Rough Cut

by Owen Carey Jones

  “I want you to watch them. Eloise isn’t involved, I’m sure of that. But I’m not so sure about Jacques. Hire a car in case you need it; I’ll get another one for myself when I get back to the hotel. And don’t let them out of your sight; I want to know every move they make, as soon as they make it. OK?”

  “Yeah, sure. No problem,” replied Conrad and turned to go back to the Capitainerie.

  When Carter reached the café in the Place du Marché where he had agreed to meet Antoine and the driver, he found only the driver there. Sitting at a table in the shade of a parasol, he was gently stirring his coffee and watching the pretty girls walking to and fro in front of him. When he saw Carter he stood up immediately and bowed slightly.

  “Where is Antoine?” asked Carter.

  “Je ne sais pas. He has not been here. I have been here since I park the car but Monsieur du Bois…” he shrugged, “Je ne sais pas.”

  Carter looked around but there was no sign of Antoine in the immediate vicinity. “You’d better take me back to Sainte Maxime and then come back here and wait for him,” he said to the driver.

  _________________________

  In the living room of his house, Philippe was pacing up and down as usual while Gilles sat in an armchair.

  “Beyond this partial name,” said Gilles. “The New York Federation. Beyond that Antoine doesn’t know anything.”

  Philippe stopped pacing and turned to face him.

  “You are sure?” he challenged.

  “He said he was just asked to book Jacques’ boat for Jefferson,” said Gilles as he nodded his confirmation.

  “And you believe him?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  Philippe walked over to the drinks cabinet at one end of the room and poured himself a large cognac before sitting in the armchair close to the French windows so that he could look out over Le Lac. Still sitting in the other armchair, Gilles watched him.

  After a few minutes deep in thought, an idea occurred to Philippe. He got up from the chair and fetched his address book from the drawer of his bureau. He flicked through it until he found what he was looking for and then picked up the phone and dialled the international code for the USA followed by the number in the book.

  “Hello, Randolph,” he said cheerily when he heard a man’s voice at the other end of the line, “This is Philippe here, Philippe Lacoste in France.”

  “Hi there Philippe, how are you? How’s business?”

  “Good, thank you, very good… How about you?”

  “Can’t complain. Managing to make a buck or two. What can I do for you, old friend?”

  “It is a small thing. I don’t really like to trouble you with it.”

  “Just name it Philippe. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Well,” said Philippe, choosing his words carefully, “I have been asked to rent a boat to some people from an organisation called The New York Federation but I prefer not to charter my boats to people I do not know and I have never heard of them. I wondered if you knew anything about them?”

  “Not off hand, Philippe. But I’ll check and call you back as soon as I find out anything.”

  “Thank you Randolph. I owe you one.”

  “You don’t owe me a damn thing! I haven’t begun to repay you for what you did for me.”

  “You are very kind,” said Philippe and rang off.

  An hour later, Philippe and Gilles were sitting quietly, waiting for the phone to ring. When it did, Philippe answered it.

  “Lacoste,” he said.

  “Philippe, it’s Randy here. I think I’ve found out what you wanted to know.”

  “Good, good.”

  “There isn’t an organisation called The New York Federation but there are a few whose names start with those words.”

  “I see,” said Philippe, his voice conveying his disappointment.

  “But most of them are associations of teachers and nurses, that sort of thing. In terms of hiring one of your motor yachts, I think there’s only one that would be likely to be doing anything like that.”

  “Yes?” said Philippe eagerly as he waited for Randolph to continue.

  “Yeah. It’s The New York Federation of International Diamond Traders. I haven’t been able to find out much about them but they are kosher, a sort of trade body for the diamond business here in New York. Does that help?”

  Philippe’s worst fears had been realised. “Yes,” he said pensively, “Thank you for your help with this matter. We must meet up next time you are in France.”

  “Yeah that would be good. We could tie one on and reminisce about old times. Hey, do you remember that dame in Auxerre, the blonde one that couldn’t do enough for us. Hot damn! She was gorgeous, wasn’t she? Anyway, so long Philippe. See you soon.”

  “Bye Randolph.” Philippe put the phone down and looked at Gilles. “It is bad,” he said and repeated what Randolph had told him. As he did, Gilles’ face fell.

  “I know of the FIDT,” said Gilles, “They are powerful, and well funded.”

  “We need to find out how much they know. Maybe Jacques could tell us.”

  Gilles nodded. “I will take care of it. Leave it to me.”

  “OK, but no more accidents, like with Rob. You understand?” Philippe fixed Gilles with a stare and Gilles stared back at him for a few seconds before turning away and leaving.

  _________________________

  Night had fallen and Carter was deep in thought as he looked out of the window of his hotel room in Sainte Maxime but when his phone rang, he picked it up off the table immediately and answered the call.

  “Nicole, Hi,” he said.

  “Carter, I’ve just had Eloise on the phone.”

  Carter sensed Nicole’s anger and knew what was coming. He had been expecting to get a call from her and he had already decided that when it came, he would get in first and try to minimise the damage to his relationship with her.

  “I didn’t have any choice, Nikki,” he pleaded, before she had a chance to say anything more, “She had already worked out for herself that all was not as it seemed. I had to tell her. It was the only option”

  “Well, I’m worried about her.”

  “I know you are.”

  “Please, Carter, make sure nothing happens to her. I’m depending on you. She’s all I’ve got left now.”

  “Can’t you get her to come home? That would be the best solution.”

  “I tried. But Eloise has never been one to do as she’s told and right now she seems to be more concerned about this new boyfriend of hers than she is about anything else.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to make sure she’s safe, I promise. I already have someone keeping an eye on her.”

  “OK, Carter. Thank you.”

  Carter rang off and threw his phone onto the bed. Then he went back to the window and stared out over the sea. He desperately hoped that his investigation wouldn’t get in the way of his renewed relationship with Nicole but he knew it probably would. All he could do was try to convince her that his involvement would, if anything, make things better; make it more likely, not less, that Eloise would come out of it unscathed.

  CHAPTER 11

  Yvonne woke to the soft but unmistakable sound of footsteps climbing the stairs from the gallery to her apartment. She looked at the alarm clock beside her bed and saw that it was three o’clock in the morning. She shook her head and wiped the sleep from her eyes before listening again. Through the open door between her bedroom and the living room, she was sure she could hear someone on the wooden steps outside the apartment. But who? And how had they got into the gallery without setting off the alarm?

  She threw back the sheet and rose from her bed. As she was naked, preferring not to wear anything in bed during the summer months, she instinctively reached for her bathrobe. She put it on quickly and went to the corner of the room where she kept a baseball bat she had once accepted from a customer in payment for a painting by a local, rather indifferent, arti
st. She picked up the bat and silently closed her bedroom door. Almost as soon as she had, she heard the living room door open and the sound of voices whispering. Her heart was racing as she backed away into a corner of the bedroom, hoping they would just take what they wanted and leave.

  Then, suddenly and noisily, the bedroom door was thrown open and the sight that met her eyes filled her with panic. Standing in the doorway were two men, one large and muscular, the other smaller and slighter. They were dressed entirely in black and their faces were set stony, expressionless, as they looked around the room. Yvonne lifted the bat above and behind her right shoulder. She was trembling from head to toe, terrified by the presence of the two intruders, but she was ready to defend herself.

  As they came into the room, Henri and Albert saw Yvonne in the corner of the room and moved slowly and menacingly towards her; she noticed that one of them was holding a gun and was pointing it at her. As they got closer to her, she swung the baseball bat with as much force as she could in an arc in front of her but they had halted their approach and were out of range. The bat swished harmlessly in front of them and as it completed its journey, Yvonne’s arms were stretched out to her left and she was defenceless. At precisely the right moment, Albert, using his size and strength, leapt forward and grabbed her, putting his big hairy arms around her shoulders from behind and smothering any further swings of the bat. Yvonne dropped the bat and tried with all her strength to use her elbows to fight back but Albert had her arms pinned to her side. She looked at Henri, who was standing directly in front of her, and swore at him as she continued to struggle to break loose. She thought about screaming in the hope that a neighbour would hear and come to her rescue, but when she opened her mouth, no sound came out.

  Henri moved towards her and when he was close enough, he slapped her face, quickly and firmly but not with any great force. “Manners!” he said mockingly, wagging a finger in front of her, “You must remember your manners.”

  Henri’s counterfeit smile reminded Yvonne of pictures she had seen of Great White sharks about to bite into their prey. She tried again to wriggle free but it was hopeless.

  Henri reached out his hand and took hold of her firmly under the chin. “You should try to be more welcoming towards your guests,” he said, so lasciviously that he was almost drooling, and with that, he adjusted his grip and held her face tightly by the jaw as he kissed her.

  Yvonne clenched her teeth and tried to disengage from the kiss but it was useless. Instead, she relaxed, opened her mouth and pretended to give in to him. Then, moments later, she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit deep into it.

  He pulled back immediately and as he did, she lifted her knee sharply; it found its mark and Henri gasped and bent over in agony. Still holding Yvonne tightly, Albert smiled but when Henri had recovered, he was furious and his eyes flashed with anger.

  “Bitch!” he said and slapped her face again, this time much harder. “I think you need to learn to be more friendly.”

  Yvonne’s blood ran cold. She realised that these men were not burglars at all; they had not broken into her apartment to rob her; they were there for a different reason. She struggled again with even more vigour than before, but Albert was too strong for her and his grip did not slacken at all. She might as well have been wrapped in bands of steel.

  “Put her on the bed,” said Henri as he looked round the room. His voice was cold and hard and threatening and the uncontrollable trembling returned to Yvonne’s body.

  Albert looked at Henri, obviously reluctant to obey the order.

  “Go on! Do it!” barked Henri.

  Albert changed his hold and grabbed Yvonne’s arms. His huge hands easily closed round her biceps and he pushed her towards the bed. Unwillingly, and to avoid stumbling and falling, she got onto the bed. He changed his grip once more and, stretching her arms out above her head, pinned her firmly by the wrists.

  In the corner of the room, where Yvonne had found the baseball bat, Henri noticed a length of coiled washing line. He went over to it and picked it up. As he walked round to the bottom of the bed he tested its strength by snapping it taut between his hands a few times. Then he faced Yvonne and smiled. It was the Great White smile again.

  Albert looked on impassively, merely grunting acknowledgement of the instructions he was given as he kept Yvonne pinned down on the bed.

  “Now Mademoiselle Bitch, you will learn why you should be better mannered,” said Henri as he made a loop with the washing line before grabbing one of Yvonne’s flailing feet and deftly slipping the loop over it. He pulled the loop hard, stretching out her leg and Yvonne winced as the rope bit into her ankle. As he tied the rope to the bedpost, Henri looked at Yvonne, no smile anymore just a hard cold look in his eyes.

  “Now the other one,” he said, as if he were talking to a child, and, using the other end of the rope, tied her other foot to the second bedpost.

  Throughout, Albert never relaxed his hold on Yvonne’s wrists though she struggled with all her might. When she realised what was going to happen, Yvonne stopped struggling, it was no use anyway. Slowly and deliberately, Henri removed his trousers and boxer shorts before climbing on top of her. Roughly and without any pretence of finesse, he undid her bathrobe and pulled it aside. Involuntarily, he passed his tongue over his lips as he looked at Yvonne’s vulnerable body beneath him.

  “You bastard,” she said quietly as his face came close to hers, “I’ll get you for this.” She could feel him probing between her legs and wanted to be sick but she couldn’t.

  “BASTARD!” she screamed as he found his mark and thrust home.

  After that, for several minutes, the only sound was that of Henri panting as he pumped in and out of Yvonne before climaxing and falling on top of her.

  Traumatised, Yvonne fell silent and her body went limp. Albert let go of her but she had no more fight in her and when he did, she just lay there, her hair matted with sweat. Henri got up off the bed and put his clothes back on before giving Albert another instruction.

  “Untie her and put some clothes on her,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Yvonne started to cry and Albert began to feel sorry for her. Gently, he untied her feet, pulled them round off the bed and lifted her into a sitting position. Between the tears, she looked at her attacker, anger in her eyes, and repeated “You bastard.”

  Henri laughed at her as he tightened his belt. “Maybe next time you won’t be such a little bitch.”

  Albert passed Yvonne the clothes she had put on a chair to one side of the room when she had undressed the night before and silently indicated to her to put them on. Quietly, she dressed while they waited and watched.

  When she was dressed, Henri forced her mouth open and pushed a large handkerchief into it almost choking her. Then, before she could spit it out, he removed the red scarf she had put round her neck and tied it tightly to hold the handkerchief in place. When he had finished, Albert took her arm and, noiselessly, they led her out of the Gallery, into the street, and out of Sainte Pierre.

  Henri drove out of the car park with Yvonne sitting in the back next to Albert. She stole a glance at the man who had held her down whilst his accomplice had violated her; he was staring straight ahead, his face impassive as the car sped along the unlit country roads in the inky, moonless night.

  Within a few minutes, though it seemed longer to Yvonne, they came to a halt outside a farmhouse at the end of a long track. Albert took Yvonne’s arm and pulled her, unresisting, out of the car. Henri fumbled for a torch in the glove compartment and led the way. When they reached the farmhouse, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the front door.

  Once inside, Henri switched on the ceiling light and Yvonne could see that they were standing in the hallway of what must once have been an imposing residence. She looked round and saw that on each side, a door led off the hall into what she supposed must be the two main reception rooms. Directly in front of her, a broad flight of shallow stairs rose to
a galleried landing. On each side of the staircase, a corridor led to another door.

  It was obvious from the general state of disrepair all around, that the house was no longer occupied. The red glass shade of an electric lamp designed to look like an oil lamp was broken and bare wires hung sadly from the wall where once there would have been expensive wall lights. To one side of the front door stood a small table bearing only an ancient bakelite telephone and a hopelessly out of date and dog-eared directory. Yvonne doubted if the telephone were connected but thought she would like to have the chance to test it. The carpet in the middle of the floor had obviously once proudly welcomed visitors to its tasteful owners’ home, but now, weighed down with dust and debris, it might as well have been a cheap special offer from a mass market furnishing store.

  The two men led Yvonne along the passageway to the left of the stairs and into the kitchen, switching on the kitchen lights as they entered. If the hall had spoken to Yvonne of disuse, the kitchen bellowed of misuse. The sink was piled high with dirty pans and crockery. Filthy cutlery, undoubtedly teeming with wildlife of the microscopic variety, stuck out from the pile like the spines of a porcupine. On the floor, months of dropped crusts and bits of food littered the black and white checked linoleum and, apart from a few rickety wall and floor cupboards, the kitchen was unfurnished.

  Yvonne looked round quickly when she heard the pile of crockery clatter. She was sure she saw a rat scamper behind the electric kettle, the flex of which showed signs of having been gnawed. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought; she hated small rodents and she hated big ones even more.

  Henri opened the door next to the one through which they had come into the kitchen and flicked the light switch on the wall beside it. It looked to Yvonne as if the door would lead into a cupboard underneath the staircase in the hall, but as she got closer she saw that it led down some steps. The three of them descended the flight of stone steps into the basement of the house.