Graeme Burnet - The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau

Contrary to his usual practice, Manfred had not bought a ticket before boarding the train. Although it was possible to buy a ticket from the conductor, Manfred always imagined that doing so would lead to trouble of some kind. Perhaps the conductor’s machine would be out of order or it would be suspected that he was attempting to travel without a ticket. In any case, conductors often seemed disgruntled by having to issue tickets on the train and made no attempt to disguise the fact. Today, however, there was no alternative.

Manfred waited nervously for the appearance of the official. Perhaps he would have received a message to keep an eye out for a man answering Manfred’s description. A train conductor was, after all, in a minor way an agent of the state. The train pulled into Mulhouse. Manfred resisted the urge to get off. He must hold his nerve. The important thing was to put as much distance as possible between himself and Gorski.

The conductor appeared shortly after the train left Mulhouse. He was a young man, in his twenties. He wore his uniform in a slovenly manner and did not look like the type of person who was likely to carry out his duties with particular diligence. The other passengers in the carriage had all obtained their tickets before boarding and the conductor gave them no more than a cursory glance. He made rapid progress along the carriage. Manfred asked for a return to Strasbourg. There was no point advertising the fact that he had no intention of coming back. The conductor nodded and drew round the ticket machine that was slung on a thick leather strap over his shoulder. Manfred explained that he had been in a hurry and had not had time to buy a ticket at the station. The conductor did not appear in the least bit interested. He issued the ticket and counted out Manfred’s change.

When Manfred examined his ticket he saw that the conductor had made it out from Mulhouse rather than Saint-Louis. Normally, Manfred would have drawn the conductor’s attention to the error, but in the current circumstances it seemed a trifle. If questioned, Manfred need only say that he had put the ticket in his wallet without looking at it. In any case, the mistake had been the conductor’s rather than his.

Countryside and towns sped past the window. Manfred was sitting, as he always did, with his back to the engine. He preferred to watch the scenery recede into the distance than loom up ahead. It gave him a sense of leaving places behind. He thought of the Restaurant de la Cloche, where Marie and Dominique would now be setting out the tables for lunch. One or two locals would be lingering over their morning coffee, a copy of L’Alsace spread on the table in front of them. The bank would now be open as normal. Carolyn would be going through his diary cancelling his appointments. Perhaps she would have thought of calling his apartment to find out when he intended to return to work. But Manfred was sure she would not do so. She was too timid for such an intrusion. He thought of his apartment. After his rent lapsed, his possessions would be cleared out and it would be rented to another occupant. It was a matter of some sadness to imagine his books and clothes being packed into boxes and most likely given away, but in the scheme of things it was a small sacrifice to make. It was part of the process of becoming a nonperson, of ceasing, to all intents and purposes, to exist.

The train was now twenty minutes from Strasbourg. Manfred began to feel anxious. Gorski must surely by now have discovered his absence. He had stated quite clearly that they would speak in the morning. Manfred pictured him pulling up outside his apartment in his dark blue Peugeot, dropping a cigarette to the pavement as he approached the building. Probably he would have brought another man, the young gendarme who had escorted him to the police station perhaps, in case Manfred made trouble. How long would he remain at the door before he became suspicious? Would he kick it in or merely make his way to the bank in the expectation of finding Manfred there? In any case, he must by now be aware that Manfred had made a break for it and would be roundly cursing himself. Manfred, for his part, felt somewhat ashamed of how he was behaving. Gorski had treated him with a degree of civility he in no way deserved and he had repaid him by fleeing in this cowardly manner. It was quite dishonourable.

The train had slowed and was pulling through the industrial suburbs of the southern flank of Strasbourg. Manfred turned his thoughts to the business of closing his account. The matter was fraught with difficulties. Manfred knew the procedure as well as anyone. Were a customer in his own branch to request such a large withdrawal, Manfred would expect the teller to summon him to supervise the transaction. And under such circumstances, Manfred would certainly enquire as to whether the client was no longer satisfied with the bank’s services. Of course, no client was obliged to discuss the motives for their financial dealings, but the closure to cash of such a large account would, at the very least, raise eyebrows. Then Manfred remembered that he had on one or two occasions met the manager of the branch on Rue Moll. He would be sure to remember him and would think it strange, outlandish even, that Manfred wished to close his account and had come to another branch in order to do so. No, the whole enterprise was out of the question. Manfred took his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket to confirm what he already knew: he had enough cash to cover his expenses for no more than a day or two. His exhilaration of an hour before was waning. The idea that he could evade Gorski’s clutches and disappear without a trace was implausible enough, but without money it was unthinkable. What was he supposed to do? Turn to a life of crime, find some menial job in the black economy? He was hardly cut out for such things. Still, he had, without intending it, embarked on a course and he had no alternative but to follow it to its conclusion.

The train pulled into the station. Manfred was careful to conceal himself among the mass of passengers as he disembarked. Nobody checked his erroneous ticket as he left the platform. The concourse was busy. Clusters of travellers stood gazing up at the departure board, briefcases and bags at their feet. Commuters criss-crossed his path. Indecipherable announcements echoed from the tannoy. There did not appear to be any out-of-the-ordinary activity on the platform, nevertheless Manfred expected at any moment to be wrestled to the ground by a team of men, tipped off to his presence by Gorski. He would not resist. He had no desire to resist. In a way it would be a relief.

In an attempt to appear inconspicuous, Manfred strode purposefully across the concourse. He would go to the bank, after all, but withdraw only a modest amount of money, enough to see him clear for a week or two. He could worry about the long term later. The only thing he need think about at this juncture was to make good his flight. Manfred slowed his pace. Two gendarmes were standing by the entrance to the station. They did not appear to have seen Manfred. He changed course and headed towards a kiosk which nestled beneath the departure board. Manfred watched the gendarmes for a few minutes from behind a newspaper stand. They did not appear particularly vigilant. Indeed, they seemed more interested in appraising the women who walked by than scanning the crowd for fugitives. Still, Manfred did not want to risk walking right past them. He bought a newspaper and moved towards the centre of the concourse, keeping the cops in his peripheral vision. They were a good twenty metres away. One of their radios crackled into life and the younger one spoke briefly into it. But they did not move from their post. Gorski must by now have gone to the station in Saint-Louis. It would be the first place he would look and he would surely call ahead to Strasbourg with a description of his quarry.