Eight Days to Live

by Iris Johansen

  Venable’s expert would be here soon. She would gather her stamina and be ready to face everything again by then. She relaxed against MacDuff and tried not to look at either the oak door where Celine had died or the face of Guilt before her.

  “That’s better,” MacDuff said.

  “Heaven forbid I make you frustrated, MacDuff.”

  “Aye.” He smiled. “Heaven forbid.”

  “I JUST HEARD FROM VENABLE,” MacDuff said as he walked out of the storage room where Venable’s art expert was working. “No computer billionaire named Donald Sarnoff from San Francisco. No entry records into this country for a Donald Sarnoff.”

  “A phony,” Jane said. Excitement was beginning to pierce the veil of exhaustion that was surrounding her. “Why would he lie to Celine? Why would he offer that much money for the painting?”

  “Maybe we’ll know soon. I think Cardot is almost finished with his examination.”

  “It’s about time.” Paul Cardot had been in that back storage room of the gallery for over two hours. And every hour had seemed an eternity to Jane. “Did he give you any hint about—”

  “Nothing,” Cardot said as he came out of the storage room. “The frame is a fine mahogany and has no microdots or any other devices embedded in it. The portrait itself appears to be just what it seems.” He nodded at Jane. “A very fine painting. Unless you, the artist, encoded something in the color or design that I wouldn’t be able to determine without extensive cryptographic analysis, then there’s no reason to believe Guilt is anything but a work of art.”

  Jane gazed at him with disappointment. When Cardot had unloaded all of his equipment, X-ray machines, special lights, and an entire box of chemicals, she had been encouraged. Then when MacDuff had told her that Sarnoff was a phony, she had hoped they were at last getting to the bottom of this nightmare puzzle. “You’re sure?”

  He nodded. “Venable doesn’t send careless professionals to do this kind of examination. He’s going to go over my report with a microscope. Particularly since he knows I’m going to take him to the cleaners for dragging me out of bed in the middle of the night and making me lug all my equipment across town.” He started packing up his bottles into his case. “I’ll be out of your gallery in fifteen minutes, Ms. MacGuire.”

  “It’s not my gallery,” Jane said. “I hoped you’d be able to give me some—” She turned away. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’ll see him out, Jane,” MacDuff said. “If you won’t go to bed, will you go upstairs and rest?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at the faint light streaming through the plate-glass window at the front of the gallery. “It’s after eight. Yvette Denarve should be here soon.”

  “And you’re in fine shape to deal with her, aren’t you?”

  “Good enough.” She turned toward the elevator. “Stop nagging me, MacDuff. I have to do this for Celine.”

  “I don’t nag. Nagging is for shrews and—”

  “Lairds who want their own way in everything.” She got on the elevator. “Go check on Jock. He hasn’t come inside since that expert showed up.”

  He smiled. “Jock can take care of himself now, Jane. No one could do it better. You were never able to grasp the concept that he’s not the brittle lad he was when you first met him.”

  She could grasp it. She just could never quite believe it. The memory of that breakable boy struggling to keep his sanity was always with her. She knew with her mind how deadly he could be, but not with her heart. That struggle had made her ache with sympathy, then and it still did now. “Go check on him.”

  “As you like.” His smile disappeared, and his expression became thoughtful as the elevator door closed between them.

  Jane rubbed her temple as the elevator started to move. Okay, there wasn’t anything secret hidden in the painting or frame. But the man who wanted Guilt was very much a mystery. Sarnoff was not his name, and computers were not his game. Who the hell was he?

  She got off the elevator and headed for the bedroom. She’d wash up, get dressed, then pack. She supposed she should eat something before this day started. It was promising to be a hell of a rough day once Yvette Denarve showed up on the scene. Or perhaps she wouldn’t bother to eat. It seemed too much effort at the moment and she was—

  There was a note pinned to her bedroom door.

  Jane,

  There’s fresh coffee made in the kitchen, and I washed your enormous cup. I noticed there was orange juice and milk in the refrigerator, and I put a box of cereal on the table.

  Jock

  She could feel the moisture sting her eyes. Stupid to be touched by such a simple thing. When had he slipped by them to come up and get all of this in readiness? No pushing, no nudging, just Jock doing what he thought best for her.

  Hell, it wouldn’t take that long to eat a little, and she could definitely use the coffee. She turned and headed for the kitchen.

  FOUR

  Paris

  Day Two

  VENABLE CALLED MACDUFF JUST after noon that day. “I need to talk to Jock Gavin.”

  “Then why are you calling me?”

  “Because if I didn’t, you’d accuse me of going around you and trying to victimize the poor boy.”

  “He’s a man, not a boy.”

  “Then let him protect himself,” Venable said sourly. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I gave him the option of saying no.”

  “After you set up a scenario that made it impossible for him to refuse.” He added impatiently, “So why do you want to talk to him?” He glanced at Jock, who was sitting in a chair a few feet away. “I’m turning up the volume and putting you on speaker. Don’t say anything to me that you don’t want him to hear. Or do you want me to hang up, Jock?”

  Jock shook his head. “I have no secrets from you.”

  “Not today. Yesterday was a different matter,” MacDuff said dryly. “Talk, Venable.”

  “I want to know about Ted Weismann.”

  “You should know all there is to know about him,” Jock said. “He’s your informant. You paid him to introduce me into Sang Noir.”

  “I know he’s greedy, and his information always panned out. You were around him for over two weeks before you took off for Paris.”

  “That doesn’t mean that I know much about him. I wasn’t concentrating on Weismann while I was there. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that the minute you took down Folard, Weismann had to go on the run or end up like Celine Denarve. Millet was there and recognized you, and he made the connection. I knew it would happen. One way or another, I was preparing to lose my informant.”

  “And?”

  “Weismann contacted me and wants to make a deal. No more dribbling bits of information. He’s prepared to spill his guts for a large enough sum that would permit him to find a hiding place that would be luxurious enough to make it worth the risk.”

  “And what’s your question to me?”

  “Just how much does he know? Would I be wasting money?”

  Jock thought about it. “It’s possible. I got the impression he wasn’t as deeply into the group’s confidence as the core eight. But he’s very personable, and Millet did send him out a couple times to scope out possible jobs. A man who regards information as cash and loves money would make it his business to find out all he could. And why would he have been willing to introduce me to his fine friends when he knew I’d possibly have to blow them away? He might have acquired enough information to be ready to step away from them and go into retirement.”

  “So that he could make me pay through the nose.”

  “It’s all supposition, of course.” Jock paused. “I don’t know if Weismann is a good bet for you. I do know he’s clever and self-serving. He was probably keeping an eye on me to see when I was going to make my move.” He was silent a moment. “Clever enough to dangle something out there to tempt you. What was it, Venable?”

  For a moment MacDuff thought Venable wasn’t going to
answer.

  “He said that he knew why Jane MacGuire was targeted.” He paused. “And who sent Millet that article and hired him for a possible future kill.”

  “Then pay it,” MacDuff said harshly. “If he’s lying, then take the hit. You owe it to her. You screwed up.”

  “I’ll consider it. If she agrees to cooperate. If you agree to cooperate.”

  “A deal?” MacDuff asked. “Forget it. You’re not going to use me. You’re not going to use Jock. And you’re sure as hell not going to use Jane.”

  “Why don’t you take that up with her? Weismann sent me a bit of information to prove his good faith. He said to tell Jane MacGuire that the order had gone out for a total on her.”

  “Total?” MacDuff repeated. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Total extermination,” Jock said slowly. “Family, friends, coworkers. Wipe every trace of the target from the face of the earth.”

  MacDuff glanced at him. “You’re familiar with the term?”

  “Yes, the Sang Noir wasn’t shy about talking about total extermination while I was with them. They were very proud of the concept. But it was a punishment levied only against special enemies. I heard they’d actually only used it once.”

  “Who?”

  “Juan Parillo, a police chief in Nardez, Venezuela. It’s a small city outside Caracas. He supposedly tortured and killed one of the Sang Noir group three years ago. They wanted to make an example of him.”

  “And what did that mean?”

  “They killed Parillo, his wife, his brother, and his three children. Then they systematically went down the list and murdered two of his officers and their families. They even took out his next-door neighbors because they were reputed to be his best friends.”

  “Wiped from the face of the earth,” MacDuff repeated. “Everyone close to him . . .”

  “I told you the Sang Noir was ugly,” Venable said. “And crazy as hell.”

  “Celine Denarve,” Jock said. “She was Jane’s friend and coworker. A double reason for them to kill her if Jane had been targeted for a total.” He suddenly straightened. “But that wouldn’t be good enough for them. It would only be a token.” He looked at MacDuff. “Celine Denarve has a sister. She was supposed to meet with Jane today.”

  “NO, YVETTE’S NOT HERE YET,” Jane said when MacDuff phoned her. “She called me at nine and said she was on the road.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

  “She was driving from Lyon?”

  “Yes, I told her I’d meet her if she decided to take the train instead. She’s really too upset to be driving. I’ve been a little worried. She said she’d be here by eleven.”

  “Do you have a number to call her back?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “What’s happening, MacDuff?”

  “I hope nothing is happening. Call her back and make sure she’s okay. Get back to me.” He hung up.

  Jane pressed the disconnect. She’d been a little worried, but now she was afraid. MacDuff didn’t cry wolf unless the wolf was leaping in for the kill. She quickly checked Yvette’s number and dialed.

  Nothing.

  She tried again.

  Voice mail. Yvette’s voice, cheerful, casual. So different than the shock and near hysteria that had shaded her voice when Jane had talked to her.

  She hung up and called MacDuff back. “I can’t get hold of Yvette. Now, dammit, tell me why you’re worried about her.”

  “It appears that you’ve become a special case to the Sang Noir. Let me call Venable back and have him check on the logical route she would take and the car she should be driving. Jock and I will start looking for her.”

  “What do you mean ‘special’—” She stopped. “Another one? You’re saying that Yvette may be another victim?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t think we can take the chance. I don’t have time to go into it now with you. I’ve got to call Venable. I may be wrong. She may walk in the door of the gallery in the next five minutes.”

  “If she doesn’t, I’m going with you.” She hung up. Dear God, it was too horrible to be true.

  Let it not be true.

  Please walk in that door, Yvette.

  FORTY MINUTES LATER JOCK, MacDuff, and Jane were on the A6 leaving Paris.

  “It’s a black 2005 Volvo,” Jock said as he hung up the phone from talking to Venable. “And Yvette Denarve stopped at a gas station on A6 and used her credit card over three hours ago.”

  “I’m going to call her again,” Jane said. “Maybe she just had a flat tire. It’s possible.”

  “Yes, it’s possible,” MacDuff said. “Look sharp, Jock. See if you see any sign of the car in trees or at the side of the road.”

  “We don’t have any cliffs or sharp inclines around here,” Jock said. “Even if she had brake trouble, there wouldn’t be too much danger.”

  He’s right, Jane thought. Level ground and plateaus. But it wasn’t the terrain they were concerned about.

  A black Volvo.

  MacDuff was driving slowly so that they could keep an eye out for the car.

  Two miles.

  Five.

  Seven.

  “There it is!” Jock pointed to a stand of trees up ahead. “But I don’t see anyone in the car.”

  The black Volvo was a good hundred yards off the highway, Jane noticed. Not good. How could Yvette have driven that far into the woods if she’d had car trouble?

  “I don’t like this.” MacDuff parked by the side of the highway. “Jock and I will scope it out. You stay here.”

  But Jane was already out of the car and heading for the Volvo.

  “Or not,” MacDuff said as he got out of the driver’s seat. “Have it your own way.”

  “I will. It’s broad daylight and those pines are too thin for anyone to be hiding behind. I just hope that Yvette is in—” She had reached the car and saw that the entire driver’s side was smashed as if sideswiped. She felt a rush of panic. Her gaze flew to the interior of the Volvo. “No one’s in the car.”

  “Then we’d better fan out and see if we can find any trace.” Jock glanced inside the car. “No blood. That’s good.”

  “Yes.” She glanced around the area. Tall scraggy pines were scattered over the entire plateau. It was broad daylight but the trees were casting dark shadows. It was terrible to have to think that an absence of blood was a good thing. “I hope.”

  “But the car wouldn’t have been pushed this far by a glancing hit.” Jock was heading toward the deeper woods. “It would have had to be driven.”

  Jane didn’t want to hear her own thoughts put into words. She moved toward the trees to the left of the car, her gaze raking the shrubs, then the ground.

  “Jock!”

  It was MacDuff calling from the other side of the stand of trees.

  She stopped. “MacDuff?”

  “Stay where you are, Jane,” MacDuff said. “You don’t want to see this.”

  She closed her eyes for an instant. No, she didn’t want to see it. She didn’t want it to be true. Her lids flicked open. Face it. She started in the direction from where she’d heard MacDuff’s voice.

  MacDuff’s and Jock’s backs were to her as she pushed through the shrubbery. They were looking down at a woman in black slacks and a green-striped blouse.

  Dear God.

  It was true and there was no running away from it.

  “She’s dead?” Jane whispered.

  Jock looked over his shoulder. “Oh, yes. It’s not pretty, Jane.”

  “I told you not to come. Do you ever pay attention to what I ask?” MacDuff said.

  “No.” She took a step closer, her gaze fixed on the body of the woman. “What did they—” She inhaled sharply. “My God.” Her stomach lurched. “What happened to her head?”

  “We haven’t discovered that yet,” MacDuff said. “But it was taken off cleanly, probably by a blow with an axe.”

  “Decapitated,” she said numbly. She couldn’t take her gaze from the
headless woman.

  Blood.

  Jagged flesh, bone.

  Lord, she felt sick.

  “Seen enough?” MacDuff asked roughly. He stepped closer and spun her around to face the road. “Go back to the car. Lock the doors. We’ll keep an eye on you until you reach it. Jock and I will do a search of the woods to see if we can find her—” He stopped. “If you want to do something, call Venable and tell him to get his people out here. I’m not having you wait for the police.”

  “We shouldn’t leave her like—”

  “No,” MacDuff said. “You’re out of here.” He turned back to Jock. “Let’s do it.”

  Jane hesitated, then slowly started toward the car. Just put one foot in front of the other and don’t look back. She had no desire to stay here with that headless corpse who had once been Yvette Denarve. Somehow, that act robbed death of all dignity. No one should be allowed to do that to a human being. Life had meaning. The end of life should also have meaning.

  Then do all the things that would show respect and make Yvette’s death important.

  She got in the car, locked the doors, then leaned back and closed her eyes.

  Blood. Headless. Horror.

  Her eyes flicked open again. Would she ever be able to close her eyes without seeing Yvette’s mutilated body?

  Dammit, don’t think of yourself. Think about that poor woman. Try to do something for her.

  She reached for her phone to call Venable.

  MACDUFF AND JOCK DIDN’T COME BACK to the car for another thirty minutes.

  “No luck,” MacDuff said briefly as he got into the driver’s seat. “They must have taken her head with them. Unless they buried it. And I didn’t see any turned earth.”

  Jane had thought that Yvette’s death couldn’t be any more horrible, but she was wrong. The idea of someone’s carrying that poor woman’s head around like a trophy was beyond atrocious. “Why?” she whispered. “Why would they do that? It’s like something from the time of the barbarians.”

  “We have quite a few barbarians strolling around right now,” Jock said. “What did Venable say?”

  “He told me he’d have a team out here within the hour.” She paused. “He said that maybe we should believe that Weismann had the goods.”