The Snakes

by Sadie Jones

  ‘Yes. There’s more money, here in the hotel.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes. Money that Alex brought in from, I guess, a Swiss account, or company, of my father’s. It’s quite a lot of money.’

  It was impossible to tell if Vincent was surprised, or even interested.

  ‘Have you seen anybody unusual in the area?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know. Dan, have we seen anyone unusual in the area?’

  Dan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We don’t see anyone out here.’

  ‘Has anybody been here, to the hotel?’ asked Vincent.

  ‘No.’

  Then she remembered the blue car, turning in, after she’d been in the river, when she went to get her phone.

  ‘A car turned in, a few days ago. It was probably just lost.’

  ‘What kind of car?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was blue.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘What are your plans?’

  ‘We’re going to spend the night in Beaune, and then head off. Away.’

  ‘Out of France?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He pursed his lips, considering. ‘It would be better if you stayed nearby. We’ll need you to come into the gendarmerie on Monday.’

  ‘He wants us to stay,’ Bea told Dan.

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘A few days, only,’ said Vincent, in English.

  ‘Can you take the money with you now?’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘No.’

  ‘We don’t want it here.’

  Dan went to get it and Bea and Vincent sat in silence. He was not as closely shaved as usual, and he was wearing trainers with his jeans, not loafers. He had come alone. She wondered if he had been going away for the weekend when they interrupted his plans, and realised what was different; there was no smell of aftershave. It was like he was missing an item of uniform.

  Dan came back in, carrying the red snake trap. He put it down on the coffee table where it sat, crude and ugly, with the smearing grime and the white lettering on the side. Seeing it, Vincent stood up, suspiciously. Dan undid the catches and took off the lid, revealing the money, shining like guts.

  ‘We really don’t want it here,’ said Bea. ‘Isn’t it evidence, or something?’

  Vincent got to his feet. He stood over the table, looking down at it. He whistled.

  ‘I know,’ said Dan.

  Vincent shook his head. ‘I can’t take it.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Bea, then to Dan, ‘He won’t take it.’

  ‘That’s reasonable,’ said Dan.

  ‘I need paperwork. I must follow procedure. This is serious. You don’t understand. You think you know where this has come from, but there’s more to it. I can’t touch it.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘Madame, I can’t just take your money in my car.’

  ‘But it’s not ours.’

  He took out his phone and went over to the window, speaking rapidly in a quiet voice. He finished the call and turned back to the room. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. You might have to come back, to meet my colleagues. Is that acceptable?’

  ‘He wants us to come back tomorrow, and let someone in, to collect it.’

  ‘We can do that.’

  ‘OK.’ She turned to Vincent. ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

  ‘One of my team will call, very soon. OK?’ he said.

  They showed him out. The clean smell of a clear night came in as she opened the door, and he stood on the steps with his keys, and the quiet dark behind him.

  ‘When I asked my father why he searched Alex’s car after the accident he lied to me. He probably lied to you, too. I want you to know that I am not loyal to my parents.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said, in English.

  She did not want him to leave. She felt very close to him, his formality was comforting. She imagined him driving away from them, his car disappearing along the empty road, and she and Dan alone again, and unprotected. Her instinct longed for him to stay and she listened to her fear.

  ‘Do you think we’re in danger?’ she asked.

  He did not answer immediately. She thought of the elephant, and what she was allowed to know, and not know.

  ‘Your brother’s wallet and identity card were not taken. Or tampered with,’ he said. ‘There is no way of knowing if he gave away his address before that. But it’s been a week now –’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry I have no answers for you. But I think it’s better you are leaving, just in case.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Have a good weekend.’

  He shook Dan’s hand, and then hers.

  ‘We have a lot of information we are analysing. We won’t give up.’

  He got into his car, and they watched as he reversed, then turned his car towards the gate. Dan put his arms around her waist as he drove away.

  ‘OK, let’s get out of here,’ he said.

  They took the money upstairs and put it back up in the attic near the top of the ladder and bolted the trapdoor. Bea got their things and put them in the hall, and Dan went round the hotel, checking the windows and doors were locked. They tidied the kitchen together, throwing away the food in the fridge and wiping down the surfaces. They put the rubbish bags outside the side door.

  Nobody from Vincent’s team called. They both kept checking their phones. Bea found a small hotel in Beaune for them to spend the night. It was a little like Paligny, but in the town, by the medieval walls. The woman offered them a room on the first floor, or a bigger one in an annexe in the garden. Bea took the one in the main hotel. She didn’t want to be isolated. She wanted people. She imagined a dining room, with busy waiters and the companionable voices of strangers.

  She went upstairs to say goodbye to Alex’s room, and heard Dan’s voice in the hall.

  ‘Bea! Let’s go!’

  She heard a car go by.

  ‘Hold on,’ she called.

  She stood in the bedroom doorway. Her mother would strip it for keepsakes, fetishise and fawn over them. She wanted to take just one thing for herself, something he would want her to have. She switched on the bedside light, looking around the room, and questioning the air. The seconds passed, but she had no sense of his presence at all. She heard the growl of a car and saw headlights approaching, shining straight onto the hotel, then the scrunch of the gravel. Quickly, she turned off the bedside light and went to the window. She couldn’t see Dan down there. The car stopped below her and the engine was switched off. The door opened and a man got out. She could see the top of his head, hair buzz-cut almost to the scalp, and balding. He looked up – and she dodged behind the curtain. She heard him walking to the door. She left the room just as the doorbell rang.

  She didn’t know where Dan was. She stood very still at the top of the stairs, waiting.

  ‘HELLO?’ called the man, American. ‘Hel-lo?’

  She didn’t move. She heard Dan’s voice, and talking, muffled, and then receding. She pulled her phone from her pocket but dropped it, thudding, onto the floor. Scrabbling to pick it up she heard footsteps coming into the hall. She gripped her phone, panic in her blood and brain, quick and slow, trying to listen, trying to think.

  ‘Through here,’ said Dan.

  ‘Oh, great.’

  She couldn’t hide and leave Dan on his own. She went downstairs.

  The stranger had his back to her, with one hand in his pocket and a large black backpack at his feet. He turned.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, and smiled.

  He was in his late thirties, tanned and unshaven, with a high, bony forehead and a wide smile, as if his small teeth ran straight across his mouth. He wore a brown leather jacket and a red T-shirt with a faded symbol on the front.

  ‘I have some stuff, but it’s in the car,’ he said.

  She couldn’t see Dan’s face behind him.

  ‘I’m Russ. Is Alex here?’

  Bea’s mind was blank.

  ‘Are you a friend?’ said Dan.

/>   The man turned to look at him. ‘Yeah, like I said. Is he around?’

  ‘No,’ said Dan.

  ‘I booked a room. Russ Bannam?’ He looked at Bea again. ‘Was it you I spoke with, a while back, on the phone?’

  Bea remembered. She had taken his name. At first she felt relief, but then she realized he’d called just after Alex died.

  ‘Beatrice? You’re Beatrice, right?’

  ‘Look, we’re not really open,’ said Dan.

  ‘You’re not –?’

  ‘The hotel isn’t open,’ said Dan. ‘I’m sorry. Alex was in an accident. He died.’

  ‘He died?’ said the man. ‘He’s dead? What kind of an accident?’

  ‘In his car.’

  He frowned. He nodded, gazing into the middle distance. Then he looked at Bea directly. ‘That’s awful. My God. I am so sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My God,’ he said again.

  ‘I shouldn’t have taken your booking. It was just after it happened. I wasn’t thinking.’

  ‘Sure.’

  He looked around the hall, and up the stairs, and ran his hand over his shaved head, back and forth, nodding slowly.

  ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘Shit. I can’t believe it.’

  Neither Dan nor Bea spoke.

  ‘Huh.’ He rolled his head and stretched his neck. ‘Could I get a drink?’

  Neither of them answered. He looked from one to the other.

  ‘I can get a drink, right? Is that OK?’

  There was a pause. It felt impossible to refuse him.

  ‘Sure,’ said Dan. ‘Come through.’

  The man picked up his backpack and followed Dan into the sitting room.

  Bea stayed exactly where she was. She found Vincent’s number on her phone, and called it, staring at the shiny blue BMW through the window. The phone went to voicemail.

  ‘This is Beatrice. A man has come to the hotel. He says he knew Alex. His name is Russ Bannam.’

  Walking to the window she read out the number plate on the car, then hung up and went to join them.

  29

  They sat on the terrace at one of the hexagonal tables. Moths gathered around the three lamps on the back wall. Russ sat with his foot hitched up on his knee, his whisky glass resting in his palm.

  ‘I’m not surprised this place isn’t exactly as advertised. But it’s a nice place, right? Kind of how I pictured it, give or take.’

  ‘Alex never mentioned you,’ said Dan.

  ‘He didn’t even mention my name? Russ? No?’

  ‘No,’ said Dan.

  Russ looked at Bea.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘Huh,’ he shrugged, and went back to his whisky.

  ‘How did you know him?’ asked Dan.

  ‘We met in Paris, a few months back.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Listen, can I get another drink?’

  Dan pushed the bottle towards him.

  ‘Thanks. Join me?’

  ‘No, thanks. So how did you meet Alex?’

  Russ rolled tobacco in Rizla paper, slipping the tight cigarette quickly in and out of his mouth.

  ‘Some bar, near Bastille.’ He pronounced the double L. ‘You know Paris?’ He lit his cigarette.

  ‘What was he doing in Paris?’ asked Dan.

  ‘Hey, we were both pretty drunk. Anyway, he told me about this place, and he said I should come visit. He said it was pretty lonely, living out here, so I was kind of surprised when a woman answered the phone. But that was you, right?’ He smiled at Bea, pleased to make the connection. ‘Yeah – he said his sister was coming to stay.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Let you in on a secret,’ he said. ‘I only made the booking because I thought Alex would want me to.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ said Dan.

  ‘You know, to make it look good for Dad.’ He winked. There was a hint of country in his voice, a South-Western twang.

  ‘Did he say that?’

  ‘Sure,’ Russ laughed, showing his teeth in a wide grin. ‘Alex isn’t – I’m sorry – wasn’t exactly the secretive type.’ He stared into his drink. ‘Listen, it’s too bad.’

  Bea and Dan exchanged a glance, but he looked up and caught them at it.

  ‘Are you both on duty or something? I hate to drink alone.’

  Again, refusing him seemed too big a statement, and a risk. Bea fetched glasses from the sideboard in the dining room. Dan poured whisky for himself and for her.

  ‘There you go,’ said Russ approvingly. He raised his glass. ‘Cheers! Or whatever you guys say.’

  Bea checked her phone. Everything about him seemed both natural and constructed, there was no trace of tension, no hint of anything but pleasantness. His unmixed friendliness was compelling, chivvying them, like cows into a pen, with only one direction to go.

  ‘So, what are you doing in France?’ asked Dan.

  Russ talked and talked and said nothing. They were only sipping their whisky but drinking with him changed things. It turned them into his friends, credulous and weak.

  ‘Listen, sometimes I hate the States,’ he said, as if they’d asked. ‘And I’ve lived all over. I was born in Minnesota, went to college on the East Coast, worked my way over to the West, and lived pretty much everywhere in between. I like Europe.’ He said it generously. ‘I always like coming to Europe. And I know some people in London, and I spent a little time there, but I guess it got tired, so –’ he sighed the words out, a long-story-short – ‘anyway, I’ve been on the move since Christmas, just taking it easy, meeting different people, travelling around. And Alex was one of those, you know, a guy I met one night. I like meeting new people when I travel.’

  They watched him talk, rolling his cigarettes without looking, the tiny filter in his lips, either oblivious to being watched, or loving it. It was tempting to believe there was something innocuous about a person who could talk like that.

  ‘I mean, this could be a hell of a nice place, couldn’t it?’ he said. ‘I know Alex had all kinds of plans for it.’

  ‘So,’ said Dan abruptly, putting down his glass, ‘where are you planning to stay tonight?’

  Russ looked taken aback. ‘I can’t stay here?’

  ‘I need to talk to Bea. Excuse us,’ said Dan, and they both stood up. It didn’t make a dent in his cheerfulness.

  ‘Yeah, sure, go ahead,’ he said.

  They both went inside. They could see Russ through the window, lighting his roll-up and nodding his head, as if he was listening to music, or somebody talking.

  ‘I called Vincent,’ she said, not taking her eyes from him.

  ‘Did he answer?’

  ‘Voicemail.’

  ‘Everything he’s saying he could have got from Alex in one night,’ said Dan.

  ‘I know.’

  They were both very calm and measured, each of them waiting for the other to say the unsayable.

  ‘I’ll call Vincent again,’ said Bea.

  ‘I’ll tell this guy he has to go.’

  ‘Maybe we should just leave him here?’

  ‘No, I’ll tell him.’

  ‘Why?’

  But Dan had gone back outside.

  Bea went into the hall. Vincent’s number didn’t even ring, just two short beeps. She went through the calls on the tiny grey screen, trying to find the gendarmerie number. She heard a noise behind her. Russ was in the room.

  ‘Hey! Do you have a speaker, or something like that?’ He was ebullient, making it ridiculous to fear him. But still, she feared him.

  ‘A speaker?’

  Dan caught up behind.

  ‘I’m going to go get mine from the car,’ said Russ.

  He went to the front door, quickly.

  ‘Hold on!’ he said. ‘Just be a tick!’

  He went out, leaving the door open.

  ‘I told him,’ said Dan. He laughed, not like a real laugh, panic. ‘He wants us to hear some band. He says he’ll go after
that.’

  ‘This is so mad,’ said Bea.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  They heard the pip of the central lock as Russ opened his car. Dan looked outside.

  ‘Nice car.’

  ‘BMW.’ Russ was rummaging inside.

  ‘That’s an M4,’ said Dan. ‘That’s got to be sixty grand’s worth of car.’

  Russ looked over his shoulder at them, grinning, and held something up.

  ‘Got it!’

  He ran back in, flat-footed and clownish, opening his arms as if he were welcoming them. ‘Listen, I feel bad I busted in on you like this. Seriously.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Dan automatically, he didn’t know why he said it, locked in by an unspoken rule, politeness, or the need for normality.

  Russ was all performance, busying himself with his phone and the Bluetooth. It struck Bea that he was just the sort of person Alex would have liked. He could never see what was clear to her, that only very damaged people could perform like that. He looked up, and directly into her eyes, as if he were reading her mind.

  ‘I am going to leave. I understand you’re closing the place up and everything. And it’s a bad time. I totally get it.’

  Bea nodded.

  ‘So let’s have one more drink, OK?’ he grinned. ‘I have this band I recorded on my phone, when I was in Marseille? They’re so cool, I mean it. They’re from the south – not like the south of the States, the south of Europe – seriously, someplace like Albania or something, and they have kind of like a gypsy sound, but more like gypsy meets Hendrix meets like a nineties House vibe. Alex loved them.’

  It was dizzying, impossible, to hear Alex’s name.

  ‘I really wanted to play it for him, because he saw them in Paris last year? And he was pissed I was going to see them, they don’t have any quality live recordings. They’re called Les Nine Idiots, or Neuf Diables, or some shit like that, and I swear Alex is going to –’ He tripped over Alex’s death like a body, then continued, more subdued. ‘I swear Alex would have loved it.’ He held up his phone and the speaker. ‘I have it right here. Les Neuf Cercles, recorded live, man, gold dust. D’you have someplace I can plug this in? It’s out of juice.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Dan. ‘In here.’

  He turned his back, and Russ followed him into the sitting room. Their voices shrank away, then Gypsy-Hendrix-House blasted out.