Giorgio Faletti - I Kill

He knew it wasn’t over. He still had to conquer the mental and physical lethargy that had overcome him with the knowledge that Pierrot was finally safe. He had no physical strength or force of will left, but he knew that this was not the time to give in. If he allowed himself to feel that illusory relaxation for another second, he would not be able to straighten up and grab on to the trunk.

He thought of Helena and her silent wait at the airport. He again saw the sadness in her eyes, the sadness that he wanted to erase if he could. He saw the hand of her father, Nathan Parker, suspended like a claw over her. Rage and hatred came to him as a salvation. He clenched his teeth and gathered up all the energy he had left before it vanished into the air like smoke. He arched his back and, throwing up his arms, forced himself up. His abdominal muscles, the only part of his body still unused, now burned with the stress.

He saw the dry wood of the tree trunk slowly approach him like a mirage. Another creak reminded him that, like any mirage, it could dissolve at any second. He forced himself to go slowly, without abrupt movements, to avoid worsening the precarious situation.

His left hand finally gripped the tree, then his right. Somehow he managed to pull himself to a sitting position. The violent flow of blood as it started going down and resuming its normal course made his head spin. He closed his eyes, waiting for it to go away and hoping that the two dried sponges that were his lungs would be able to contain all the air he was sending them. In the comforting darkness of his closed eyes, his arms grabbed the tree and he sat there feeling the rough bark against his cheek until some of his strength returned.

When he reopened his eyes, Pierrot was a few yards from him, on level ground. He was standing next to Jean-Loup and had his arms around his waist, as if hanging in midair had given him the need to grab on to something or someone in order to believe that he was really safe.

Jean-Loup had his left arm around the boy’s shoulder and a bloody knife in his right hand. For an instant, Frank thought that he was using the boy’s body as a shield, that he would hold the knife at his throat and take him hostage. He pushed that thought out of his mind. No, not after what he had seen. Not after Jean-Loup had given up any chance of escape in order to rescue Pierrot. He wondered what had become of Ryan Mosse. And at the same time, he realized that he didn’t give a damn.

He noticed a movement from above and instinctively raised his head. There was a group of people standing at the edge of the road, leaning on the guard-rail in front of a line of cars. Pierrot’s cries must have attracted their attention or else, more probably, a group of tourists had happened to stop just then to admire the view and had watched the nerve-racking rescue. Jean-Loup turned his head and looked up. He, too, saw the people and the cars parked forty yards above him. His shoulders slumped slightly as if an invisible weight had suddenly fallen on him.

Frank stood up and, leaning on the tree trunk, slowly went back the way he had come. He bid farewell to the lifeless tree with the gratitude due to a true friend who has helped in a difficult moment. His fingers felt the touch of the live branches on the bushes he clutched as he placed his feet on the firm surface of the horizontal world.

Jean-Loup and Pierrot were before him, watching him. He saw the green flash in Jean-Loup’s eyes. Frank was exhausted and knew that he didn’t stand a chance of winning a fight, not in this weakened state, and definitely not after what he had seen Jean-Loup do to Mosse. Jean-Loup must have sensed his thoughts. He smiled, a smile that was suddenly weary. Frank could only imagine what lay behind that simple movement of his facial muscles: a life divided by continuous motion from light to darkness, from warmth to cold, from lucidity to delirium in the perpetual dilemma of being someone or no one. Jean-Loup’s smile faded. He spoke with the familiar voice that had enchanted so many radio listeners, radiating tranquillity and well-being.

‘Don’t worry, Agent Ottobre. It’s all right. I know the words “The End” when I see them.’

Frank bent over and picked up his phone. As he dialled Morelli’s number, he thought about the absurdity of the situation. There he was, unarmed, completely at the mercy of a man who could easily destroy him with one hand tied behind his back, and he was able to remain alive only because Jean-Loup had decided not to kill him.

Morelli’s brusque voice leapt from the phone. ‘Hello?’

In exchange, Frank offered his own exhausted voice and the good news. ‘Claude, it’s Frank.’

‘What is it? What happened?’

His few words cost him enormous effort. ‘Get a car to Jean-Loup’s house right away. I’ve got him.’

He didn’t listen to the sergeant’s astonished response. He didn’t see Pierrot bend his head and cling to his friend’s body more tightly, as a reaction to those last words. All he saw as he lowered the phone was Jean-Loup’s hand slowly opening and dropping the bloody knife to the ground.

The Sûreté Publique de Monaco car veered right and turned at incredible speed on to the highway to Nice airport. Frank had told Xavier that it was a matter of life or death, and the agent was interpreting his words to the letter. Even above the wail of the siren, he could hear the tyres screeching on the asphalt. They reached a roundabout where there were roadworks under way. Frank knew that although they were in a police car they were still not exempt from the laws of physics. He feared that this time, despite Xavier’s talent, the car might not hold the road and they’d plunge into the Var river below. But his favourite racing driver stunned him again. With a sharp turn of the wheel, Xavier swerved and narrowly avoided disaster.

Morelli was in the front beside the driver. Frank saw his body relax when he realized they would make it. They drove straight ahead for a short stretch and Xavier began to slow down. He turned off the siren when they pulled on to the access road of Terminal 2 and followed a sign indicating the unloading zone for passengers and luggage. Cars were only allowed a brief stop, a ritual known as Kiss and Fly. Frank smiled to himself. He doubted that Parker would kiss him before he left.

They stopped in a reserved access area halfway down on the left. It was protected by a barricade and two guards from the Côte d’Azur airport. Seeing the police markings, they raised the barricade and let them through. A few minutes later, the car pulled up in front of the international departures terminal.

Morelli turned sharply to the driver. ‘If you do that on the way back, the next vehicle you’ll be operating will be a lawn mower. Landscape gardeners love to hire former cops.’

‘Don’t worry, champ, his bark is worse than his bite.’ Frank smiled and leaned over from the backseat to put his hand on Xavier’s shoulder.

Frank’s mobile phone rang inside his jacket pocket. He could guess who it was. The ring was so insistent that he was surprised the phone wasn’t hot.

‘Hello?’

‘Frank? It’s Froben. Where are you?’

‘Outside the airport. I’m getting out of the car now.’

‘Thank the lord.’ The inspector sounded genuinely relieved. ‘This guy’s about to explode. He’ll probably declare war against France single-handedly in a matter of minutes. You wouldn’t believe the stories I had to make up to keep him calm.’

‘I believe it. But I assure you, it wasn’t a whim. It’s the biggest favour anyone’s ever done for me in my life.’

‘Okay, Americano. My phone’s getting wet with tears. Cut the sentimentality and get your arse over here. You’ve got to take this hot potato off my hands. I’m coming to meet you.’