Peter May - Extraordinary People

Madame Henry bustled into the courtyard and he stood up. ‘There.’ She handed him a large manila envelope containing the video tape. ‘All done.’

Enzo slipped the photograph and the list of names in beside it. ‘Thank you very much, madame.’

‘Oh, it was the least I could do.’ She smiled sympathetically. ‘Please pass on my condolences to the family.’

It was less than five minutes’ walk from the Rue de l’Observatoire to the underground parking in the Rue St. Jacques. Enzo’s overnight bag was still in his car, along with a change of clothes. He had felt uncomfortable all day wearing a forgotten shirt and slacks left at Charlotte’s place by Raffin. It was a constant reminder of a history Enzo cared not to know about. There had been nearly half a wardrobe of Raffin’s things in her bedroom. Enzo didn’t like to think of Charlotte expending the same sexual energy and passion on Raffin that she had on him. But he knew they’d had a long relationship.

The car park was on three levels in the basement of an apartment building between the Rue des Feuillantines and the Rue des Ursalines. Raffin’s lockup was two down. Raffin had been unable to give Enzo a key for the elevator, but told him he could get access by walking down the ramp. Enzo left the late afternoon sunshine behind him as he slowly descended the steeply curving concrete. The first level was deserted. Night-lights cast a faint gloom among the shadows of the cars. Ten lockups along either side of a central lane. Each with its own up-and-over door, each parking space separated from the other by a metal grille. Raffin had left the door of his lockup open so that Enzo could pick up his car any time he liked.

He carried on down the next ramp, and noticed that the overhead lamps were not working. A feeble, flickering yellow light followed him down from above, but as he approached the second level he seemed to be descending into absolute darkness. By the time he reached the foot of the ramp, he could not see his hands in front of his face. He knew that somewhere there was a light switch. But he had no idea where. This was infuriating. It was his intention to drive back to Cahors tonight, a good six hours by car. He was anxious to get on the road as soon as possible.

At the far end of the aisle he could see now the faint glow of an exit light above the door leading to the elevator. Raffin’s lockup, he knew, was right next to it. With his hands held out in front of him, he walked forwards, very gingerly, until his fingers touched cold metal. The door of a lockup. It rattled beneath his touch, and he moved cautiously along, from one door to the next. He was beginning to be able to see by the light of the exit sign, and for the first time vague shapes were taking form. His hands disappeared into space. Raffin’s lockup. The door was somewhere up above his head. He searched for his car keys and felt the notched rubber on the remote controller. He pressed it, and heard the doors of his car unlock. His sidelights flashed twice. And in that moment, a piece of darkness detached itself from the shadows, warm and heavy, and enveloped him completely. Enzo toppled backwards. He heard the crack of his head as it hit the concrete, and some inner explosion of light filled it. The darkness was on top of him, forcing the breath from his lungs, and Enzo realised it had hands. Hands made soft by woollen gloves. One of them was around his neck.

Enzo panicked, bucking and kicking, but the darkness was stubbornly strong, pinning him to the floor. And then he saw the merest flash of light reflected from the exit sign as a blade rose above him, and he realised that his attacker was about to plunge a knife into his chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ he heard a breathless voice whisper in the dark.

‘What!’ Enzo gasped in disbelief. He grabbed his attacker’s wrist before it could begin its deadly descent. But he immediately felt the strength in the man’s arm, and knew that it was stronger than his. He would not be able to resist its power. With his other hand, he clutched at the face above him, and felt hot breath through a woollen mask. Desperate fingers found the eye holes, and he clawed at them with all his strength. The man’s scream reverberated around the car park, and immediately the pressure of the knife arm was released. Enzo heard the blade go clattering away across the concrete in the dark, and both of his attacker’s hands flew to his face to prise Enzo’s fingers away. Which gave Enzo the chance to ball his fist and throw it hard in the direction of the man’s head. It made contact with a sharp crack, and he only barely heard the man’s cry above his own. Bone on bone was a painful experience.

Sudden light flooded their conflict. Hard, yellow light, that fell from a gaping crack in the wall. Enzo turned his head and saw a young couple framed in the exit door, the stairway illuminated behind them. The girl screamed. Enzo looked up to see his attacker’s black, masked head turn towards her, and he grabbed the mask with both hands and tore it away. For a confusing moment, it seemed as if there was another mask beneath it. And then Enzo realised that his attacker was black. He saw frightened rabbit eyes turn briefly towards him in the dark, and then the man was up and running in the direction of the ramp. Soft footsteps slapping concrete, all shape and form quickly consumed by shadow.

The young couple seemed frozen by fear as Enzo staggered to his feet, shocked and groggy, and still reeling from the dawning realisation of just how close he had come to being murdered. These young people could easily have opened the door to find his body lying bleeding on the car park floor. He swallowed hard to stop himself from being sick and stooped to pick up his manila envelope.

‘Are you all right?’ the young man asked tentatively.

‘I’m fine,’ Enzo said. As fine, he thought, as anyone could be who had just fought off an attempted murder. And he remembered his attacker’s whispered apology. I’m sorry . Sorry! It filled Enzo as much with anger as confusion.

Enzo winced as Charlotte dabbed the back of his head with cotton wool soaked in antiseptic. She shook her head. ‘Enzo, this is getting to be a habit.’

‘It’s not funny, Charlotte. That guy really was trying to kill me.’ A lump the size of an egg had come up on the back of his head. Blood had coagulated and stuck to his hair. ‘Ow!’ He jerked away from her hand. ‘I hope you take better care of your patients’ minds.’

She grabbed his ponytail. ‘Hold still. Why are men such babies over a little pain?’ And she dabbed him with more antiseptic. ‘You can’t go back to Cahors now.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because if they knew where you’d parked your car, do you not think they’ll know where you live?’

‘Well, if they do, then they’ll probably know where you live, too.’ Enzo had driven like a maniac through the fifth arrondissement into the thirteenth and abandoned his car half on the pavement outside Charlotte’s warehouse.

Charlotte paused, and acknowledged the thought with a grave nod of her head. ‘So they might come looking for you here.’

‘Jesus, Charlotte, I’m not cut out for this sort of thing. My strengths are cerebral, not physical. Maybe I should go to the police.’

‘And tell them what? That someone’s trying to murder you for pursuing an investigation they’ve twice asked you to stop?’

‘Hmmm.’ Enzo paused to think about it. ‘You might have a point.’

Charlotte handed him a clean wad of gauze. ‘Here, press that against the back of your head until the bleeding stops.’ She tidied away the bits and pieces of her first aid kit from the kitchen worktop. ‘Give me fifteen minutes to change and pack a bag.’