Tess Gerritsen: In Their Footsteps

“It’s the truth!” insisted Nina.

“Oh, right!” sneered Jordan. “And the killer just happened to choose the very flat where you and Philippe met every week?”

Nina shook her head in bewilderment. “I don’t know why he chose our flat.”

“It had to be you. Or Philippe,” said Jordan.

“I would never…he would never…”

“Who else knew about the garret?” asked Richard.

“No one.”

“Marie St. Pierre?”

“No.” She paused, then whispered, “Yes, perhaps…”

“So Philippe’s wife knew.”

Nina nodded miserably. “But no one else.”

“Wait,” Jordan suddenly interjected. “Someone else did know about it.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” said Richard.

“I heard it from Reggie. Helena knew about the affair-Marie told her. And if Marie knew about the garret on Rue Myrha, then-”

“So did Helena.” Richard stared at Jordan. With that one look, they both knew what the other was thinking.

Beryl.

Instantly they both turned to leave. “Get us some backup!” Richard snapped to Daumier. “Have them meet us there!”

“The Vanes’ residence?”

Richard didn’t answer; he was already running out the door.

“Get in the car,” said Helena.

Beryl halted, her hand frozen on the door handle of the Mercedes. “There’ll be questions, Helena.”

“And I’ll have the answers. I was asleep, you see. I slept all night. And when I woke up, you were gone. Left the compound on your own, never to be seen again.”

“Reggie will remember-”

“Reggie won’t remember a thing. He’s stone drunk. As far as he knows, I never left the bed.”

“They’ll suspect you-”

“It’s been twenty years, Beryl. And they still don’t suspect.” She raised the gun. “Get in. The driver’s seat. Or do I have to change my story? Tell them I thought I was shooting a burglar?”

Beryl stared at the gun barrel pointed squarely at her chest. She had no choice. Helena really would shoot her. She climbed into the car.

Helena slid in beside her and tossed the keys into Beryl’s lap. “Start the engine.”

Beryl turned the key; the Mercedes purred to life like a contented cat. “My mother never meant to hurt you,” said Beryl softly. “She was never interested in Reggie. She never wanted him.”

“But he wanted her. Oh, I saw how he used to look at her! Do you know, he used to say her name in his sleep. There I’d be, lying next to him, and he’d be thinking of her. I never knew, I never really knew, if they were…” She swallowed. “Drive.”

“Where?”

“Just go out the gate. Go!”

Beryl eased the Mercedes out of the garage and across the cobblestoned courtyard. Helena pressed a remote control and the iron gate automatically swung open. It closed again behind them as they drove through. Ahead stretched the tree-lined road. No other cars, no other witnesses.

The steering wheel felt slick with her sweat. Beryl gripped it tightly, just to keep her hands from shaking. “My father never hurt you,” she whispered. “Why did you have to kill him?”

“Someone had to be blamed. Why not make it a dead man? And the fact it was Nina’s secret flat-that made it all the more convenient.” She laughed. “You should have seen how Nina and Philippe scrambled to cover things up.”

“And Delphi?”

Helena shook her head in bewilderment. “What about Delphi?”

So she knows nothing about it, thought Beryl. All this time, we’ve been chasing the wrong clues. Richard will never know-will never suspect-what really happened.

The road began to curve and wind through the trees. They were headed into the depths of the Bois de Boulogne. Is this where they’ll find me? she wondered, dismayed. In some lonely copse of trees? At the muddy bottom of a pond?

She peered ahead to the road beyond their headlights. They were approaching another curve.

It may be my only chance. I can let her shoot me. Or I can go down fighting. She pointed the car on a straight course. Then she hit the accelerator pedal. The engine roared and tires screamed. Beryl was thrust back against the seat as the Mercedes lurched forward.

Helena cried out, “No!” and clawed for control of the wheel. A split-second before they hit the trees, Helena managed to swerve them sideways. Suddenly they were tumbling like helpless riders in an out-of-control carnival ride. The Mercedes toppled over and over, windows shattered, and the two passengers were flung against the dashboard.

The car came to rest on its roof.

It was the blare of the horn that dragged Beryl back to consciousness. And the pain. Excruciating pain, tearing at her leg. She tried to move and realized that her chest was wedged against the steering wheel, and that her head was somehow cradled in the small space between the windshield and the upside-down dashboard. She pushed away from the steering wheel. The effort made her cry out in pain, but she managed to slide her body a few precious inches across the crumpled roof. For a moment, she rested, gasping for breath, waiting for the pain in her leg to ease. Then, gritting her teeth, she pushed again and managed to slide through into a larger pocket of space. The front seat? Everything seemed so mangled, so confusing in the darkness. The tumble had left her disoriented.

But she was not so dazed that she didn’t smell the odor of gasoline growing stronger every second. I have to get to a window-have to squeeze through before it explodes. Blindly she reached out to feel her surroundings, and her hand shoved up against something warm. Something wet. She twisted her head around and came face-to-face with Helena’s corpse.

Beryl screamed. Suddenly frantic to get out, to escape those sightless eyes, she squirmed away, clawing for the window. New pain, even more excruciating, ripped through her shattered leg and flooded her eyes with tears. She touched window frame, bits of glass and then…a branch! I’m almost there. Almost there.

Half crawling, half dragging herself, she managed to squeeze through the opening. Just as her body rolled onto the ground, the dirt beneath her seemed to give way and she began to slide down a leafy embankment. She landed in a ditch near some trees.

A burst of light suddenly shot into the sky. Through eyes blurred with agony, she looked up and saw the first flicker of the inferno. Seconds later, she heard the popping of glass, then a terrifying whoosh as a fountain of flames engulfed the vehicle.

Why, Helena? Why? The flames blurred, faded into a gathering darkness. She closed her eyes and shivered among the fallen leaves.

Three miles from the Vanes’ residence, they spotted the fire. It was a car, upended, stretched diagonally across the road. A Mercedes.

“It’s Helena’s,” shouted Richard. “My God, it’s Helena’s!” He leaped out and ran toward the burning car. He almost tripped over a shoe lying in the road. To his horror he saw it was a woman’s pump. “Beryl!” he screamed. He was about to make a desperate lunge for the car door when the flames suddenly shot higher. A window burst out, scattering glass across the pavement. The searing heat sent him stumbling backward, his nostrils stinging with the stench of his own singed hair. He recovered his balance and was about to make another lunge through the flames when Jordan grabbed his arm.

“Wait!” cried Jordan.

Richard wrenched away. “Have to get her out!”

“No, listen! ”

That’s when he heard it-a moan, almost inaudible. It came not from the car, but from somewhere in the trees.

At once he and Jordan were scrambling along the roadside, yelling Beryl’s name. Again, Richard heard the moan, closer now, coming from the shadows just below the road. He clambered down the dirt bank and stumbled into a drainage ditch.