Hands of the Traitor (25 page)

Charles began to examine the gold cylinder
as he smoked a foul smelling cigarette. "I think perhaps this is
what the Dutchman found." His eyes narrowed as he considered the
implications of his statement. "It was lost in the fighting, but
the description is the same. A gold candle, but no one could find
it. See, private policeman, we are not as stupid as you would like
to believe. You have come back here and committed a murder, just to
find this gold."

"Perhaps two murders." Alphonse
yawned as he picked up the handset for the radio. "We will tell
headquarters to hurry up and send someone to search the site. In
the meantime we will get these two murderers down to the
gendarmerie
."

Charles began to twist the cap. "It is
like a candle, but the end comes off."

"
Non!
" Matt jerked his hand out and snatched at the
gold cylinder.

Alphonse turned his MR38 in his
hand and gripped it by the barrel, hitting Matt a sharp blow on the
side of the head with the butt. "Keep still,
monsieur
!
"

"
Lache!
" snapped Zoé.

Matt lay back in the car seat. He
could feel blood running from above his left ear, warm on his cool
skin, but he was afraid to move his hand to wipe it. Alphonse was a
sadistic psychopath. "There is a dangerous chemical inside," he
explained slowly. "Do not remove the top."

Alphonse raised his eyebrows.
"So the treasure hunter is an ammunitions expert?" He laughed
again. "Oh, monsieur, your head is bleeding. You must be more
careful, monsieur
!
"

Charles threw the butt of his
cigarette out of the car window. "Perhaps the Englishman is right.
Perhaps we should treat it with care."

Matt could sense the mood
changing.

"Very well, monsieur." Charles
carefully placed the small cylinder on the dashboard. It rolled
forward and his hands snatched at it nervously. "Yes, perhaps it is
dangerous. We will call our chief at home and he can get some
expert help. We have read the confidential report of the incident
at this site. It does make sense what you say. But you have both
made a big mistake in coming here with your gun and
detector."

"You're the ones who have made the
mistake." Matt said bitterly. "You should be looking for an
American called Jason Heinman. He's driving a white Citroen from
the Garage de Saint Somer. I've already told you, there are photos
of him in my camera. It's in the car."

"My friend knows what he is
talking about," insisted Zoé. "He is a private investigator. You
have made a big mistake,
messieurs
."

Alphonse laughed loudly. "And you have
made a bigger mistake, mademoiselle. You have been
caught!"

"Sophie Boissant!" Matt felt a sudden
fear for the old woman.

Zoé put her hand to her mouth. "I hope
she listened to us and moved out."

"Be quiet!" shouted Alphonse. "My
partner is speaking to headquarters on the radio."

"Tell them to go to the house of an
old woman," said Matt. "It is most urgent."

"I told you to be quiet, monsieur. It
is almost midnight. There will be plenty of time to sort it out in
the morning."

Matt turned sideways to look at
the tall
gendarme
who was still picking his teeth, and was probably ready to
use the butt of his gun again. He had to risk getting hit a second
time. "I have Sophie Boissant's address. Tell your headquarters to
go to her house."

Alphonse lifted his gun from his lap.
"Be silent, monsieur. You are to wait here until our chief arrives
to assess the danger."

"And while we are waiting, they will
murder an old woman!" Zoé showed how angry she was, and not for the
first time.

"And who are
they?
" asked Alphonse in amusement.

"Two Americans," said Matt.

"Ah, there are
two
Americans now. And
are they
both
murderers?" Alphonse's voice was heavy with sarcasm and
disbelief.

"Let me talk to your chief on the
radio," demanded Matt.

Alphonse yawned. "There is no hurry,
monsieur." He shrugged his broad shoulders and yawned again. "I
assure you, nothing is going to happen to the old woman while we
are waiting. Captain Lacoste says he will be here within the
hour."

Chapter
19

JASON WATCHED
his father pull the
drapes aside for yet another look into the street. If he pulled at
them once more he'd hit him. "Leave them alone, you stupid fool,
it's nearly midnight. You might as well be flashing the light on
and off as a signal. I thought we were going to see
Sophie."

"When I killed that old soldier I went
too far." His father sounded spent. "Don't you think we've gone too
far?"

"You went too far when you came here
in the war to suck up to the Nazis." Jason shook his head. "Before
Grandfather got his head blown off, that's when you should have got
cold feet. Not now, with the French cops hot on our
tails."

His father returned anxiously to the
window.

"What the hell are you looking for,
you stupid old man?" Jason shouted, snatching at the drapes. Then
he forced himself to quieten down. "I'm the one they'll be looking
for."

"They can't touch either of us. No one
knows we've left America."

"I've rented a car."

"I thought you rented it in the
backwoods."

"I did, with my driving license in the
name of Heinman."

His father stayed silent as he thought
about this one. "They'll have to ask a lot of questions before they
find the garage."

"They always ask a lot of questions
when there's been a murder."

"You could say someone stole your
license."

Jason sighed. "I'm not the only one
with a problem. I bet you left fingerprints at the English clinic
when you killed the old soldier."

His father shook his head. "I
disguised myself with a big moustache, and Alec Rider was still
alive when the hospital sister saw me leave. Anyway, I took a
simple precaution. Gloves."

"And I wore gloves when I shot the
guard." Jason smiled smugly. "We'll high tail it back to America
from Paris tonight."

His father closed the drapes.
Carefully this time. "It's not that simple. It never is. They'll
need our passports for the air tickets."

"I know how they'll get you." Jason
felt triumphant. "American Express!"

"When?"

"When you booked my Eurostar
trip to France.
And
I bet you paid the hotel in England with your card. They've
got your name." He grinned in jubilation. "You're a devious old
rat, but you've left leads for the cops to trace you. No one's
going to believe
you're
still in America! You're not used to doing things for
yourself. You always relied on your staff to do your dirty work and
clean up afterwards."

His father closed his eyes and swayed
unsteadily. "I wish to God I was home, Jason. All I ever wanted to
do was save Domestic Chemicals." He spoke the words without
emotion. "The company comes first for me. It always has." He
flicked the catches on his briefcase and raised the lid. "Even if
it means killing my son."

"Hell, no, you couldn't." Jason backed
away as he tried to see what was inside.

From the black case his father
produced a cigar. "Okay, let's see if Sophie will give us an alibi,
then we can head for Switzerland and see Simon Urquet. He's the
sharpest cookie we've got in DCI. Give me your cell phone. I'll
phone him now at his hotel in Geneva."

"What the hell for?"

"Urquet can tell New York to fly our
Gulfstream over to Geneva. He'll get us back to the States on it,
and cover our tracks at the same time. If anyone asks, Urquet can
sure as hell confirm we're on holiday in America."

Jason sat on the edge of the bed while
his father puffed at his cigar. "You old bastard, I thought you had
a gun in there. I thought you were going to kill me." He felt like
laughing now the shock was over. "If Urquet can pull us out of this
one, I'll sell my soul to Domestic."

"I sold mine in nineteen forty-four," his
father said bitterly. "Are you prepared to kill Sophie?"

Jason stared in horror. "You do your
own dirty work." His father had finally gone mad. "You really mean
to kill her?"

"Sure. I've got a knife like the one I
used on the old soldier in England."

"And then we head for
Switzerland?"

His father pushed his briefcase shut and
took one last look around the room. "We wait until it's light --
until the French cops aren't bothering with roadblocks. Urquet's a
good legal man, a damn good one. Hell, Jason, we pay him enough. So
where does Sophie live?"

He felt like lying, like saying her
house was in another town, but perhaps his own security depended on
there being no witnesses left. "Not far."

"Could we walk it?"

"Someone might see us."

"It's better than using that car you
rented. That's what the cops will be looking for, not two tourists
out for a late walk."

His father picked up the phone and dialed
a Swiss number. Jason listened as his father exchanged heated words
with the company lawyer. Urquet had obviously dared be asleep in
the middle of the night. Since coming to Europe he was seeing his
father in a new light. No longer the passive man who got others to
do his bidding, he was an angry old fool who'd kill anyone who
threatened DCI. An old man who could even threaten his son with
death -- and mean it.

*

THE OLD
woman's house was somewhere in
the middle of a row of identical places, in a poorly lit street a
short walk from the hotel. Jason tugged at his father's
arm.

"Keep up with me if you don't want to
get lost."

"It's further than I thought, Jason.
You should have come alone."

"You're the one who wants to kill the
old woman. Here, this is the place."

"Are you sure?"

Jason shrugged. "No, I'm not sure.
It's too dark. The English PI might have been at the house next
door."

"Then what...?"

"We ring this bell first and see who
comes."

"I won't recognize her,
Jason."

"You're pathetic. Of course you won't
recognize her. I'm going to ask her who she is."

"Your French isn't too
good."

"I can say Sophie."

The windows were in darkness and
Jason's long ring on the bell went unanswered. His father reached
forward impatiently and knocked the large knocker.

"Leave it." Jason pulled him away
roughly, deliberately hurting his bad arm. "You'll wake the
neighbors."

He already had. An old woman put her
head out of an upstairs window of the house next door.

"
Nous cherchons Sophie
," Jason called. She should
understand something as simple as that.

"Sophie," said the woman.

Frank Heinman put his gloves on and
stood back. "You're Sophie?" he called up in English.

"Sophie," she repeated.

"See here," called Frank, as though
everyone spoke English. "We need to talk."

"
Comment?
" she shouted.

Jason took over.
"
Descendez,
s'il vous plaît.
" Amazingly no other residents had come to their windows.
Maybe they all slept round the back.

Jason watched while his father used
his gloves to wipe the blade and handle of fingerprints, and he
felt nauseous. "Are you sure you need to do this?"

"Just get her down here, boy, and
leave her to me."

They heard a rattle of a bolt and a
security chain. Then the door opened, revealing a frail woman lit
from behind by a bare bulb in the small hallway.

Jason jumped back in horror as his
father lunged forward with the knife, lifting it upwards as it went
in. No waiting. No questions. One sudden move and the old woman
fell backwards, her small hands clutching her stomach, her eyes
frozen in shock. The slight gasp was more of surprise than
pain.

Frank threw the knife into the hall
and left the old woman lying in the doorway, her body still
quivering. As he stood on the garden path his voice shook. "Come
on, Jason, let's get the hell back to the hotel before the cops
come looking for us. I've had enough of this place."

*

THE LOCALS
held Captain Lacoste in
contempt, according to the man at Le Garage de Saint Somer, so Matt
knew what to expect when the man turned up at one-thirty with a
small forensic team and a photographer. Once the team had finished
in the cabin an ambulance took the body of the guard away, but Matt
and Zoé were told they had to remain.