Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

The Commissioner nodded. “I’ll call you when the paperwork’s ready.

“You’ll be here?”

“Actually, sir,” he said cautiously, “I thought I might have another go at the English woman. She’s a friend of O’Donnell. She might know something.”

“I’ll find you.”

As soon as the Commissioner had gone, Noubel made a few calls, then grabbed his jacket and headed for his car. By his reckoning, he’d got plenty of time to get to Carcassonne and back before the Prefect’s signature on the search warrant had dried.

By half-past four, Noubel was sitting with his opposite number in Carcassonne. Arnaud Moureau was an old friend. Noubel knew he could speak freely. He pushed a scrap of paper across the table.

“Dr Tanner said she would be staying here.”

It took minutes to check she was registered there. “Nice hotel just outside the Cite walls, less than five minutes from rue de la Gaffe. Shall I drive?”

The receptionist was very nervous about being interviewed by two police officers. She was a poor witness, close to tears much of the time.

Noubel got more and more impatient until Moureau stepped in. His more avuncular approach yielded better results.

“So, Sylvie,” he said gently. “Dr Tanner left the hotel early yesterday morning, yes?” The girl nodded. “She said she would be back today? I just want to be clear.”

“Oui.”

“And you haven’t heard anything to the contrary. She hasn’t telephoned or anything?”

She shook her head.

“Good. Now, is there anything you can tell us? For example, has she had any visitors since she’s been staying here?”

The girl hesitated.

“Yesterday a woman came, very early, with a message.”

Noubel couldn’t help himself jumping in. “What time was this?”

Moureau gestured for him to be quiet. “How early is early, Sylvie?”

“I came on duty at six o’clock. Not long after that.”

“Did Dr Tanner know her? Was she a friend?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. She seemed surprised.”

“This is very helpful, Sylvie,” said Moureau. “Can you tell us what made you think that?”

“She was asking Dr Tanner to meet someone in the cemetery. It seemed an odd place to meet.”

“Who?” said Noubel. “Did you hear a name?”

Looking even more terrified, Sylvie shook her head. “I don’t know if she even went.”

“That’s okay. You’re doing very well. Now, anything else?”

“A letter came for her.”

“Post or hand-delivered?”

There was that business with changing rooms,“ called a voice from out the back. Sylvie turned and glared at a boy, hidden behind a mound of cardboard boxes. ”Pain in the bloody-“

“What business with rooms?” interrupted Noubel.

“I wasn’t here,” said Sylvie stubbornly.

“But I bet you know about it all the same.”

“Dr Tanner said there was an intruder in her room. Wednesday night. She demanded to be moved.”

Noubel stiffened. Immediately, he walked through to the back.

“Causing a lot of extra work for everybody,” Moureau was saying mildly, keeping Sylvie occupied.

Noubel followed the smells of cooking and found the boy easily enough.

“Were you here Wednesday night?”

He gave a cocky smile. “On duty in the bar.”

“See anything?”

“Saw a woman come charging out of the door and go chasing after some bloke. Didn’t know it was Dr Tanner until after.”

“Did you see the man?”

“Not really. It was her I noticed more.”

Noubel took the pictures out of his jacket and held them in front of the boys face. “Recognise either of them?”

“I’ve seen that one before. Nice suit. Not a tourist. Stuck out a bit. Hanging around. Tuesday, Wednesday maybe. Can’t be sure, though.”

By the time Noubel got back to the lobby, Moureau had got Sylvie smiling.

“He picked out Domingo. Said he’d seen him around the hotel.”

“Doesn’t make him the intruder, though,” murmured Moureau.

Noubel slid the photo on the counter in front of Sylvie. “Either of these men familiar to you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, “although…” She hesitated, then pointed at the picture of Domingo. The woman asking for Dr Tanner looked quite like this.“

Noubel exchanged glances with Moureau. “Sister?”

“I’ll get it checked out.”

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to let us into Dr Tanner’s room,” said Noubel.

“I can’t do that!”

Moureau overrode her objections. “We’ll only be five minutes. It’ll be much easier this way, Sylvie. If we have to wait for the manager to give permission, we’ll come back with a whole search team. It will be disruptive for everybody.”

Sylvie took a key from the hook and took them to Alice’s room, looking drawn and nervous.

The windows and curtains were shut and it was stuffy. The bed was neatly made and a quick inspection of the bathroom revealed that there were fresh towels on the rack and the water glasses had been replaced.

“No one’s been in here since the chambermaid cleaned yesterday morning,” muttered Noubel.

There was nothing personal in the bathroom.

“Anything?” asked Moureau.

Noubel shook his head as he moved on to the wardrobe. There he found Alice’s suitcase, packed.

“Looks like she didn’t unpack anything when she moved rooms. She’s obviously got passport, phone, the basics, with her,” he said, running his hands under the edge of the mattress. Holding the handkerchief between his fingers, Noubel pulled open the drawer of the bedside table. It contained a silver strip of headache pills and Audric Baillard’s book.

“Moureau,” he said sharply. As he passed it over, a small piece of paper fluttered from between the pages to the floor.

“What is it?”

Noubel picked it up, then frowned as he passed it over.

“Problem?” said Moureau.

“This is Yves Biau’s writing,” he said. “A Chartres number.”

He got out his phone to dial, but it rang before he’d finished.

“Noubel,” he said abruptly. Moureau’s eyes were fixed on him. That’s excellent news, sir. Yes. Right away.“

He disconnected.

We’ve got the search warrant,“ he said, heading for the door. ”Quicker than I’d expected.“

“What do you expect?” said Moureau. “He’s a worried man.”

“Shall we sit outside?” Audric suggested. “At least until the heat becomes too much.”

“That would be lovely,” Alice replied, following him out of the little house. She felt like she was in a dream. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The vastness of the mountains, the acres of sky, Baillard’s slow and deliberate movements.

Alice felt the strain and confusion of the past few days slipping away from her.

This will do well,“ he said in his gentle voice, stopping by a small grassy mound. Baillard sat down with his long, thin legs straight out in front of him like a boy.

Alice hesitated, then sat at his feet. She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs, then saw he was smiling again.

“What?” she said, self-conscious suddenly.

Audric just shook his head. “Los ressons .” The echoes. “Forgive me, Madomaisela Tanner. Forgive an old man his foolishness.”

Alice didn’t know what had made him smile so, only that she was happy to see it. “Please, call me Alice. Madomaisela sounds so formal.”

He inclined his head. “Very well.”

“You speak Occitan rather than French?” she asked.

“Both, yes.”

“Others too?”

He smiled self-deprecatingly. “English, Arabic, Spanish, Hebrew. Stories shift their shape, change character, take on different colours depending on the words you use, the language in which you choose to tell them. Sometimes more serious, sometimes more playful, more melodic, say. Here, in this part of what they now call France, the langue d’Oc was spoken by the people whose land this was. The langue d’oil , the forerunner of modern-day French, was the language of the invaders. Such choices divided people.” He waved his hands. “But, this is not what you came to hear. You want people, not theories, yes?