“Right.”
Occasional people joined and left the platform, a sandwich seller did a brisk business in baguettes, but no one stood out as Auguste’s companion.
“It might be a he,” Sidney said.
“Maybe.”
“We’re not really getting anywhere here. Perhaps we should just walk up and down calling out his name.”
Piers turned his attention from the crowd to Sidney. “You think someone’s going to answer us? The guy was obviously doing something bad, and has tickets to leave town in a hurry. Whoever it is, they’re hardly likely to put their hands up, now are they?”
Sidney grunted. “So what’s your plan?”
“I—”
The phone in Piers’ pocket vibrated. The sound of the ringer was muffed but persistent.
“You going to answer that?” Sidney said.
“I don’t care. It’s probably just the office.”
“You have the same ring tone as the dead guy?”
“I—oh, shit.” Piers thrust his hand into his pocket, grabbing for the phone and pulling it out. He flipped it open and the ring tone stopped. “Bugger, missed it.”
He pressed a few keys and found the missed call list. “April.”
“April, what?”
“The call was from someone called April.”
Piers looked at the station clock. Three minutes before the train was scheduled to depart. “Maybe his companion is getting worried.”
April’s number still glowed on the display. He placed his finger over the redial button. “Spread out, see if anyone’s phone rings.”
Sidney pushed her way through the people on the platform. Piers knew this was going to be a long shot. There were a lot of people and even if they could hear a phone ring they’d only have seconds to locate the person. He took a deep breath and pushed the button.
There were a few moments of agonizing silence, then clicks, then the earpiece started to give a ringing tone. He looked around and saw Sidney doing the same. There was no telltale phone sound, and no one was rummaging in their pockets or handbags. He moved the phone back to his ear to hear a whistling sound.
Damn, the call hadn’t gone through.
The clock said two minutes to go. He punched off and redial in quick succession. There was the same silence, the same clicks, and the same ringing. Only this time a shrill chirrup joined in. It wasn’t coming from the earpiece, it was on the platform. It was April’s ringtone. He looked all around, his eyes and ears searching. He glimpsed Sidney doing the same. Whoever it was had to be between them. He pushed through the crowd, his eyes scanning left and right. The noise seemed close, but no one was answering a call. Sidney was closing in too. They made eye contact. She shrugged.
He heard a voice on Auguste’s phone and whipped it to his ear. Then he heard the same voice nearby. April had to be close, but still no one was moving. He looked straight up. A woman stood on the balcony. As if by psychic connection, she looked down at the same instant. Their eyes met. Without words or facial movements, she knew she had blown her identity, and Piers knew he had found her. She was running in an instant.
Sidney had spotted her, too, and was running for the steps at the far end of the platform. Piers took the steps closest to him. April wasn’t going to get off the balcony without passing one of them, but there were plenty of doorways adjoining the balcony, and April took one.
In a moment, she reappeared and took the next doorway. Piers ran hard, but it looked like Sidney would reach April first. Piers’ skin prickled. April was Auguste’s partner in crime. The man who had been shot in their taxi. The man with the gun. And if he had a gun …
“Sidney! Stop! Wait there!”
Sidney didn’t stop.
Piers ran harder, waving his hands. “Stop! Sidney!”
Sidney skidded to a halt by the doorway April had taken and stood very still. Shit, shit, shit. Had April drawn a gun? Piers was only paces away from the doorway. He stretched his arms out and barreled into Sidney, sweeping her up and away from the opening. She gave a scream, and he managed a couple of paces before he lost his grip and his footing. They went down in a jumble of arms and elbows on the hard floor. He rolled off her and up onto his haunches, bracing himself for the sight of a gun.
She lay on the floor. “What the hell was that for?”
“She has a gun.” Piers grabbed Sidney’s hand and started pulling her up.
Sidney wrestled out of his grip. “No, she bloody doesn’t”
Piers stopped mid-grab for Sidney’s arm. “She doesn’t?”
April was back on the balcony. He shoved Sidney aside and lunged for April. The woman stepped left, but Piers caught onto her big coat and manhandled her back into the doorway.
She twisted uselessly. “Get off me or I’ll scream.”
“We need to talk to you.”
“I don’t care. I’ve got a train to catch. Let me go!”
“We came to tell you why Auguste’s not here.”
April’s expression froze for an instant, a brief stutter in the film of her life. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’ve got to go.”
Piers relaxed his grip. “He’s dead.”
He felt a smack on the back of his head and Sidney pushed him aside. “For god’s sake, is that the best you can do?”
April put her arms up in front of her face. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I have to go.”
Sidney touched her arm. “We really need to talk to you.”
The train gave a long blast of its horn and the passenger doors slammed shut.
“That’s my train. I should be on it.”
“We know. We’re sorry.”
The train’s engine roared and the floor trembled faintly as it pulled out of the station.
April didn’t move. “I should be on that train. It’s my train.”
Sidney put her arm around her. “We know, we know.”
“Auguste’s just late. He’s just late.”
Sidney gave a slight shake of her head.
April looked at her, her eyes imploring, “He’s never late. I know him. He’s dependable. Always. He must be stuck in traffic.”
Sidney shook her head again. “He jumped in my taxi a couple of hours ago.”
“No.”
“Yes. He was injured.”
“No … no … no, he wouldn’t have been in a taxi.”
“He was,” Piers said.
April kept shaking her head. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sniffed.
“He’d been shot,” Sidney said.
April’s head shaking grew more forceful. “No. You’re wrong. It couldn’t be. Not Auguste.”
“Yes.”
“He was going to meet me here.”
“We know.”
“He couldn’t have been in a taxi.”
“He was. He was being shot at. They shot at us too.”
“No.”
“It was the police,” Sidney said.
“Might have been the police,” Piers said.
Sidney gave him an angry glance before giving April a squeeze. “We were there. He died in the taxi.”
April pawed at the collar on Sidney’s jacket. “But he wasn’t supposed to be in a taxi. That can’t be right. He’s just caught in traffic. He’ll be here.” She bit her lower lip. “Won’t he?”
Sidney and Piers shook their heads in unison.
Tears welled up and poured down April’s face. Her mouth was half open and her bottom lip stuck out, trembling. Sidney pulled her close while she wept. Piers patted her on the back as he looked up and down the platform. There was no one suspicious, no police, no Little, and no Large. Maybe they were ahead of the game.
He looked back at Sidney, only to find her glowering at him. “What?” he mouthed.
She rolled her eyes and patted April’s back.
“We need to keep a look out,” Piers said. Sidney gave him a disgusted glance.
April pulled a tissue from
her pocket and wiped her nose. “What happened?”
“We were in a taxi. He jumped in.”
“No, he wouldn’t.”
“He did. People were shooting at him.”
“There shouldn’t have been … no … he wouldn’t have been in a taxi.”
“All we know is he jumped in our taxi.”
April blew her nose. “So how did you find me?”
Piers pulled the wallet from his pocket and held up the train tickets.
Sobbing, April took them. She ran her finger down the line of the blood on the leather. “Are you police?”
Sidney shook her head.
“Then why do you have this?” April held up the wallet.
“We took it,” Sidney said.
April’s eyebrows narrowed. “You took it off my Auguste?”
Sidney hesitated then nodded.
April put her hands around the wallet. “You took it from him when he was dying?” She shoved Sidney backward. “You stole it. You’re a thief. You’re a con … you, you … maybe you killed him.”
“No, no. He jumped in our taxi. He was injured.”
April turned to Piers. “You had his phone. You took his phone. You must have killed him.”
“No, the men he was running from were shooting at us. They killed him. They did.”
“You used his phone.”
“To find you.”
April’s face jerked and contorted, a slow dance of pain and grief. “No, no, no.”
Auguste’s phone buzzed in Piers’ pocket. As he reached for it, April launched a punch. She hit him at the base of his ribs. He didn’t think it was going to hurt but the pain welled up through his lungs and down through his stomach. He gripped his side and stumbled backward, crashing into the railing overlooking the platform.
April ran.
Sidney took off after her.
Piers fumbled Auguste’s ringing phone from his pocket. “What?”
It was Little’s high-pitched voice, but without a hint of his sarcastic tone. “Don’t know what you’re doing up there, but you might want to leave quick. You’ve got company. The police are heading your way.”
Chapter 11
Piers heard Sidney calling for April to stop. He watched the pair come to a halt a short distance from the steps. For a moment, he was relieved that April appeared to be heading back, but it was only a moment, because a line of French police officers, gendarmes, appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Find a bloody door!” Sidney shouted as she sprinted toward him, April just a pace behind.
He forced himself up and worked from door to door until he found an open one that led to a staircase.
“Go!” yelled Sidney as she arrived at the door.
He didn’t need further prompting. He headed up the bare concrete stairs, three at a time.
On each floor, he slammed into the exit doors, but they were locked, designed only to be opened from the other side. Sweating, he reached the top of the stairs. He hammered on the last door while crushing his face against a small wire-reinforced porthole and peering left and right. Beyond the door, he saw a plush corridor with an old painting of the station and its famous train wreck dangling from the second floor. Sidney joined in hammering on the door.
“They’re on the steps,” April said.
Piers started kicking the door to make more noise. A waiter’s face appeared at the window. Sidney pressed her face up to the porthole, screamed help, and implored him with her eyes. The door lock clicked in an instant.
Piers shoulder-barged the door. It flew open, smacking the waiter in the face and sending Piers stumbling into the far wall. Sidney and April were right behind. Sidney slammed the door. They were in a corridor with imposing entrances at either end.
The waiter rubbed his face. “Madame et monsieur, the entrance is at the next stairway.” As he pointed to a grand door at the end of the corridor it swung open, and two police officers rushed through.
“We’ve got to go,” Piers said.
The officers shouted for them to stop. Piers grabbed Sidney’s hand and ran in the opposite direction down the corridor. He heard April’s shoes thumping behind him. He ran through an archway, and they stamped into an ocean of tranquility. A thick carpet padded gently underfoot. The walls were decorated with a dark, velvet wallpaper and gold-framed paintings. Spotlights picked out intimate tables. In uncanny unison, the diners at those tables turned to look at them.
“Excuse us,” Sidney said, as she dodged her way through the well-dressed patrons toward a pair of swing doors on the right side of the room. April followed and Piers brought up the rear. A rotund maître d’ barreled in their direction. As they passed through the swing doors, Piers grabbed a mop and wedged it into the door handles. The maître d’ bounced off the doors, then returned with a booming voice, demanding to be let in.
Steam rose from pots and pans all around a tiny kitchen. There was no other exit. Three cooks were packed into one corner, apparently tasting something. After a moment’s surprise, they armed themselves with pots and pans.
“We don’t mean you any harm,” Piers said, holding up his hands.
“Get out,” said the head chef.
“There’s a man after us.”
The chef advanced on them. “Then call the police. Get out.”
Sidney opened a small hatch in the far wall. “Over here.”
April and Piers danced around the cooks to join her.
The head chef folded his arms and smiled. “Go ahead. It’s only five floors straight down into the trash.”
Sidney grabbed a tablecloth from a pile on a cart. She held it out to April. “Wrap it around your feet and back. Press on either side of the chute to slow you down.”
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
There was a hammering on the door. Piers saw a flash of police uniform through the small window. “Yes, you. Unless you want to deal with them.”
April wriggled into the opening and wrapped the sheet round her legs. “This is stupid.”
“Go!” said Sidney, wrapping another tablecloth around herself.
One of the cooks started for the door.
“Wait,” said the head chef. “This I have to see.”
April dropped into the chute, screaming.
The chef nodded. “I’m impressed. Now open the door.”
Piers grabbed Sidney and stepped into the hatch. He forced his feet against one side of the chute and his back against the other. His shoes skidded and juddered on the smooth metal. Sidney rolled into a ball in his arms and they rocketed downward. His back grew hot and he couldn’t see below, but above them he could hear shouting. The outline of someone appeared at the hatch, but in a moment they were gone.
“Hope they don’t have a bloody gu—”
Piers’ feet flipped off the end of the metal, and his back fell away under Sidney’s weight. He redoubled his grip on her and curled his head forward, cringing.
The ground wasn’t what he had expected. They hit it with a percussive whump. It was soft, trash bags filled with god knows what. The plastic bags were almost frictionless, and he slid sideways. The impact on his back felt more like a mistimed jump into a swimming pool than a concrete floor. The smell wasn’t what he had expected either. A savory, sickly sweet putridness. He almost gagged.
Sidney struggled to get free. He relaxed his grip and she levered herself off him by wedging her elbow in his stomach. He struggled to get up on the squirming bags.
The room would have been pitch dark but for the glow from April’s mobile phone. She was searching the walls. “This was a stupid idea.”
Piers snorted. “Did you want to see if we could talk our way out of things with the police?”
“You didn’t even look for another way out!”
“There wasn’t another way out. Didn’t you notice the guys with the pots and pans and the police at the door?”
“Don’t be stup—”
“Stop it,” shouted Sidney. “Both
of you. We need to get out of here.”
Piers clenched his teeth, and took out his phone for illumination.
“There’s a crack down the corner of this wall,” Sidney said.
Piers scrabbled over the stinking bags and saw the line of light in the corner. There was a gap. He ran his phone upward. The gap went right to the top of the room then along the ceiling. “The whole wall’s a door. We need a lever or something.”
“Here,” April said from the other side of the room.
“Pull it,” Piers and Sidney said in unison.
April put her weight onto the lever. There was a metallic crunching sound, a rumbling, and light burst in through the top of the wall. It shook and rattled like an ancient drawbridge.
The wall opened onto a parking area for a trash truck. Piers expected to see a line of police officers, but there were none in sight. Beyond the parking spot, pedestrians and Paris traffic bustled. Piers stepped forward as the door headed for the horizontal. They were still high above the ground; the trash was obviously poured straight into the rear of a parked truck.
The floor began to tilt. “Shit!”
Sidney grabbed his arm. “What’s happening?”
“Jump!”
He leapt down to the ground. His feet stung from the impact but he turned just in time to adsorb the weight of Sidney landing in his arms. He rolled her to one side and shuffled right to catch April. But April didn’t jump. The bags started rolling and sliding from the filthy floor. Piers leapt back, and April was deposited gracefully down on a mound of garbage. Piers pulled her off.
Sidney was already looking up and down the road. She jumped out into the traffic, zigzagged to the middle lane, and stepped in front of a taxi. Piers dragged April through the traffic as he listened to screeching tires and prayed Sidney wasn’t hit. When he reached the taxi, she was already in the passenger seat. Piers followed April into the back. The taxi driver screwed up his nose and rolled down the electric windows.
“Charles de Gaulle. Move it, we’re late,” Sidney said. The taxi eased off and joined a line of traffic.
Piers leaned forward. “Fifty euros if you get us there on time.”
The taxi driver grunted and swung the car, tires squealing, out into the oncoming lanes, and accelerated away.
Paris Love Match Page 6