Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

Noubel came to a halt in front of a large white door. He pushed it open stood back to let them go in first. Cool air and the sharp smell of disinfectant slid out. Baillard removed his hat and held it to his chest.

The machines were silent now. In the centre of the room was the bed, underneath the window, the shape beneath covered by a sheet that hung crooked over the sides.

“They did everything they could,” Noubel muttered,

“Was my grandson murdered, Inspector?” asked Jeanne. It was the first she’d spoken since arriving at the hospital and learning they had arrived too late.

Baillard saw the Inspector’s hands jerk nervously at his side.

“It’s too early to say, Madame Giraud, however-”

“Are you treating it as a suspicious death, Inspector, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Thank you,“ she said in the same tone of voice. ”That is all I wanted to know.“

“If there’s nothing else,” said Noubel, edging towards the door, “I will leave you to pay your respects. I will be with Madame Claudette in the relatives’ room if you need me.”

The door closed with a sharp click. Jeanne took a step closer to the bed.

Her face was grey and her mouth tight, but her back and shoulders were as straight as ever.

She turned down the sheet. The stillness of death slipped into the room. Baillard could see how young Yves looked. His skin was very white and smooth, free of lines. The top of his head was covered by bandages.

Strands of his black hair peeked out around the edges. His hands, the knuckles red and scratched, were folded on his chest like a boy pharaoh.

Baillard watched Jeanne as she bent down and kissed her grandson on the forehead. Then, with a steady hand she covered his face and turned away.

“Shall we?” she said, taking Baillard’s arm.

They walked back into the empty corridor. Baillard glanced to left and right, then led Jeanne to a row of institutional plastic chairs fixed to the wall. The silence was oppressive. Automatically they dropped their voices, even though there was no one around to overhear.

“I had been concerned about him for some time, Audric,” she said. “I had seen a change in him. He became withdrawn, anxious.”

“Did you ask him what was wrong?”

She nodded. “He claimed there was nothing. Just stress, overwork.”

Audric laid his hand on her arm. “He loved you, Jeanne. Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps there was.” He paused. “If Yves was involved in something wrong, it went against his nature. His conscience was troubled.

In the end, when most it mattered, he did the right thing. He sent the ring to you, regardless of the consequences.“

“Inspector Noubel asked me about the ring. He wanted to know if I had spoken to Yves on Monday.”

What answer did you give?“

“Truthfully, that I had not.”

Audric sighed with relief.

“But you think Yves was being paid to pass on information, don’t you, Audric?” Her voice was hesitant, but firm. “Tell me. I would rather hear the truth.”

He raised his hands. “How can I speak the truth when I do not know it?”

“Then tell me what you suspect. Not knowing-” she broke off- ‘there is nothing worse.“

Baillard imagined the moment the boulder fell across the entrance to the cave, trapping them inside. Not knowing what was happening to her.

The smell of the box, the roar of the flames, the soldiers shouting as they ran. Half-remembered places and images. Not knowing if she was alive or dead.

“Es vertat ,” he said softly. “It is the not knowing that is unbearable.” He sighed once again. “Very well. I do believe Yves was being paid for providing information, yes – about the Trilogy primarily, but probably other things as well. I imagine it seemed harmless at first – a telephone call here or there, details about where someone might be, who they might talk to – but soon I suspect they started to ask of him more than he wished to give.”

“You say ”they“? Do you know who is responsible then?”

“Speculation, no more,” he said quickly. “Mankind does not much change, Jeanne. On the surface, we seem different. We evolve, we develop new rules, new standards of living. Each generation asserts modern values,.and dismisses the old, priding itself on its sophistication, its wisdom. We disappear to have little in common with those that have gone before us.” He tapped his chest. “But within these tunics of flesh, the human heart beats same as it ever did. Greed, desire for power, fear of death, these lotions do not change.” His voice softened. “The things that are fine in life, too, do not change. Love, courage, willingness to lay down one’s life what one believes in, kindness.”

“Will it ever end?”

Baillard hesitated. “I pray that it will.”

Above their heads, the clock marked the passing of time. At the far end of the corridor, hushed voices, footsteps, the squeak of rubber soles on the floor, heard briefly, then gone

“You will not go to the police?” said Jeanne eventually.“

“I do not think it wise.”

“You don’t trust Inspector Noubel?”

“ Benleu. ” Perhaps. “Did the police return Yves’ personal belongings to you?” The clothes he was wearing when he was brought in, the contents of his pockets?“

“His clothes were… were beyond saving. Inspector Noubel said there It nothing in his pockets except for his wallet and keys.”

“Nothing at all? No carte d’identite , no papers, no telephone? Did he not think that odd?”

“He said nothing,” she replied.

“And his apartment. Did they find anything there? Papers?”

Jeanne shrugged. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I asked one of his friends to draw me up a list of who was at the site on Monday afternoon.” She handed him a piece of paper with names scribbled on it. “It’s not complete.”

He looked down. “And this?” he queried, pointing at the name of a hotel.

Jeanne looked. “You wanted to know where the English woman was staying.” She paused. “Or, at least, that’s the information she gave the Inspector.”

“Dr Alice Tanner,” he murmured under his breath. After so long, she had come to him. Then that is where I shall send my letter.“

“I could deliver it for you when I return home.”

“No,” he said sharply. Jeanne looked up in surprise. “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “You are kind to offer, but… I do not think it wise for you to return home. For now, at least.”

“Why ever not?”

“It will not take them long to discover Yves sent the ring to you, if they do not know already. Please, stay with friends. Go away somewhere, with Claudette, anywhere. It is not safe.”

To his surprise, she did not argue. “Ever since we got here you’ve been looking over your shoulder.”

Baillard smiled. He had thought he’d kept his anxiety hidden.

“What about you, Audric?”

“It is different for me,” he said. “I have been waiting for this moment for… for longer than I can say, Jeanne. It is how it is meant to be, for good or ill.”

For a moment, Jeanne said nothing.

“Who is she, Audric?” she said softly. “This English girl? Why does she matter so much to you?”

He smiled, but he could not answer.

“Where will you go from here?” she asked in the end.

Baillard caught his breath. An image of his village, as it had once been, came to his mind.

“ Oustaou ,” he replied softly. “I will return home. A la perfin.” At last.

Shelagh had grown accustomed to the dark.

She was being held in a stable or animal pen of some sort. There was a sharp, acrid smell of droppings, urine, straw and a sweet sickly odour, like rancid meat. A strip of white light showed under the door, but she couldn’t tell if it was late afternoon or early morning. She wasn’t even sure what day it was.