The guard nodded appreciatively. “C’est vrai.” He smiled at Crawford as the barman produced a jug of cold water and Crawford paid.
Crawford added a little water to his pastis. “Salut,” he said and took a long draught of the cloudy drink.
The guard added a dribble of water to his own glass then raised it. “A votre sante.” He winked then gulped at his drink, swallowing half of it in one mouthful.
“A perfect pastis,” Crawford said. “You must let me get you another.”
The guard pushed out his bottom lip and tilted his head from side to side as though seriously considering the offer. “Perhaps just one more, monsieur. It’s been a long day.”
The barman had been loitering nearby, and now he stepped forward, his frown replaced by an eager grin.
“Two more,” Crawford said, laying out a few 10 euro notes on the bar top. “And have one for yourself.”
“Merci,” the barman said, and fetched their drinks promptly and efficiently. He took Crawford’s money, and showed no indication that there would be any change.
Crawford picked up the jug of water. “Let me fix your drink for you, my friend. I think I see how you like it now.” He fussed over the drinks, placing the glasses side by side and making a great show of measuring out the water correctly. His hands moved over the drinks quickly, and although the guard was watching him closely, Crawford was sure that no one would notice anything suspicious as the tiny pill fell from his palm and into the guard’s drink.
“Thank you very much, monsieur,” the guard said, accepting his glass with a broad smile.
“Please, you must call me William. We are friends now, after all.”
The guard took a sip of his drink. “All right, William. That’s a good French name. And my name is Jules. Salut.”
Crawford watched him drink. “That must be very interesting, working at the museum.”
Jules stood a little taller. “It’s important work.”
The barman snorted. “It’s not so difficult, I think. They pay you to sleep, my friend. Some of us have real jobs to do.”
Jules bridled. “Someone has to protect the history and culture of France. We have many treasures to show the world. You should try a visit sometime.” He looked at Crawford. “Excuse this man. He knows nothing of the world. He has not stepped out from behind this bar in thirty years.”
“Don’t worry,” Crawford said, “I understand. The museum must have many valuable pieces.”
“A load of old rocks,” the barman said.
Jules dismissed the barman’s remark with a scowl. “Some of them are priceless,” he said to Crawford. “Today, we had a film crew from England. They came all the way here, especially to see us. And only just in time.”
“Fascinating,” Crawford said. “But why do you say only just in time?”
Jules nodded wisely. “Tomorrow, the new pieces will be shipped to Paris for expert investigation. We have had an express directive from the government. These pieces are of international significance.”
Crawford raised his eyebrows as though impressed. “Such a shame I’ll miss them.”
Jules shrugged. “It’s too bad. They are locked away in our strongroom, and in the morning they will be gone.”
“Never mind,” Crawford said. “Perhaps another time.”
Jules smiled and finished his drink. Crawford watched him carefully. The man’s eyes were glazing over, and his lips were beginning to droop. “Another drink before we part?”
Jules shook his head slowly. “I must drive. And I’m feeling a little tired. It’s been a long day. It’s time for me to go home.”
“In that case, I’ll walk out with you,” Crawford said. “I may need some directions out of town.”
“Very well.” Jules nodded to the barman then headed for the door. Crawford followed close behind.
Outside, the fresh air revived Crawford, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Jules. He staggered as he set off toward his car, only saving himself by placing his hand against the wall.
“Let me help you,” Crawford said.
Jules did not complain as Crawford hooked his arm around Jules’ shoulders and urged him toward the pickup. Jules fumbled with his keys for a moment, but Crawford gently took them from his fingers and opened the pickup’s passenger door. Jules gave him a lopsided smile. “Thank you, William, but I am fine now.”
“Think nothing of it,” Crawford said. He took a deep breath then bundled Jules into the pickup’s passenger seat.
Jules looked around the cab in confusion. “No, no, this is the wrong side. We are not in England now.” He let out a cackle of drunken laughter.
But Crawford gave no sign of having heard. He fastened the seatbelt across Jules’ body then slammed the door shut. He walked calmly around to the driver’s door then climbed in and made himself comfortable.
“What’s the matter?” Jules asked. “What’s the problem?”
Crawford started the engine. “No problem. I’m just going to give you a lift home. You’re in no state to drive. The police would surely stop you.”
Jules mumbled something incoherent in French.
Crawford frowned. I hope I didn’t give him too much, he thought. He put the pickup into gear and executed a u-turn in the road before heading back the way they’d come.
Jules stared out through the windscreen, his eyes glazed and unfocused.
“Jules, let’s have a little chat.”
“Quoi?” Jules mumbled.
“I expect the museum has an alarm. What’s the code to turn it off?”
Jules frowned. “Oh no. That is secret, monsieur. I can’t tell you that.”
Crawford raised his voice. “Jules, quickly! Its’ an emergency! We’ve got to turn off the alarm. How do we do it?”
Jules’ expression was a picture of confusion and panic. He looked from side to side and patted his pockets in turn. “The card. Where is my special card? I need my keys.”
“All right, Jules,” Crawford said. “Calm down. It’s all right. I’ve got your keys here. I’ll turn the alarm off with the special card, yes?”
Jules heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you, monsieur. Good. It’s the blue card. Bleu.”
“Don’t worry, Jules. Just tell me about the strongroom at the museum. Where is it exactly?”
“Strongroom? It’s behind…behind room six. Where Audrey goes.” Jules grinned stupidly. “She’s very pretty. Tres joli. But she doesn’t look at me. No. Not me.” He sniffed loudly. “Why doesn’t she look at me?”
“Let’s just talk about the strongroom,” Crawford said. “What sort of lock does it have?”
Jules giggled then mimed pressing buttons in the air.
“It’s an electronic lock?” Crawford asked. “What’s the code? What numbers do I have to press to open it?”
“C’est facile. Mille neuf cent quatre-vingt-dix-huit.”
“1998? That’s the code?”
Jules nodded slowly. “The year we won the rugby.” He giggled then stared at Crawford. “I don’t feel so good,” he slurred.
“Is there anything else? Anything else I need to know? It’s very important for me to get into the strongroom.”
“Non.” Jules shook his head slowly and stared blankly into the middle distance. “C’est tout.”
Crawford checked the rear view mirror then guided the pickup to the side of the road and stopped. “You’ve done very well Jules. You deserve a treat.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a small glass bottle of colourless liquid. “Here, have a drink of this. It will pick you up.”
Jules eyed the bottle suspiciously. “No more for me. I’m not well.”
Crawford held the bottle to the guard’s lips. “Just a sip. Then I can get you home.”
But Jules shook his head and pushed Crawford’s arm away. “Non, monsieur!”
Crawford looked up and down the road. There was no one in sight. He leaned toward Jules, and in one smooth motion he grabbed the m
an’s nose with his right hand, pinching his nostrils together and tilting his head back as far as the seat would allow. When Jules opened his mouth to breathe, Crawford raised the bottle in his left hand and pushed it between Jules lips. He upended the bottle until it was empty then he dropped it and clamped his hand over the man’s chin to keep his mouth shut.
For a second, Jules gagged on the liquid, and he struggled, his eyes bulging, his arms beating against Crawford’s body. But there was no force in his blows, and though he thrashed his arms and legs, he seemed to have lost control of his limbs. Then it was over. His legs were still. His arms hung limp at his sides. And his head lolled forward until his chin rested on his chest.
“There we are,” Crawford said. “Now you just sit quietly and this won’t take long. It won’t take long at all.”
Chapter 29
1919
TREVOR SCOWLED AND PUSHED HIS WAY through the last of the brambles. Brian was standing at the very end of the gorge, peering up at the rock face, and Trevor joined him. “This had better be worth my while, Brian,” he said. “Now, where’s this ledge supposed to be? I can’t see it.”
Brian looked him in the eye and nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, Mr. Marley. It’s up there all right, but you’d never really notice it from down here. We’ll have to climb up. But it’s all right, sir. There’s a set of steps—like stairs.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. Did he really just call me sir? It was about time the workmen paid him some respect. But what was all this about stairs? The gorge was a neglected place, hidden away behind a patch of scrubland in the middle of nowhere; there couldn’t possibly be proper stairs. Brian probably meant that he’d found a few footholds and places to hang onto. But even so, the rock face was almost vertical, and he hadn’t climbed anything since he’d been a boy.
Trevor took a breath. He’d come this far; he had to follow through. “Go on then, Brian. You’d better show me what you mean.”
Brian turned to the rock face and pushed the curtain of trailing ivy to one side. “You see? Stairs.”
“Well I’ll be damned,” Trevor said. The steps cut into the rock were partially clogged with soil and grit, but their edges were straight and level, and at first glance, the steps seemed to be spaced exactly the same distance apart.
“I’ll go first, shall I?” Brian said.
Trevor hesitated. He tilted his head back and ran his eyes slowly up the forbidding rock face. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I think you’d better lead the way.”
Brian nodded then began to climb.
Trevor chewed at the inside of his cheek and watched Brian’s ascent. The workman was agile despite his over-sized boots, and he climbed quickly and efficiently.
“If he can do it, I can do it,” Trevor muttered. He found the lowest step and placed his foot on it, kicking away some of the accumulated soil and checking that the sole of his shoe had a good grip on the stone. The step was solid enough and not too slippery, so he leaned into the slope and pushed himself up, using his hands to grip the edges of the higher steps as he climbed.
The men clambered upward in silence. Trevor concentrated, forcing his fingers through the gritty soil to grip the steps above, testing every foothold. He was breathing hard, and a thin trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck and beneath his collar, tickling his back.
Trevor looked down. The ground below was rocky and unforgiving. He swallowed the lump in his throat. How much farther would they have to climb? He could ask Brian. But when he looked back up, the workman was nowhere to be seen. “Brian?” he called out. “Where the hell are you?”
For a second, there was no reply, but then a few small stones skittered down the slope and Brian appeared, leaning out from the rock face. “It’s all right, Mr. Marley. I’m up here—on the ledge.”
Trevor cursed under his breath and shifted his weight, swinging his body to one side to avoid the tumbling stones. When he looked up again, Brian was beaming down at him.
“Sorry about that. It’s a bit loose underfoot up here.”
“Just watch what you’re doing, man!” Trevor snapped. “Keep back from the edge.”
Brian nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll stay out the way.” He hesitated, studying Trevor’s expression. “Don’t worry. Keep going, you’ve almost made it.” He smiled then retreated and disappeared from view.
Trevor shook his head. Should he even be doing this? Might it have been better, after all, to let the foreman deal with this? But that man wouldn’t be happy until he’d made everyone stop work. If the foreman knew what Brian had found, he’d certainly call in the police, and he’d enjoy the joke when it turned out that Brian’s suspicions had amounted to nothing. Trevor pictured the men sniggering as a constable handed over the bones of a badger or a stray dog. He’d never live it down. And of course, the men would still want their bonus. There was no way they’d take responsibility for the delay; they’d blame Trevor. Everyone would blame him.
“This bloody place,” Trevor muttered. “I’m sick of it.” But he gritted his teeth and began climbing again.
Soon, he could make out a straight edge that cut across the rock. That must be the ledge, he thought, and he kept his eye on it as he climbed. His arms were beginning to weaken. The sooner he could stand up without clinging on, the better.
Trevor reached up as high as he could, stretching his fingers to find the ledge. The rough lip of the ledge bit into the palm of his hand, but he held on tight. He grunted and heaved himself up, hauling his upper body onto the ledge. He scrambled up to his feet and rubbed his hands together, brushing the worst of the soil from his fingers.
Trevor looked around. The ledge was much larger than he’d expected, and it surprised him that he hadn’t been able to see it from below. The ledge was a few paces deep, and more than a dozen good paces from one end to the other. Its surface was remarkably flat and level, although there were a number of loose rocks and boulders scattered across it. Brian was standing at one end of the ledge, next to a large mound of rocks, and his tools were lying on the ground around him. The workman was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and his brow was furrowed.
“Come on then, Brian,” Trevor said. “You’d better show me what all this is about.”
Brian beckoned to him. “Over here, Mr. Marley. They were under the rocks, right here.”
Trevor walked toward him slowly. Now that he was here, there was something bothering him about this whole situation, and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t questioned Brian more closely before. “You never told me, Brian—what on earth were you doing up here in the first place?”
“It was where they sent me,” he said. “They said we had to have samples from up on the rock face, and no one else would do it. They didn’t want to go trailing through the brambles, so they sent me.”
Trevor nodded. It figured. Brian was the youngest and least experienced; he would be the one they sent to do all the worst jobs. No doubt the foreman thought it a great joke to send the weakest member of the team to scale the steepest slope of the site. Perhaps you’ll surprise them all yet, Brian, he thought. He stood at Brian’s side. “Show me what you found.”
Brian knelt down, and Trevor followed suit. “It was under here,” Brian said. He took hold of a flat stone with both hands, and with some difficulty he slid it to one side. At first, as Brian moved the stone, Trevor could see nothing out of the ordinary. But then his eyes picked out a long white shape lying flat among the gravelly soil. It could only be a bone. He ran his finger slowly along its length, gently brushing away the crumbs of dry, sandy that soil clung to it. It was partially decayed and had clearly been hidden under the rocks for some considerable time. But was it human?
He turned to Brian. “I don’t know. It looks like a femur, but I can’t be sure. Have you found any others?”
Brian shook his head. “Just this one. And I covered it up straight away.”
Trevor scanned the loose rocks that were scattered around them. “How many
of these rocks have you moved? Were they spread out like this when you arrived?”
Brian frowned. “Most of them were like this. I just moved a few. They told me to clear a patch big enough for them to come and do some drilling.”
Trevor ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t help thinking that the stone must’ve been placed deliberately over the bone, and surely that suggested some sort of burial. And a femur that length—what else could it be but human? Trevor put his hands flat on the ground to steady himself. A wave of nausea squirmed in the pit of his stomach, and he suddenly felt cold. There were enough chunks of flat stone scattered around his feet to cover a whole skeleton. He looked Brian in the eye. “We’re going to have to move a few more stones,” he said. “We need to know if there are any more bones. If this is the only one, then there probably isn’t anything to worry about. But if we find any more, we’ll have to decide what to do.”
Brian grimaced and opened his mouth to say something, but Trevor didn’t give him the chance. “I’m relying on you, Brian. I need to see what we’re dealing with here, and I need someone I can trust.” He placed his hand gently on Brian’s upper arm. “Will you do that, Brian? Will you help me?”
Brian nodded unhappily. “I’ll try.”
“Good man,” Trevor said. “Here, give me a hand with this one.” Trevor took hold of the nearest large stone, and between them they managed to shift it one side. There was nothing beneath it but gravelly soil and a large black beetle that scurried away as fast as it could.
Trevor pushed himself up to his feet and studied the arrangement of loose rocks on the ledge. There was no particular pattern to the way the rocks were laid out, but there were a lot of them; too many to deal with one at a time. “We’re going to have to divide our labour,” he said. “We’ll split up and work systematically. I’ll start at this end, by the mound of rocks, and work my way toward the back of the ledge. I want you to work alongside me so that we cover a strip each. We’ll start by just moving the rocks we can manage on our own. If we need to, we’ll work together on the larger ones later. All right?”
Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) Page 17