Shallow Be Thy Grave (35 page)

“Carlos has a temper. This is true. But he not kill your sister.”

“Carlos? Who’s Carlos? The client?”

“Carlos is working for the man who wants the film. He wants to talk with you.”

“And he couldn’t pick up the phone? Call round?”

“You started the fight. I came to tell you, and that,” he cast around for the suitable word, “that boy thinks he stands a chance. Against me?” Alain spat into the ground. “ He attacked me. I teach him a lesson, not to be stupid.”

“Oh my God, what have you done to Stuart?”

Alain didn’t answer. He was staring into the space behind her and his shoulders had relaxed. He was no longer looking like someone about to attack her. Lily heard a man cough and Alain nodded his head in the direction of the house behind her. Lily turned and saw the man she’d last seen trying to strangle Madame Beaumont, standing by the gate to the house. He was wearing a black T-shirt underneath a black suit jacket.
Miami Vice
meets Darth Vader. He nodded at her.

“Carlos?” Lily turned back to Alain.

Alain stepped towards her.

“You fucking bastard.” Lily span back round and launched herself at Carlos, brandishing the screwdriver. She felt Alain’s hands grab her from behind before she got even halfway towards him. Carlos stepped backwards down the small path that ran up to the old house, and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Lily.

Alain took the screwdriver from Lily’s hand and released her. He limped up the path and into the house, as though he was just expecting Lily to follow. She looked down the track behind her - miles of unoccupied land as far as she could see. Her options were limited. She swore to herself, tutted like a teenager and followed Alain inside. She felt Carlos step behind her.

The farmhouse looked big from the outside, but inside it was almost derelict. Lily followed them in to what had once been a family kitchen, still furnished, but looking like no one had lived there for years. The remains of a birds’ nest had fallen down the chimney, and a thick layer of dust lay over every surface, including the TV in the corner of the room. Lily stood by the wooden table in the centre of the room. A large pottery vase stood in the middle, so covered in dust it wasn’t possible to determine what colour it was. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I want the film,” said Carlos from behind her.

“I don’t have it.”

Carlos handed Lily a piece of paper. It was written in French. Lily frowned. “I can’t read this.”

Alain took it from her and read it aloud, “The film is with the two English girls. They will be at Bruno’s flat tonight to give it to you. There was no need for all this. B”

“Where did you get that?”

Carlos ignored her. He turned his attention to Alain. “Did you get it?”

“Oui. Moment.” Alain left the room, went back out through the front door. Lily could see him through the window, opening the car door and reaching something out.

“She didn’t give me any fucking film,” Lily’s outrage made her shout, until halfway through the sentence the memory of the video sitting on Bruno’s kitchen table came to her. “Shit.”

Alain returned holding the video cassette. He waved it in the air, like a flag. Lily didn’t speak. She was trying to remember the sequence of events, but her head was still cloudy. She remembered Jo putting the cassette Bruno had left into the machine and leaving the one that had been in the machine on the floor. The question was, which cassette was Alain holding?

“Listen,” said Carlos, in an accent that Lily thought might be an Essex one. “You really don’t want to mess me around.”

Lily glanced across at Alain. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded. She turned back to the man in black. “Your name isn’t Carlos.”

Carlos grinned. He looked like the bad guy out of a James Bond movie. She half expected to see bad dental work. “You are wasting my time.”

He pulled a small lever on the gun, so that it made a clicking sound and he held it up at her head height, pointing it straight at her. “We don’t actually need you. Not now we have the film.”

Lily held up her hands and made her eyes as big as she knew how. “Humour me. At least give me the details before you kill me. Don’t let me die confused.”

“Brigitte was supposed to meet the boss, 9 o’clock, a week ago. Saturday.”

“The 5
th
of May?” asked Lily.

“I guess.”

“Before they went travelling,” said Lily to herself.

“She never showed,” said Carlos. “Too busy spending the cash, probably. Whores. They’re all the same.”

Lily thought about the timescale. If Brigitte hadn’t been supposed to meet them until the Saturday morning, why would they have killed Fiona on the Thursday night or Friday morning? It didn’t make sense. Had Brigitte made up the details of her abusive family? Or were there two sets of people hunting her down? “So what did you do, when she didn’t show?”

“Enough questions.” He turned to Alain. “Play the tape.”

 Lily also turned to Alain. “What did you do to Stuart?”

Alain shrugged. “He may have a headache.”

Lily felt anger swirl in her belly. “That’s the wrong film,” she said. “It’s a decoy.”

“You’d better be fucking me about,” said Carlos.

Underneath the dusty TV was a video recorder. It looked out of place in the house, like it had been brought along specially for the purpose. Alain pressed the cassette into the machine and pressed rewind. Lily shifted her weight from one foot to the other as the whirr of the machine filled the room. She held her breath as Alain pressed play. A film started to play. Lily recognised it immediately. Desperately Seeking Susan. Madonna being Madonna, sassy and irreverent. They watched it in silence for a few moments.

“You fucking cow,” said Carlos quietly.

“You think we’d leave the film in the apartment?” asked Lily, as if that would be the most stupid act in all the world. “I need to see that my friend, Stuart is quite fine. And then,” she took a seat in a old, worn armchair by the hearth. “Then I’ll tell you where it is.”

“You’ve got this the wrong way up,” said Carlos. “You tell us where it is, your friend will be fine. You don’t tell us where it is, your friends will not be fine.”

“I need to speak to Stuart. And Jo.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Why not? What’s happened to them?”

Carlos spoke. “Tell us where the film is and we’ll bring them both here.”

“No chance.”

“Where the fuck is it?”

“I hid it. No one else knows where it is. And I’m not telling anyone. Not until I see Jo and Stuart.”

Carlos glared at Alain.

“How was I to know this is not the right film?” asked Alain, ducking his head to light a cigarette. Lily held out her hand for one. He shook his head. “Not until you tell us where the film is.”

“Listen, you stupid little bitch. You’re getting involved in something you really don’t know about.”  Carlos pulled the gun from inside his jacket and pressed the barrel of it against her forehead, until it hurt her skin. She stared him right in the eyes.

“Go on then, pull the trigger,” said Lily, her voice steady. “You’ll be doing me a favour.”

Carlos stared back, his eyes blue and cold. She knew he was thinking about it. She didn’t care. She could honestly say in that moment, she didn’t care whether she lived or died. It could hang on a coin toss. Her sister was dead. She saw a chance to escape the guilt, the constant dialogue in her head, the overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. It wouldn’t be all bad. “What are you waiting for?”

She saw the anger build in his features. She braced herself, eyes wide open. She didn’t take her eyes off his face.

“Stop,” said Alain, “I’ll go and get them. It can’t hurt, bringing them all here.”

Carlos continued to stare at Lily. She saw him make his decision. He lowered the gun. “Tie her up. I’ll go. Might as well have a fucking party.”

Alain ducked out the front door and came back less than a minute later holding what looked like a washing line. He forced Lily to move from the armchair and sit on a rickety, wooden kitchen chair. She did as she was told and tried to make herself as big and wide as possible as he tied her wrists behind her back and her ankles to the legs of the chair. Carlos watched from the window, smoking.

“Car keys?” asked Carlos.

Alain felt in his pockets. “Must have left them outside.”

Alain left the room again and Carlos bent down so that could smell his breath. It wasn’t a pleasant smell. “The only reason you’re still breathing is that I like a pretty face.”

She moved her head as far away from him as was possible while tied to a chair. He kissed her on the lips, his breath dark and disgusting. “I’ll be back for you.”

Alain returned, just as Carlos was straightening up. He looked at Carlos strangely, and Lily wondered whether he’d heard what Carlos had said. Alain threw the keys across the room and Carlos caught them in one hand. “Stay with her,” he said as he left.

Lily waited until she heard the car door slam, and the engine start up before she spoke. “My wrists are hurting.”

“He won’t be long.”

“I need the toilet.”

“Don’t make this difficult.”

 “Why do you need to tie me up? Come on, I’ve just spent the last God knows how long in the boot of your car. My legs are hurting. What are you afraid of? Afraid I can escape?”

“Shut up.”

“You can’t be trusted to look after an unarmed girl? We’re in the middle of bleeding nowhere, Alain. Even if I managed to overpower you, where would I go?”

“You would not overpower me,” said Alain.

“Then why can’t you untie me?”

“Ssh.”

“Did the sex mean nothing to you? You just wanted to find out about Brigitte?”

“The sex was great.”

“You used me.”

“That is not true. You are very beautiful. And the most beautiful thing is that you do not know how beautiful you are.”

“Untie me. You can show me.”

“You are playing games.”

“I can think of better ways to pass the time,” said Lily, her voice as seductive as she could make it. “Come on, you can tie me up again after. Or,” she paused and licked her lips, “during.”

He stared at her and she knew she had his attention. “Ok,” he said, “I’ll untie you. But only because you have nowhere to go.”

She started kissing him while he was on his knees in front of her, untying the ropes from her ankles. She wasn’t prepared for the wave of sexual desire that erupted in her as soon as she started. Must be something to do with the danger, she thought distractedly. And the fact he was on his knees. By the time he’d untied her hands, he was kissing her breasts, her nipples as hard as marbles, and she’d wrapped both her legs around his torso. She almost succumbed entirely, but a small voice reminded her she had a job to do. As he worked his way with his tongue down her belly to the top of her black canvas trousers, she picked up the huge, pot pitcher from the table.

She hovered, quivered with anticipation, spread her legs wider, felt him pop the button on her trousers, and then smashed the pot with all her might down on his head. He went limp immediately, his head buried in her crotch.

She allowed her body a moment to mourn the loss and then inched her way out from under him. She pulled her T-shirt back down, she never wore a bra. Breasts not big enough to warrant one. She took the packet of cigarettes from the rear pockets of his jeans and lit one. She looked at his crumpled body, lying on the stone floor. “Never come between a girl and her fags.”

It took her legs a minute to start working again, for the blood to circulate all the way to her feet. The door was locked, so Lily picked up the chair she’d been tied to and hurled it with all her power against the window at the rear of the house. The glass shattered and Lily wrapped herself in a thick leather jacket she found hanging at the bottom of the stairs and climbed out.

She started running, her lungs screaming after less than twenty paces but she pressed on. She had to ditch the cigarette halfway up the bumpy track they’d driven down. After a few minutes the lane reached a tarmac road and she tried to remember which way they’d turned when she’d been locked in the boot. She thought left, so she turned right and carried on half jogging, half stumbling up the road. Twenty minutes later she reached the first signs of civilisation, a couple of houses, probably a farm. She thought about stopping there, asking to use the phone, but her chances of explaining her predicament to a French farmer seemed remote. She was also unsure as to what time it was. The sun was up, but without the heat. It was still early, she guessed. She continued her half jog.

Five minutes later she came to a small village and a phone box. She searched all her pockets and found less than five francs. Her travellers’ cheques weren’t going to be any use here in Hicksville. She picked up the handset and dialled Bruno’s number, hoping she’d remembered it right - she didn’t have enough money for error. She was hopeless with faces, sometimes struggled to recognise regulars in the bar if they’d had their hair cut, but once she’d seen a telephone number written down, it seemed always to lodge itself in her memory. She held her breath as the phone rang. It rang for ages, she’d almost given up and hung up, when she heard Jo’s muddled tones. “Hello?”

“Jo, thank fuck.”

“Lil?”

“Are you ok?”

“What the fuck happened? Where are you? Did I fall asleep?”

“Jo, listen. I haven’t got time to explain. Go downstairs. Find Stuart. Make sure he’s alright. I’ll ring you back in two minutes. Go.”

Lily paced the floor for two minutes, counting each second off in her head. She redialled the number. “Jo?”

Jo was breathless. “He’s been beaten up.”

Lily kicked the wall so her toes hurt. “Is he conscious?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, Jo. You haven’t got much time. They’re on their way back. You’ve got to get the video out of the recorder, you know the one we were going to watch last night? And then get you and Stuart out of there. I’ll meet you at the Eiffel Tower. Run. Now.”