by Kate Mosse
Alice scrutinised the Inspector, a short, dark, overweight middle-aged man, with more stomach than hair. He was breathless and clearly suffering in the heat. He was clutching a limp handkerchief, with which he wiped his face and neck with little effect. Even from this distance, Alice could see the circles of sweat under his armpits and on the cuffs of his shirt.
‘I apologise for the inconvenience, Monsieur le Directeur,’ he said in slow, courteous English. ‘But since this is a private excavation, I’m sure you can explain the situation to your sponsors.’
‘The fact we are fortunate enough to be funded by a private individual rather than an institution is neither here nor there. It’s the unwarranted suspension of work which is so aggravating, not to mention inconvenient. Our work here is highly important.’
‘Dr Brayling,’ said Noubel, as if they had been having the same conversation for some time, ‘my hands are tied. We are in the middle of a murder enquiry. You have seen the posters of the two missing persons, oui? So, inconvenient or no, until we have proved to our satisfaction that the bones you have found are not those of our missing persons, work will be suspended.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Inspector. There can be no doubt the skeletons are hundreds of years old!’
‘You have examined them?’
‘Well, no,’ he blustered. ‘Not properly, of course not. But it’s obvious. Your forensic people will bear me out.’
‘I’m sure they will, Dr Brayling, but until then . . .’ Noubel shrugged. ‘There is nothing more I can say.’
Shelagh stepped in. ‘We appreciate the position you’re in, Inspector, but can you at least give us any idea of when you might be through here?’
‘Bientôt. Soon. I don’t make the rules.’
Dr Brayling threw his hands in the air in frustration. ‘In which case, I shall be forced to go over your head to someone with authority! This is utterly ridiculous.’
‘As you wish,’ replied Noubel. ‘In the meantime, as well as the lady who found the bodies, I need a list of anyone else who went inside the cave. Once we have concluded our preliminary investigations, we will remove the bodies from the cave, then you and your staff will be free to go.’
Alice watched as the scene played itself out.
Brayling stalked off, Shelagh put her hand on the Inspector’s arm, then immediately withdrew it. They appeared to be talking. At one point, they turned and looked back towards the car park. Alice followed the line of their gaze, but saw nothing of interest.
Half an hour passed and still no one came near her.
Alice reached into her rucksack – brought down from the mountain by Stephen or Shelagh, she presumed – and pulled out a pencil and her drawing pad. She opened it at the first empty page.
Imagine yourself standing at the entrance, staring into the tunnel.
Alice closed her eyes and saw herself, fingers on either side of the narrow entrance. Smooth. The rock had been surprisingly smooth, as if it had been polished or worn away. A step forward, into the dark.
The ground sloped down.
Alice started to draw, working quickly now she’d fixed the dimensions of the space in her head. Tunnel, opening, chamber. On a second sheet, she drew the lower area, from the steps to the altar and the skeletons halfway between the two. Beside the sketch of the grave, she wrote a list of the objects: the knife, the leather pouch, the fragment of cloth, the ring. The face of the ring had been entirely smooth and flat, surprisingly thick, with a thin groove around the middle. Odd that the engraving was on the underside, where no one could see it. Only the person wearing it would know it was there. A replica in miniature of the labyrinth carved into the wall behind the altar.
Alice leaned back in her chair, somehow reluctant to commit the image to paper. How big? The diameter was six feet maybe? More? How many circuits?
She drew a circle that filled most of the page, then stopped. How many lines? Alice knew she’d recognise the pattern again if she saw it, but since she’d only held the ring for a couple of seconds and seen the carving through the distant darkness it was hard to recall it precisely.
Somewhere in the rambling attic of her mind was the knowledge she needed. History and Latin lessons at school, curled up on the sofa with her parents watching documentaries on the BBC. In her bedroom, a little wooden bookcase with her favourite book on the bottom shelf. An illustrated encyclopaedia of ancient myths, its glossy, garish pages grown dog-eared at the edges where she had read it so often.
There was a picture of a labyrinth.
In her mind’s eye, Alice turned to the right page.
But it was different. She placed the remembered images side by side, like a spot-the-difference game in a newspaper.
She picked up the pencil and tried again, determined to make some progress. She drew another circle inside the first, trying to connect them together. No good. Her next attempt was no better, nor the one after. She realised it wasn’t only a question of how many rings there should be spiralling in towards the centre, but more that there was something fundamentally wrong with her design.
Alice kept going, her initial excitement giving way to a dull frustration. The collection of screwed-up balls of paper around her feet grew larger.
‘Madame Tanner?’
Alice jumped, sending the pencil skeetering across the surface of the paper.
‘Docteur,’ she corrected automatically, getting to her feet.
‘Je vous demande pardon, Docteur. Je m‘appelle Noubel. Police Judiciaire, Département de l’Ariège.’
Noubel flashed his identification card at her. Alice pretended to read it, at the same time as shovelling everything into her rucksack. She didn’t want the Inspector to see her failed sketches.
‘Vous préférez parler en anglais?’
‘It would be sensible, yes, thank you.’
Inspector Noubel was accompanied by a uniformed officer with alert, darting eyes. He looked barely old enough to be out of school. He was not introduced.
Noubel squeezed himself into another one of the spindly camping chairs. It was a tight fit. His thighs bulged over the canvas seat.
‘Et alors, Madame. Your full name, if you please.’
‘Alice Grace Tanner.’
‘Date of birth.’
‘Seventh January, 1976.’
‘You are married?’
‘Is that relevant?’ she snapped.
‘For information, Dr Tanner,’ he said mildly.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not married.’
‘Your address.’
Alice gave him details of the hotel in Foix where she was staying and her home address, spelling out the unfamiliar English names letter by letter.
‘It’s a long way to come every day from Foix?’
‘There wasn’t room in the site house, so . . .’
‘Bien. You are a volunteer, I understand, yes?’
‘That’s right. Shelagh – Dr O’Donnell – is one of my oldest friends. We were at university together, before. . .’
Just answer the question. He doesn’t need your life story.
‘I’m just visiting. Dr O’Donnell knows this part of France well. When it turned out I’d got business to sort out in Carcassonne, Shelagh suggested I detoured via here for a few days so we could spend some time together. A working holiday.’
Noubel scribbled in his pad. ‘You are not an archaeologist?’
Alice shook her head. ‘But it’s common practice to use volunteers, interested amateurs, or archaeology students to do some of the basic work apparently.’
‘How many other volunteers are there?’
She flushed, as if she’d been caught out in a lie. ‘None actually, not right now. They’re all archaeologists or students.’
Noubel peered at her. ‘And you’re here until?’
‘This is my last day. It was anyway . . . even before this.’
‘And Carcassonne?’
‘I have a meeting there on Wednesday morning, then a few
days to look around. I fly back to England on Sunday.’
‘A beautiful city,’ said Noubel.
‘I’ve never been.’
Noubel sighed and wiped his red forehead again with his handkerchief. ‘And what is the nature of this meeting?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. A relative, who’s been living in France, left me something in her will.’ She paused, reluctant to go into it. ‘I’ll know more after I’ve met with the solicitor on Wednesday.’
Noubel made another note. Alice tried to see what he was writing, but couldn’t decipher his handwriting upside down. To her relief, he left the subject and moved on.
‘So you are a doctor . . .’ Noubel left the comment hanging.
‘I’m not a medical doctor,’ she replied, relieved to be on safer ground. ‘I’m a teacher, I have a PhD. Middle English literature.’ Noubel looked blank. ‘Pas medecin. Pas généraliste,’ she said. ‘Je suis universitaire.’
Noubel sighed and made another note.
‘Bien. Auxaffaires.’ His tone was no longer conversational. ‘You were working alone up there. Is that usual practice?’
Immediately, Alice’s guard went up. ‘No,’ she said slowly, ‘but since it was my last day, I wanted to keep going, even though my partner wasn’t here. I was sure we’d found something.’
‘Beneath the boulder shielding the entrance? Just for clarity, how is it decided who will dig where?’
‘Dr Brayling and Shelagh – Dr O’Donnell – have a plan of what they want to accomplish within the time available. They divide the site up accordingly.’
‘So Dr Brayling sent you to that area? Or Dr O’Donnell?’
Instinct. I just knew there was something there.
‘Well, no. I moved higher up the mountain because I was certain there was something — ’ She hesitated. ‘I couldn’t find Dr O’Donnell to ask her permission . . . so I made an . . . an executive decision.’
Noubel frowned. ‘I see. So, you were working. The boulder came free. It fell. Then what?’
There were genuine gaps in her memory, but Alice did her best. Noubel’s English, although formal, was good and he asked straightforward questions.
‘That’s when I heard something in the tunnel behind me, and I — ’
Suddenly the words dried in her throat. Something she’d suppressed in her mind came back to her with a thud, the piercing sensation in her chest, as if . . .
As if what?
Alice provided the answer herself. As if I’d been stabbed. That’s what it had felt like. A blade slicing into her, precise and clean. There had been no pain, just a rush of cold air and a dim horror.
And then?
The luminous light, chill and insubstantial. And hidden within it, a face. A woman’s face.
Noubel’s voice broke through her surfacing memories, sending them scattering.
‘Dr Tanner?’
Was I hallucinating?
‘Dr Tanner? Shall I fetch someone?’
Alice stared blankly at him for a moment. ‘No, no thanks. I’m fine. It’s just the heat.’
‘You were saying how you were startled by the noise — ’
She forced herself to concentrate. ‘Yes. The dark was disorientating. I couldn’t work out where the sound was coming from, which frightened me. Now, I realise it was only Shelagh and Stephen-’
‘Stephen?’
‘Stephen Kirkland. K-i-r-k-l-a-n-d.’
Noubel turned his notebook round to face her to verify the spelling.
Alice nodded. ‘Shelagh noticed the boulder and came to find out what was going on. Stephen followed, I suppose.’ She hesitated again. ‘I’m not sure quite what happened after that.’ This time the lie came easily to her lips. ‘I must have tripped on the steps or something. The next thing I remember is Shelagh calling my name.’
‘Dr O’Donnell says that you were unconscious when they found you.’
‘Only briefly. I don’t think I can have been out for more than a minute or two. It didn’t feel very long anyhow.’
‘Do you have a history of blackouts, Dr Tanner?’
Alice jolted as the terrifying memory of the first time it happened swooped into her mind. ‘No,’ she lied.
Noubel didn’t notice how pale she’d gone. ‘You say it was dark,’ he said, ‘and that’s why you fell. But before you had a light?’
‘I had a lighter but I dropped it when I heard the noise. And the ring too.’
His reaction was immediate. ‘A ring?’ he said sharply. ‘You’ve said nothing about a ring.’
‘There was a small stone ring lying between the skeletons,’ she said, alarmed by the look on his face. ‘I picked it up with my tweezers, to get a better look, but before—’
‘What sort of ring?’ he interrupted. ‘What was it made of?’
‘I don’t know. Some sort of stone, not silver or gold or anything. I didn’t really get a proper look.’
‘Was there anything engraved on it? Letters, a seal, a pattern?’
Alice opened her mouth to answer, then shut it. Suddenly, she didn’t want to tell him anything more.
‘I’m sorry. It all happened too quickly.’
Noubel glared at her for a moment, then clicked his fingers and summoned the young officer standing behind him. Alice thought the boy seemed agitated too.
‘Biau. On a trouvé quelque chose comme ça?’
‘Je ne sais pas, Monsieur l’Inspecteur.’
‘Dépêchez-vous, alors. Il faut le chercher . . . Et informezen Monsieur Authié. Allez! Vite!’
There was a stubborn band of pain behind Alice’s eyes now the painkillers were starting to wear off.
‘Did you touch anything else, Dr Tanner?’
She rubbed her temples with her fingers. ‘I accidentally knocked one of the skulls out of position with my foot. But apart from that and the ring, nothing. As I’ve already said.’
‘What about the piece you found beneath the boulder?’
‘The brooch? I gave it to Dr O’Donnell after we came out of the cave,’ shifting slightly at the memory. ‘I’ve got no idea what she did with it.’
Noubel was no longer listening. He kept glancing over his shoulder. Finally, he gave up the pretence and flipped his notebook shut.
‘If you would be so kind as to wait, Dr Tanner. There may be more questions I need to ask you.’
‘But there’s nothing more I can tell you — ’ she started to protest. ‘Can’t I at least join the others?’
‘Later. For now, if you could stay here.’
Alice slumped back in her chair, annoyed and exhausted, as Noubel lumbered out of the tent and headed up the mountain to where a group of uniformed officers were examining the boulder.
As Noubel approached, the circle parted, just enough for Alice to catch a glimpse of a tall man in civilian clothes standing in the middle.
She caught her breath.
Dressed in a well-cut pale green summer suit and a crisp white shirt, he was clearly in charge. His authority was obvious, a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Noubel looked crumpled and unkempt in comparison. Alice felt a prickling of unease.
It wasn’t only the man’s clothes and bearing that marked him out. Even from this distance, Alice could feel the force of his personality and charisma. His face was pale and gaunt, accentuated by the way his dark hair was swept back off his high forehead. There was something of the cloister about him. Something familiar.
Don’t be stupid. How can you know him?
Alice stood up and walked to the entrance, watching intently as the two men moved away from the group. They were talking. Or rather Noubel was talking, while the other man listened. After another couple of seconds, he turned and climbed up to the entrance to the cave. The officer on duty lifted the tape, he ducked underneath and was gone.
For no reason she could fathom, her palms were wet with apprehension. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end, just as they had when she’d heard the sou
nd in the chamber. She could barely breathe.
This is all your fault. You led him here.
Alice pulled herself up short. What are you talking about? But the voice in her head would not be quietened.
You led him here.
Her eyes returned again to the entrance to the cave, drawn like a magnet. She couldn’t help it. The thought of him in there, after all that had been done to keep the labyrinth hidden.
He’ll find it.
‘Find what?’ she muttered to herself. She wasn’t sure.
But she wished she’d taken the ring when she had the chance.
CHAPTER 13
Noubel didn’t go into the cave. Instead, he waited outside in the grey shade of the rocky overhang, red-faced.
He knows something’s not right, thought Alice. He tossed an occasional comment to the officer on duty and smoked cigarette after cigarette, lighting them from the butt of the last. Alice listened to music to help pass the time. Nickelback blasted into her head, obliterating all other sounds.
After fifteen minutes, the man in the suit reappeared. Noubel and the officer seemed to gain a couple of inches in height. Alice took off her headphones and put the chair back in its original position, before taking up her place at the entrance to the tent.
She watched the two men come down from the cave together.
‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me, Inspector,’ she said, when they came within earshot.
Noubel mumbled an apology, but avoided her eye.
‘Dr Tanner, je vous présente Monsieur Authié.’
Close up, Alice’s first impressions of a man of presence and charisma were reinforced. But his grey eyes were cold and clinical. She felt immediately on guard. Fighting her antipathy, she held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Authié took it. His fingers were cool and his touch was insubstantial. It made her flesh creep.
She let go as quickly as she could.
‘Shall we go inside?’ he said.
‘Are you also with the Police Judiciaire, Monsieur Authie?’
A ghost of a reaction flickered in his eyes, but he said nothing. Alice waited, wondering if it was possible he’d not heard her. Noubel shuffled, awkward in the silence. ‘Monsieur Authié is from the mairie, the town hall. In Carcassonne.’