Illuminated in the chilly white glow was a figure.
A man.
The gendarme could see that he was busy digging up the earth of a grave.
The uniformed man looked up and saw that the walls were covered by barbed wire, his only way in was over the metal gates. He leapt at them, gained a grip, and began to climb.
Lasalle had dug his way at least three feet down into the earth of his wife’s grave when he looked up and saw the gendarme approaching. Lasalle murmured something to himself and froze for precious seconds, not sure what to do.
He bolted, still clutching the spade.
‘Arretez!’
He heard the shout and looked over his shoulder to see that the gendarme was pursuing him.
Lasalle didn’t know where he was going to run. The uniformed man had blocked his only way out of the cemetery. He had no chance of scaling the wall at the far side and, more to the point, the other man was gaining on him. Weakened by the exertions of his digging, Lasalle stumbled, peering round a second time to see that his pursuer was less than ten yards behind. The uniformed man shouted once more and Lasalle actually slowed his pace.
He spun round, the shovel aimed at the gendarme’s head.
A blow which would have split his skull open missed by inches and cracked into a tree.
The uniformed man hurled himself at Lasalle and succeeded in bringing him down. They crashed to the ground, rolling over in the damp grass. The gendarme tried to grip his opponent’s arms but, despite Lasalle’s. weakness, he found a reserve of strength born of desperation and, bringing his foot up, he flipped the other man over. The gendarme landed with a thud, the wind knocked from him as he hit a marble cross which stood over one of the graves.
Lasalle snatched up the shovel again and brought it crashing down.
There was a sickening clang as it caught the other man on the back, felling him as he tried to rise.
Lasalle hesitated a moment then sprinted back the way he had come, towards the grave of his wife.
The gendarme hauled himself to his feet and spat blood, trying to focus on his
fleeing quarry. He tensed the muscles in his back, wincing from the pain where he’d been struck but there was a determined look on his face as he set off after Lasalle once more.
It only took him a moment to catch up with the running man.
Again, Lasalle swung the shovel, his blow shattering a marble angel, the head disintegrating to leave a jagged point of stone between the wings.
The swing set hint off balance and the gendarme took full advantage, hitting the other man with .a rugby tackle just above the knees.
Lasalle grunted. The sound turning to a scream as he toppled towards the broken angel.
The moon shone brightly on the jagged stone.
The point pierced Lasalle’s chest below the heart, snapping ribs and tearing one lung. Wind hissed coldly in the gaping wound as he tried to suck in an agonised breath. Impaled on the marble angel, he tried to pull himself free but blood made the stone slippery. He tasted it in his mouth, felt it running from his nose as his struggles became weaker.
The gendarme rolled free and attempted to pull the other man clear, the odour of blood filling the air around them.
Lasalle finally freed himself and toppled backward, blood pumping madly from the gaping hole in his chest. His body shook once or twice but, even as the uniformed man knelt beside him, he heard a soft discharge which signalled that Lasalle’s sphincter muscle had given out. A rancid stench of excrement made him recoil.
The moon shone briefly on the dead man’s open eyes.
The gendarme shuddered as the wind hissed through the branches of a nearby tree.
It sounded like a disembodied voice.
A cold, invisible oration spoken for the man who lay before him.
The last rites.
Oxford
The sun shone brightly, pouring through the windows of her office and reflecting back off the white paper before her. She told herself that was the reason she found it so hard to concentrate. She had read the same two pages half-a-dozen times but still not a word had penetrated. It was the heat. It had to be the heat that was putting her off.
Kelly sat back in her chair and dropped the wad of notes.
She sighed, knowing full well that her lack of concentration had nothing to do with present climatic conditions.
Since arriving at the Instiute that morning she had been able to think of nothing but Blake. Even now, as the vision of him drifted into her mind she smiled. For a moment she
rebuked herself, almost angry that she had become so strongly attached to him.
She felt almost guilty, like a schoolgirl with a crush on a teacher but, the more she thought about it, the more she realized how close to love her feelings for Blake were becoming. Was it possible to fall in love with someone in such a short time? Kelly decided that it was. She was certain that he felt the same way about her. She felt it in his touch, in the way he spoke to her.
Kelly shook her head and chuckled to herself. She could hardly wait for the evening to see him again.
Once more she began reading the notes before her.
There was a light tap on the door and, before she could tell the visitor to enter, Dr Vernon walked in.
Kelly’s eyes widened in unconcealed surprise.
Standing with the Institute Director was Alain Joubert.
He and Kelly locked stares as Vernon moved into the room.
i believe you already know Alain Joubert,’ he said, motioning to the Frenchman.
‘Of course,’ Kelly told him, shaking hands with Joubert curtly.
‘How are you, Miss Hunt?’ Joubert asked, his face impassive.
‘I’m fine, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. Is Lasalle here too?’
Joubert opened his mouth to speak but V rnon stepped forward. His face was suddenly somehow softer and Kelly noticed the difference in his features.
‘Kelly, you were a friend of Lasalle’s weren’t you?’ he said, quietly.
‘What do you mean “you were”? Why the past tense?’ she asked.
‘He was killed in an accident last night.’
‘What kind of accident?’ she demanded, her voice a mixture of shock and helplessness.
‘We don’t know all the details,’ Vernon explained. ‘The Director of the Metapsychic Centre informed me this morning. I thought you had a right to know.’
She nodded and brushed a hand through her hair wearily.
‘He was dying anyway,’ Joubert said.
‘What do you mean?’ Kelly snapped, looking at the Frenchman.
‘He was cracking up. Taking more of those pills of his. He was dying and he didn’t even realize it.’
Kelly detected something close to contempt in Joubert’s voice and it angered her.
“Doesn’t his death mean anything to you?’ she snapped. ‘The two of you had worked together for a long time.’
The Frenchman seemed unconcerned.
it’s a regrettable incident,’ Vernon interjected. ‘But, unfortunately, there’s nothing we can do.’ He smiled condescendingly at Kelly, the tone of his voice changing. ‘That wasn’t the real reason I came to speak to you, Kelly.’
She looked at him expectantly.
‘You’re probably wondering why Joubert is here?’ he began.
it had occurred to me,’ Kelly said.
i want you to work with him on the dream project.’
