Downfall

by Sally Spedding

  Wrong.

  *

  “Mangez! Eat!” Came the order from that same male voice she’d heard on the tannoy, and a second dog’s nose began exploring her face, pushing a coarse tongue up a nostril. Then came a third, and another…

  “Get off! Leave me alone!” She yelped, but this made them even more eager to taste her.

  She forced her eyes open on to a forest of fur. Eyes glinting like those glass ones in her mother’s creepy fox fur stole.

  Merde.

  Then she saw him, still as a black, bare tree, framed against that huge, sloping roof above his Kingdom of Separation. The very same man who’d emerged from room 45 in the Hôtel les Palmiers and elsewhere, but no longer dressed as a businessman. This time he’d turned hunter, in camouflage gear, complete with a matching peaked-cap and yes, orange baler twine spooling from his top pocket. He focussed on her with those same penetrating eyes, that oddly unlined skin covering his finely-boned face. Rifle cocked. A sick smile stretching his mouth.

  “Bienvenue, Delphine Rougier,” came a voice she also recognised, smooth as silk. “You didn’t take long to get here after all, did you? Just as I thought. Obedient to a fault.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Remember that so very touching phone call you had?”

  Piss off…

  Yet part of her brain rewound Martin Dobb’s frightened message.

  She’d nothing to lose. She knew who this creep was.

  “Where is he? Martin Dobbs, your errand boy?”

  That made him pause.

  “You mean that waste of gay, Anglais skin? Safe and sound, I can assure you.”

  His snide laugh was all she needed.

  “You’re nothing but a sick, cowardly murderer.”

  This brought a flinch to his lips. A narrowing of those unsparing eyes.

  Delphine also recalled the imported Nissan, but what else had been going on between them? What had maybe gone wrong?

  She took a deep breath. It hurt.

  “You killed that baby boy in the Hôtel les Palmiers then my dog and Basma Arouar. You also hurt Roza Adamski when she…”

  “Attaquez!” He yelled, and as Delphine tried curling herself away from the dogs’ snarling attentions, felt the sting of their teeth as they tore at her new boots. Her clothes, her hair. Screaming made not the slightest difference.

  Say it…

  “Is your depraved son here as well?”

  The rifle wavered, but not for long. Earth Mother snatched it from his grasp, giving herself a weapon in each hand

  “I’ll see to her. Move!” She ordered him. “Schnell!”

  Schnell?

  The dogs glanced up before rejoining their prey. This time, Delphine’s head.

  “To answer your question, Mademoiselle Rougier – which is only polite – my dear son’s been dead for too long.”

  “Der Lügner! Liar!” Earth Mother prodded the hunter with both rifle barrels, while Delphine tried in vain to protect her ruined hair. “It’s your traitorous son who’s just jumped ship.”

  *

  Was she hearing things? Those German words for a start, and had that really been wild-haired Lucius Seghers in the pyjamas? If so, she was right. That cruel, old fiend really had been his father, Dr. Henri Seghers…

  By then, the huge, hungry dogs were even closer, tussling together, heads locking, forcing Delphine to painfully edge herself further away to add the last words she’d probably ever say.

  “He’s been rescued,” she burbled. “You’re both too late. So, where’s Martin Dobbs?”

  Neither seemed to hear her question, and after that, the fight didn’t last long. Henri Seghers overpowered Earth Mother and reclaimed his rifle before calling the dogs to follow him out into the snow. His running steps mingling with their eager anticipation of more flesh and blood to come.

  39.

  16.30 hrs.

  Julie, her beloved border collie, must have known what it was like to die like this, but at least, after the tying up, her ordeal was soon over. Now was her turn, with a difference.

  “Please God,” Delphine murmured, trying to bury her face against the rough, soaking ground, feeling the dog bites sting deeper and deeper as if reaching her marrow. But just as she felt herself shutting down, a vision of Pauline Fillol’s face swam into mind. Her loyal friend who’d fought back from the brink and survived, only to have been put in even greater danger.

  She cried out with the last of her strength, “Henri Seghers, wherever you are, you’re one sick, sick bastard!” It came from her mouth full of grit, as blood from her wounds oozed beneath her. “Help! Help! Is anyone there?”

  After what seemed like an age of silence, her scarred ears heard someone else approaching.

  *

  “I’m here, my dear girl. You’ll be alright now.”

  My dear girl…

  She then recognized the gruff voice, also familiar drifts of sweat, Gitanes and something else. An old car rug…

  Papa?

  “Thank God,” she mumbled, as he covered her with that straw-prickled rug and despite his notoriously big hands, managed to undo the orange baler twine’s tight knots.

  Dr. Seghers’ trademark…

  “Never mind God, we need to get you to hospital.” François Rougier smoothed down what remained of her hair. “But how on earth, from this damned place?”

  “Honestly, I’d take her,” another male voice broke in. “But I’ve got company and he could still be dangerous.”

  Whoever else was kneeling next to her, was stroking her face. “I should never have let you come here on your own, Delphine. I’m really sorry.”

  Patrick Gauffroi.

  “What d’you mean, company?” Quizzed her father. “Talk straight, hein?”

  “I don’t know yet. Some freak in pyjamas. He’s flat out inside my van, talking gibberish. I was tying him to its side bars, just in case, when I noticed his wrists under his pyjama jacket sleeves…”

  “What about them?”

  “Cut to the bone, from steel handcuffs. One still in place. Never seen anything like it, so I secured him by his elbows instead. His feet looked like they’d been shackled for a long time, too.” He then lowered his voice. “But I tell you this, he’s scared shitless.”

  “How old?” Delphine murmured.

  “Fiftyish. Not sure. Nothing else on him apart from that old Glock.”

  “He’s Lucius Seghers.”

  Gauffroi stopped in his tracks. His torch beam strobing her ruined face. “You’re bloody joking.”

  “I’m not. Just try and get him to talk.”

  “And take him to Cahors pronto,” added her father. “I’ll see to Delphine. She’s already been in touch, telling them where she was, but knowing flics like I do, I’m not holding my breath”

  “OK. But there was a blue chopper came this way earlier. Could be useful back up.”

  “No! It’s a trap!” Delphine protested. “Lise Confrère and her cousin are on board. Bent as corkscrews and in this rotten shit up to their necks. Please believe me,” was all she could manage with her injuries stinging and throbbing beyond endurance. She then remembered Confrère saying Gauffroi had been in touch but was too mute with pain to find out if it had been a lie.

  Suddenly, from further away, a muffled rifle blast was followed by a terrible yell, then pitiful groaning, most definitely in English. “Why the Hell me? Why? Stop! Stop!’ Then black silence.

  “My God…”

  Could that have been Martin?

  No… Please, no…

  Delphine then began to sob.

  *

  “Let’s hope one of those two bastards has topped themselves,” growled her father who’d obviously not heard that heart-rending plea. “And as for what I’ve just seen in the house here, talk about Purgatory on earth. If I’d not heard about the case of Louise Brunel who’d escaped from here last year, I’d never have found it.”

  Had that been her name?


  Delphine soon realised she was airborne on his broad shoulders. A stringless, half-chewed puppet, this was no hilarious piggy-back to her école primaire, like the old days. Snow peppered her skin, advancing diagonally as she and her father reached the sheltered rear of the building, where more of those electric blue security lights turned the winter’s early evening into a weird son et lumière.

  “I really hate leaving you,” he whispered, “but you’ll be safe here till I get back.” He set her down and propped her up against a portion of wooden wall beneath the sloping roof. “I need to guide the gendarmerie team here or they’ll be all night finding the place. Then it’s the hospital.”

  “Where’s your car? Can’t I hide in it?”

  “Too far away. But I’ve found someone to clean you up and give you an anti-rabies jab. Just don’t call out after me. I promise I won’t be long.”

  “But Henri Seghers is still out there. And that Earth Mother, whoever she is. Both armed with rifles.”

  “Precisely why I’m bloody going. My old pistol has a longer range.”

  “And did you know it was Lieutenant Confrère who found out about your tumour reprieve before me or Maman? She’d actually phoned your Clinic.”

  He stopped moving.

  “What? The sly little bitch. And if I see that chopper, I’ll take a few pops at it.”

  He would too.

  “I’ve not said what brilliant news that is about your brain.”

  “And I’ve not said sorry for hurting you on Tuesday night. I really am. Don’t know what got into me. Fear, knowing that after Easter, I wouldn’t be seeing you or your mother again.”

  His voice seemed to come from far away because it was. He’d gradually gone, and instead, came another’s. Female. Familiar, with an Italian accent…

  “Delphine?” Can you see me?”

  Adriana?

  She opened her eyes. It couldn’t be anyone else, even though her hotel co-worker wore the oddest mix of clothes as if she’d grabbed whatever she could, including a man’s beret. She too was frightened yet trying to stay calm. A trembling hand felt cool on Delphine’s forehead. And was that some kind of sedative on her breath?

  “Poor you,” she whispered. “The cruel beasts.”

  Delphine winced again at the pain in her head. “But why are you here as well?”

  “Ready to drop my brother’s sprog next April. Look at it.” She hit her suddenly noticeable bump. “I don’t want it. Why should I? What he did was disgusting, and I wished you’d recognise me in that foul Kingdom of Separation. That’s what they call it. Did you see the gags? The handcuffs? Jesus Christ, what would our Papa say, and Mama, wherever she is?”

  “Where’s Filipo? I think I recognised his black van”

  “Dead, I hope, like his bosses. Or maybe impregnating someone else here. All for money, the greedy con. You wait till I start spilling the beans.”

  “Does he father all the babies?”

  “No. That’s mainly been Lucius’ job. Sad, shackled creature he is. I heard he’s just run off in his pyjamas. After thirty-five years.”

  “My God.”

  “So, what happens to all these newborns? Do they go to people who can’t have children?”

  Adriana lowered her head while Delphine’s wounds brought more agony. The will to fight on at all costs, deserting her. Only a few hours ago, she’d have encouraged Adriana to talk some more, but not now. Not with too many either dead or missing.

  “Go and hide,” she said instead. “You don’t want to end up like Basma Arouar, do you?”

  Those brown eyes widened. Her enlarged irises all too obvious, like Josette’s.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I saw her hanged upstairs in her Cousteaux house.”

  Adriana’s hands covered most of her face. “That’s terrible.”

  Delphine didn’t want to mention Saint-Denis as well, instead said, “she may have been digging in places she shouldn’t. Both our files were missing from her study.”

  Adriana looked up. Her hands still in place.

  “Why?”

  “She must have found out why that dead baby boy had ended up in room 56. Whoever did it, had to destroy me and my family for a very powerful reason. And her. It goes back a long way, and I’m also sure that same baby is connected to here.” Delphine’s breath ran out, but she hadn’t finished. “Did one of them go missing last Sunday? Your brother, too? And have you seen Martin Dobbs anywhere?”

  Adriana was about to answer when Delphine picked up a small noise nearby. “Sshh! Listen! Can you hear something?”

  The other girl shook her head then dug in her duffle coat pocket. Her pregnancy even more obvious as she did so, yet she’d somehow managed to disguise it while working at the hotel. “Let’s try and clean you up, but first, a jab. I’ll try not to make it hurt.”

  “No!”

  “But the boss’s sister’s dogs are so mangy. They eat anything that moves. Think of the parasites, the ticks, the…”

  Sister?

  There had been a likeness…

  “Their names?” Delphine had to hear them, just to be certain.

  “Seghers. Dr. Henri, a former gerontologist, and Estelle. German, originally from Bonn. I overheard them reminiscing about it.”

  “Bonn? Are you sure?”

  A nod, then a sigh that was more than weary. “Look, I’m here to help you.” The syringe was ready. “Come on. It won’t hurt as much as having rabies…”

  Delphine recoiled, still thinking of Pauline’s recent phone call. Unable to trust even this girl with whom she’d always got on, but it was too late to argue, because someone else had joined them.

  “Just do as you’re told, Mademoiselle Rougier. You’ve been a fucking nuisance since I first met you, even though you kindly told me where Martin Dobbs could be found.”

  What?

  “Still, it’s never too late to put things straight…”

  Lise Confrère was slapping and pushing Adriana out of the way, a ferocious expression on her face. Her eyes like soulless sapphires under the nearest light.

  Delphine leaned sideways, trying to mobilise herself because this gendarme was no friend whom she’d admired and whose praise had flattered her, but an enemy. The betrayal made her insides lurch.

  “Lie still!”

  The syringe was ready, full of a white liquid. The once-pretty Lieutenant’s features set like stone under her black woollen cap. Delphine wanted to ask about Martin but had to save her own life. Here was someone wanting her out of the way. One of them.

  ‘Please don’t be a dead Delphine…’

  Sick joke. And then, she noticed a glinting green ring on one of Confrère’s fingers. Altogether too big and bright…

  Basma…

  From somewhere deep inside came a small surge of strength. She kicked out with her left leg, bitten and bloody as it was, but enough to send that lethal syringe flying. Her foe, off balance, fell backwards, screaming on to the needle jutting from between stones in a patch of thick, snowy mud.

  Go…

  Nothing else mattered but to escape by whatever means, then find Papa, Adriana and Martin. Patrick, too? Yes. Then she noticed sous-lieutenant Baudart’s silent, shadowy figure hefting his cousin’s writhing body into his arms before bearing it away out of sight.

  ‘Young people like yourself are gold dust… ‘

  *

  Having forever exorcized that fake praise, Delphine began crawling on burning knees towards where she remembered that aggregate track and her borrowed car to be. With her face so close to the ground, also noticed those same distinctive tyre tracks she’d seen earlier in that barley field and at the Auberge de l’Aube. They led to a car whose colour and shape she immediately recognised. The green Nissan, no less. Its bull bar and ‘X-Trail’ legend glinting blue from the security lights.

  But where on earth was her precious bag? Her phone? No sign of either when she most needed them. When she had to call
Captain Valon.

  She made a pathetic attempt to feel around for their familiar shapes before pain and exhaustion made her topple over. Julie’s gentle, intelligent face complete with tan eyebrows, the last things she saw before a black van suddenly swerved out of the parking area, narrowly missing her, showering her with filthy, freezing debris.

  40.

  Saturday 6th December 10.15 hrs.

  The nurse in the small, private ward of St Xavier’s Hospital in Le Mans, unexpectedly funded by François Rougier, adjusted Delphine’s morphine drip and removed the saline tube with practised skill while young Roza Adamski, in the next bed, waved encouragement. The eleven-year-old still recovering well, would be discharged on Monday as planned. Her female guard had left her post once news broke from the Causses de Quercy, although Estelle Seghers was still missing.

  Thanks to François Rougier’s vigilance, the GIGN team from Cahors had not only intercepted the Facchiettis’ fleeing van, but also bagged an injured Henri Seghers out searching for his sister and commandeered that rogue helicopter taken from Gourdon by Lieutenant Confrère and her devious cousin. Despite a freak blizzard over Limoges, they’d reached Le Mans’ Gendarmerie within an hour, from where Confrère’s body had been transferred to the hospital’s basement morgue. As for Delphine, four floors up, she’d slept as if in a coma until an hour ago and woken to the unfamiliar sight of her parents holding hands by her bedside as if newly-weds. Although wearing their best clothes with neatly-groomed hair, their faces told quite a different story as if still inhabiting a nightmare, untouched by her survival.

  ‘Bonn’ was Delphine’s first word, followed by ‘Henri Seghers.’

  “What are you trying to say?” Her puzzled mother asked. “And what was that garbled message of yours yesterday about some young German soldier at Oradour?”

  François Rougier threw her a mystified glance.

  “I don’t bloody know. More to the point, has anyone seen my bag and my phone?”

  “There’s no need to swear.”

  “She’s every damned right to,” her father argued, patting Delphine’s bed cover. “I should have noticed them missing when I found you. I’ve alerted Captain Valon and your bank, so don’t worry.”