage as well. They had no ID papers, no credit cards. They were totally anonymous. An idea came to me. A way to rid ourselves of the car and the bodies. A way to confuse the police.
I got a mop and started cleaning up the floor. I needed to get the blood off the floor and walls. I also needed to tidy up the bullet damage. I had fired six times and she had fired once. The bodies still had four bullets in them. I had checked that out. There were entry wounds but no exit ones. I quickly found one bullet in the wall near the mirror and the other in the ceiling.
I switched on the TV and saw the news was on. The announcer said “And now to the fatal accident in St Tropez.” I called Jacqui to watch. We gasped as we saw the picture of the sedan. It had crashed into the lorry. In fact it had crashed underneath the lorry. All four occupants had been decapitated. The lorry had crashed into another car before coming to a stop. The lorry driver had had a miraculous escape. He was suffering from shock and nothing more. The other car involved had two occupants. One had light injuries and the other was suffering from head injuries but was said to be in no immediate danger. A black Mercedes was being sought. The sedan had been chasing it. The sedan had been linked to the murder at Gassin the night before. The killers must have been chasing their true targets. The Mercedes had caused another car to crash and several to shunt into each other but all that chaos caused just a few scratches and bruises.