Rocco stepped wide of the corner, feet apart and holding his pistol in a two-handed grip. His heart was thumping and he automatically glanced to one side as another figure appeared, this time from behind a cherry tree in the middle of the lawn. This figure was very small.
A child?
‘What the hell-?’
The figure behind the house swung round with a shout of alarm, and the child called out and ran across the lawn, crying, ‘ Maman!’
With a supreme effort of will, Rocco relaxed his finger on the trigger and lowered his arm, recognition flooding in as he saw Nicole’s face turned towards him. She looked pale with shock, her mouth open as she reached out a protective arm towards her son.
‘It’s OK… it’s me,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s Lucas.’ He thrust the gun into his coat pocket, thanking the stars that he hadn’t decided to shoot first and worry about consequences later. But it didn’t lessen the anger in his voice when he said, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Nicole, stepping away towards the house. ‘I’m so sorry — I came to find you, and your neighbour let me in. She said you would not object.’ She gathered her son towards her and looked as if she were about to flee. Rocco realised that his reaction had frightened her. ‘No. Please… it’s OK, you can stay.’ He held up both hands. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all.’ When she showed no signs of relaxing, he nodded towards the french window. ‘Let’s get inside. It’s too cold out here.’
He led them indoors, where the wood burner was pumping out heat and a pleasant smell of something spicy was filling the air. It was the most comfortable atmosphere he’d experienced since coming here.
‘You’ve been busy,’ he said. Plates had been set out on the table, with glasses of water and hunks of crusty bread. ‘I hope you don’t mind. It was the least I could do. I had to see you… and I couldn’t stay in Amiens.’ She made sure Massi wasn’t in earshot and added sombrely, ‘Farek is coming. Sooner or later he will find me.’
‘I know.’ Rocco looked around, wondering how to discuss the subject without alarming the boy. They were, after all, discussing his father. He noticed a neat cardboard box on the table tied with coloured string.
Nicole saw him looking and blushed. ‘Oh, that was a small gift for descending on you like this.’ She tugged the string and the box opened to reveal three fruit tartelettes nestling inside. ‘And I bought some chicken, too. Your village shop is marvellous.’ She nodded towards a casserole bubbling on the wood burner. ‘Your lovely neighbour let us in and gave me some vegetables. She seemed suspicious at first but I think she only has your welfare in mind.’
‘I think you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘And I appreciate your efforts. I’ve got some wine to go with that somewhere.’ He looked at Massi, who was eyeing the cakes with big, round eyes. ‘Maybe we can talk afterwards.’
‘Yes, of course. Would you like to eat now? I’m sure we’re all hungry.’
Rocco found a bottle of vin de pays and poured two glasses. They ate in awkward silence, Rocco acutely aware that the place was a bachelor’s mess and wondering where this was leading. He was also conscious that sitting here enjoying an excellent casserole and a glass of wine with an attractive woman was in danger of being overshadowed by events gathering like a dark cloud in the corner of the room. Samir Farek would not stop until he had found his wife, and it was only a matter of time before he picked up her trail. Criminals, even more than the police, were adept at building networks of informers and contacts. Sooner or later, one of them would come forward with the information the Algerian gang boss was looking for.
He wondered how Caspar was doing and thought it a bad sign that he hadn’t yet heard from the former undercover cop. Maybe he’d asked too much of him.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Caspar was thinking the same thing and asking himself how he’d come to this point. More crucially, he was wondering how he was going to get out of the deepest shithole he’d ever stumbled into. It had been several hours since Farek and his men had left, and in all that time he’d heard nothing other than the distant sounds of traffic and kids playing. He’d tried getting free of his bonds, but without success. Whoever had tied him up knew what they were doing and had made the knots tight. Now the kids had gone and the traffic had decreased, and the bead of light through the shutter was fading with the approaching night. It was surely only a matter of time before the men returned and his worries would all be at an end.
He shook his head, which was a mistake. The pain since Youcef had knocked him out of the chair had been a constant, throbbing reminder of his plight, relieved only by his falling asleep with exhaustion after trying to work his way free. Now it was back with a vengeance. A remote part of his brain questioned vaguely if the police academy would be interested in running a course on escape techniques from rooms in deserted houses. The psychology experts he’d been encouraged to see recently would have a field day explaining the mental ramifications of that one.
He wondered what had caused Farek and his crew to decamp so quickly. At first he’d thought it might be a police raid, come to rescue him. But that was stupid; he was no longer answerable to anyone, so how could they know what he was doing? If they did, how would they even begin to look for one man in one of Europe’s busiest capitals?
He felt a stab of pain in his left gut and leant sideways in an attempt to ease it, the chair creaking loudly. He took a deep breath and hissed as the pain was repeated. Something must have got busted when he fell over. A rib, probably. Wrong angle, body twisting, normally strong bone giving way under intense pressure. He hadn’t noticed it before, with the headache pounding inside him, but now it was adding to his discomfort.
The chair creaked again as he sat back up. Fucking thing; the noise was going through his head like a badly tuned violin. How could wood make that kind of racket, high-pitched and relentless?
Then he laughed. In spite of the pain that brought, the action made him almost happy. Fuck, he really was way past his best, just like they’d said. Maybe it was time he retired, took up knitting or gardening, something which didn’t call for too much active brainpower.
He eased his bottom from side to side, his naked skin numb with cold. The movement set up a frantic squealing in the chair beneath him. Jesus and Mary, he’d been sitting here for hours now on a crappy piece of furniture that was literally falling apart, and he hadn’t even noticed!
He started rocking back and forth, tears running down his face. Then he changed direction, going left to right. Stop. Careful. Not too far left. If you’ve got a broken rib and land on it again, it’ll get worse and puncture something. Like your heart, you arse. He went right a bit, then forward and back, working on the joints in the chair, teasing them as hard as he dared, each move more forceful than the last. It was a normal wooden chair with three slats down the back and spindles running between each leg. Probably held together by cheap donkey glue that had dried out thirty years ago. How strong could it be, for Christ’s sake?
A noise intruded on the creaking. He stopped. A car engine somewhere close by. A door slammed, metallic and heavy. A big engine. Too powerful-sounding to be coincidental, too big to be a neighbourhood runaround.
Farek was back.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Caspar threw himself with desperation back into his rocking motion, jamming his body as hard as he could down against each joint of the chair, trying to force them apart almost by willpower. He heard voices, then a door opening and slamming back, the impact echoing through the house like a gunshot. He estimated that he was at the rear of the building, and had probably thirty seconds of useful life remaining before the men reached him. After that, all bets were off and he’d find out at first hand what Bouhassa’s reputation was built on.
With a supreme effort which made the veins of his forehead stand out, he heaved against his bonds and threw himself backwards, tipping the chair until it reached the point of no return. He crashed to the floor, the shock sending shooting pains through his shoulders, neck and head, making him want to throw up. But there wasn’t time.
