Past Imperfect (77 page)

Duclos jumped in the Peugeot and started her up. His heart was pounding hard. Fornier had probably seen him! A moment for the realization to hit Fornier, and then the car would do a U-turn and head out after him.

Duclos bit hard at his lip. What a fool he'd been to come down here. He swung the Peugeot out quickly and put his foot down hard. He kept his eyes glued to the rear-view mirror as he sped away, fearful that at any second Fornier's headlamps would reappear at the farmhouse entrance and turn out.

Six minutes. All that it had taken from the phone going dead for Dominic to reach the farmhouse.

He screeched to a halt, leapt out almost before he'd stopped, taking his gun out in the few quick paces to the front door. It was slightly ajar.

He pushed it, but there was a weight the other side keeping it from opening. His nerves jumped, thinking for a moment that the hit man was still there, pushing from the other side - before his eyes adjusted to the dark and made out the ghostly white face on the floor.
Gerome!
He recoiled back in horror.

He couldn't risk forcing the door, moving the body, in case Gerome was still alive. He ran around the house, saw the dining room window open, and scrambled in.

Dominic realized he was probably following in the path the hit man had taken.
Alive?
He'd accepted in the last few minutes of frantic driving - fragments of hope and desperation fighting against hollow bewilderment - that Monique was probably already dead. But Gerome as well? He felt as if his stomach had been scooped out by a cold claw. Salt tears stung his eyes, his vision suddenly blurred.

But fear overrode, his hands trembling as he held his gun out, double beat pulse skittering across his cold dark sea of bewilderment.

Six minutes? A lifetime for a professional hit man. But still he might be lurking in the shadows, waiting. Dominic part of the contract along with Monique. Dominic moved stealthily, cautiously, alert to the slightest movement. Across the dining room, through the half open door, into the hallway...

Eyes adjusting, taking in the crumpled figure of Gerome at its end. He bit hard at his lip...
please God, don't let him be dead!
But he knew it was little more than a wishful, desperate prayer. Most professionals finished off with head shots.

To the side, the door to the dining room was open. Dominic kept very still, consciously holding his breath, listening for sounds from the room. Nothing. He eased up, turned into the room quickly, gun held straight out.

His eyes fell on Monique's sprawled figure immediately: to the right, by the telephone.

Then with sudden panic, as shapes became clearer in the darkness, he realized that it was two figures... and one of them was rising!

The hit man was still alive
- he'd used Monique's body as a shield...

Dominic aimed square at the figure, started to squeeze off the shot.

'Dominic...'

The voice and the shape hit him at the same time.
Monique!
He lowered the gun, rushed towards her.

He hugged her tight, kissing her cheek repeatedly. 'You're all right...
you're all right.'
Breathless, tone disbelieving, the tension washing away from him. He felt dampness, stickiness on her cheek as he kissed her, and touched with one hand. 'You're bleeding. You've been hit!'

'No, no... I don't think so.' She reached up to her face, still partly dazed. 'I think it's his blood. It happened so... so quickly. While you were on the phone... He grabbed me... said something into the phone.' Monique fought for breath, words gasped on staccato exhalations as the thoughts hit her. 'Then the shot... us both falling back. Then I don't remember anything until I heard you moving in the hallway.' She shook her head, looked back at the body behind her.

Dominic would have checked the man's pulse, but he could see bone fragments among the dark patch spreading out from the head. Half the skull had been blown away. 'Did you see anyone else come in the room?'

'No... no I didn't... I...' Monique touched her head thoughtfully. She could feel a bruise, a dull ache to one side. 'I must have... have hit my head or fainted. I thought I heard Gerome's car. But it was all confusing... everything happening so... I...' Then the dam of her emotions finally broke. She burst into tears. Heavy racking sobs as she clutched back tight against Dominic. 'It's so good to see you...
so good.'

Dominic felt her body quaking against him. Who had fired the bullet to save her, where had it come from? Though no time to find out now.
No time! Gerome!
But it felt wrong to just push her brusquely away, or was it more that he was dreading breaking the news, destroying her while she was still in shock from her own ordeal.
Telling her the one thing he knew she'd feared most through all the years.

It felt like a lifetime, but in the end was only seconds before he muttered, 'It's Gerome.' He felt her pull back. Her eyes were darting, searching, and even in the darkness he could see that she had read the panic and apprehension in his own eyes. He gripped Monique's shoulders briefly, a gesture that said 'please be strong' - and darted into the hallway with Monique following.

Tomi straightened up from crouching in the field, detached the telescopic sights and slid the rifle back into its long case.

Everything had come through late, at the last minute: the location, his instructions. It had been a mad rush up from Marseille, with very little daylight left in which to scout the area. He'd almost missed what he believed was Brossard's Dianne parked deep in a woodland track - realizing with a shock that Brossard might have been there for some time, it might already be over!

It was fully dark as Tomi ran across the farm field and positioned himself by the short stone wall. Light on downstairs. Tomi attached the sights: clear view of the drawing room, a woman kneeling down by a small alcove at the back.

Seconds later the light went out. Tomi panned the sights sharply to each side and up to see if any other lights had come on - but there were none. The electricity had been cut.

He had no night sights - he would have to move in! And Brossard was no doubt already there and would have prepared with...

It was then that he picked up the faint glow at the back of the drawing room in his sights: a small night-light.

He could just pick out the silhouette of the woman. She was standing, talking on the phone. Then only seconds later, another shape came swiftly into frame - gripping the woman around the neck with one arm, taking the telephone.

Tomi focused his sights, saw the man say something into the receiver, and then the gun in his hand levelled at the woman's temple. Tomi trained the cross-hairs at the centre of the man's head and squeezed off the shot - saw it connect cleanly, both figures falling back.

He packed up the rifle and ran back across the field to his car. Girouves would be pleased. Harmony kept with the police, and quite a favour they owed Girouves if ever he had need to call it in.

Contarge looked at the photo developing in the trough of liquid. 30cm x 22cm print, the car number plate looked quite clear. Bit more...
bit more...

The darkroom assistant yanked it out, pinned it on a wire next to two smaller prints. Contarge put his eyeglass close up to the damp, dripping paper. Even in the faint orange light of the darkroom, he thought he could make out the first five numbers. 'It's probably the best we'll get.' He'd picked it out from three possible negatives of Duclos' car heading towards the gate, then they'd worked through a succession of frame croppings and enlargements.

The assistant nodded. 'I think so. Any more and the resolution will start to break up.'

Contarge gave it a quick pass through under the blow dryer, then headed out the darkroom and back to his desk.

In daylight, it was even better than he thought. All but the last two numbers could be easily read. He picked up the phone and dialled Lepoille.

FORTY-FIVE

The police siren screamed through the night.

Still alive.
Alive!
Dominic had shrieked the word above Monique's wailing cry as she'd looked on over his shoulder at Gerome's crumpled body. The chest and lower part of the neck had been a mass of blood, and it had been hard to find the pulse at first.

Dominic knew that he would need light for what he had to do, and rushed to the garage to switch back on the electricity. Then he took a large bed sheet from the linen cupboard. He felt for the entry wound: through Gerome's right breastbone, a few centimetres off centre. Slightly more to the left and it would have hit his heart.

But he knew that shattered bone could still have severed vital arteries or be sitting close to the heart. And blood loss was so heavy that Gerome could easily still die from that alone. Ripping the sheet in two, with one part he'd mopped up the excess blood and with the other tied a bandage and part tourniquet around the upper chest, wrapping under the right arm.

A police car with two gendarmes had arrived at that moment. It would have taken too long to get an ambulance, so Dominic arranged that one gendarme drive the police car as a lead, while the other drove Dominic's car following behind. Dominic would meanwhile tend to Gerome in the back of the car.

The second police car arrived just as they had Gerome in and ready to go. Dominic suggested they stay and phone for a meat wagon and forensics for Brossard.

Dominic grabbed another sheet to help stem any extra blood flow. Monique was to go in the lead car, but she'd insisted on staying close to Gerome. She'd stayed turned from the seat constantly, her eyes darting concernedly with each movement as he tended Gerome - blood stark against the white sheet binding in the intermittent glare from the police car's flashing light ahead.

The pulsing glare and the siren added an urgency to every movement.
Don't die... please don't die!
Dominic made sure to keep the airway free, kept Gerome turned slightly to one side. He hardly took his eyes off Gerome all the time - not only the constant need to tend and watch for any changes in breathing and pulse - but because he didn't want to meet Monique's eyes: frantic, pleading...
surely it couldn't be?
All the years she'd feared something like this happening, though mainly with Yves because of his work, and in the end it had been Gerome.

Dominic could almost feel her thoughts coming across in waves without looking up. And it had all been due to his obsession with justice for Christian. No...
No!
It was unthinkable. He couldn't let it happen. Gerome
wouldn't
die. Yet from the blood loss and the weakness of Gerome's pulse and breathing, he knew that they would be lucky to save Gerome. It would be a desperate race against time.

'How far now to the hospital at Draguignan?' he asked the gendarme driving.

'Fourteen, fifteen kilometres. Five, six minutes at most.'

Gerome hadn't at any time regained consciousness, and Dominic started to think of the many equally as unacceptable alternatives: coma, mental impairment, paralysis... a pall of hopelessness descending as he took in the full horror of his son's shattered, bloodied body. He scrunched his eyes tight, and suddenly he had an image of Gerome as a young child, playing in the sea, and him lifting Gerome above a wave that threatened to swamp him... lifting him out of danger and planting kisses on his smiling cheek as Gerome shrieked with excitement, feeling the slight tremble in Gerome's small body. And he wished he could do that now, just lift him free of the danger. But as he opened his eyes he was back with the stark flashing glare and horror, blurred now from his tears welling.

Seeing his anguish, Monique commented: 'We'll be there soon.'

Her first words since asking 'Is he going to live?' as her initial wailing panic had subsided. Dominic had responded hastily, Yes,' not even thinking whether he might be lying. Reflected his wish in that moment more than what he believed.

Minutes later, as they burst through swing doors at Draguignan hospital with Gerome alongside on a gurney led by two medics, Dominic's mobile phone started ringing. He didn't answer it. His other life as a policeman could wait a while. All that mattered was Gerome.

Guy Lepoille viewed the photo sent from Contarge at
Le Figaro
on his computer screen. He'd asked Contarge to send through a scanned image by modem to Interpol's X400 server so that he could pull it up.

A few keyboard taps and he blew it up to 4x image enlargement, cropping in on the number plate. As Contarge mentioned, all visible except the last two numbers. He deliberated for only a second before deciding to put out the nationwide alert first. He phoned through to NCB Division II, from where it would be routed through to Interpol National and within minutes would be broadcast to regional stations and police cars throughout France.

Then he dialled Dominic's number. Tell him the good news: everything was already in motion, the hunt for Duclos was on in earnest. But the number rang without answering.

Lepoille looked back thoughtfully at his computer screen as he hung up. Those last two numbers bothered him. Some impressive image recognition equipment had been installed the past few years by Division 4, primarily for counterfeit bill or art theft and fraud detection. If he put the image through its paces, he wondered if he might pull up the last two numbers.

A 1 or a 4, a 3 or an 8? All Lepoille could make out were vague shadows. He enlarged to 16x magnification and started piecing together the likely shape that the blurred dots remaining might have taken. Then he asked the computer for percentage likelihoods for each suggestion. After seven minutes, he had an 83% on a 4 on one number and 74% on an 8 on the other, with all other choices scoring less than 10%.
Full house!
Got the bastard. Lepoille let out a little yelp and clapped his hands, causing a few people in the computer room to look over.