Rough Cut (18 page)

   The switch had turned on a single light bulb hanging in the centre of the room and Yvonne was totally unprepared for what she saw. There, in the middle of the windowless room, beneath the light, was a chair, and tied to the chair was Antoine with his head resting limply on his chest.

   Henri motioned towards Antoine. “Untie him and get rid of the body,” he said and Albert, keen to do as he was told let go of Yvonne and approached the chair.

   Yvonne saw her chance and without hesitation swung round on her heel and darted up the steps. Albert turned as he heard her go and looked at Henri, who quickly jerked his head towards the steps indicating that he should go after her. Defying his great bulk, he took the steps two at a time as he followed Yvonne and chased her through the kitchen, passageway and hall, finally catching up with her about fifty yards from the house. He reached out and seized the collar of her blouse, bringing her to a standstill. Yvonne choked as a button bit deep into her throat and she started to cough. The big man was panting with the effort of running after her and his face was red. Yvonne turned to look at him. Still gagged, she stared at him as he stood there, catching his breath, and implored him with her eyes to let her go. Then, in a desperate attempt to win her freedom, she brought her knee up, aiming for his groin, but he was ready for the move and stepped back quickly without letting go of her collar. He smiled weakly and wagged a finger at her.

   Yvonne pleaded again with her eyes for her freedom, and for a moment she thought she might succeed; that Albert might relent and let her go. But he didn’t. All she got was a sympathetic look, the smile fading from his round face as he shook his head sadly.

   Still holding the collar of her blouse, Albert half led, half dragged Yvonne back into the farmhouse and down to the basement. When they re-entered the depressing room, Antoine’s body lay crumpled on the floor and Henri was coiling the thin rope which had been used to tie him to the chair. He looked round as they came in and walked over to where Albert was holding Yvonne.

   “You just won’t learn will you?” he said, and as he spoke, Yvonne noticed that his eyes, like his voice, were cold and hard. In his hand, he held the knife he had used to cut Antoine free. He put it behind her head and cut the scarf which held the gag in place allowing Yvonne to spit it out. Then he lifted the knife to her face and slowly turned it this way and that in front of her. “Obviously my last lesson taught you nothing. Perhaps this one will.”

   Yvonne wondered what he meant; she hoped she would never find out. She knew what pleasure it gave this animal of a man to hurt others; she had experienced his vicious nature already. As the seconds passed, she became more and more gripped by panic and there was a terrified look on her face as, in a single deft movement, Henri whipped the knife up across her face. Her cheek gaped open and blood poured from the wound. Yvonne gasped and put her hand to her face. She felt the warm sticky blood flow down her wrist and looked at her hand.

   “
You bastard
!” she hissed, her eyes alive with fury despite the tears which filled them from the pain. Albert winced as the knife cut through her cheek and his face expressed his silent disapproval.

   “Tie her to the chair,” said Henri throwing the rope to Albert and, at the same time, handing Yvonne the scarf. “You’d better hold that to your face or you’ll bleed to death and we don’t want you to die, do we?… Not yet, anyway.”

   Yvonne took the scarf reluctantly and did as she had been told. Then Albert led her gently to the chair and sat her down in it before using the rope to tie her wrists and ankles to the chair’s arms and legs, just as Antoine had been tied to it. She looked at him when he had finished and could see in his eyes the distaste he felt for Henri’s actions.

   When he had finished tying Yvonne to the chair, Albert lifted Antoine’s body off the floor and with remarkable ease, put it over his shoulder. He made his way to the bottom of the steps where he picked up a shovel that was resting against the wall and began, slowly, to climb the steps. Henri followed and when they reached the top, he switched off the light, leaving Yvonne alone in the dank darkness.

   The blood from Yvonne’s wound had stopped running down the side of her face but her cheek still stung with pain and the ropes hurt as they bit into her wrists and ankles, even more so when she attempted to wriggle free. Eventually, she gave up trying to free herself and sat still in silence surrounded by the total darkness of the room. She felt sick at the thought of what might be going to happen to her and the sweat from her armpits ran down the sides of her body as she contemplated what the future had in store for her.

   In the silence, she thought she heard the scuffling of another rat, or perhaps the same one, in the pile of furniture at the far end of the room. She tried to lift her feet out of its reach but the ropes kept them firmly anchored to the floor.

CHAPTER 12

When his phone rang at eight o’clock the next morning, Jacques was still asleep in the master cabin of the Esprit. Even though he had left the phone in the saloon, the incessant shrill ringing eventually woke him. He looked at Eloise who was fast asleep next to him. Trying not to disturb her, he got up from the bed and threw on a towelling bathrobe before climbing the steps to the saloon. Standing in the saloon he ran a hand through his hair and yawned before picking up the phone and speaking into it.

   “Hello,” he said.

   “Jacques?… Jacques Armand?”

   “Oui.”

   “Bon! Now listen to me, Jacques. Your sister, Yvonne, she is my guest. A little unwillingly, perhaps, but she is here with me.”

   “Who
is
this?” asked Jacques. He was still half asleep but he was rapidly waking up.

   “It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is that I have your sister and if you don’t do
exactly
as I say, it will not go well for her.”

   Jacques was alarmed now. It was beginning to sound as if someone had kidnapped Yvonne.

   “Listen,” said the voice on the phone.

   “Jacques? Jacques?” Yvonne’s voice was strained but unmistakable. “Jacques, don’t listen to him he’s going to kill…” Yvonne’s voice was cut short and Jacques could feel the panic rising in him.

   “What do you want?” he asked in measured tones trying to hide his unease and keep himself under control; mouthing off at this unknown person wasn’t likely to accomplish anything.

   “Be ready to leave the next time I call.”

   The line went dead and Jacques slowly and deliberately put his phone down next to the music centre on top of the cupboard unit. Absent-mindedly he went to the galley, spooned some coffee into the cafetière and switched on the kettle. Then he began to pace up and down the saloon trying to work out what to do. 

   A few minutes later, Jacques was still walking up and down the saloon wondering what to do when a sleepy Eloise came up the steps from the master cabin. She saw Jacques deep in thought.

   “Are you all right?” she asked, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.

   Jacques looked up and shook his head.

   “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” asked Eloise as she put her hand on his arm, her sleepiness rapidly giving way to concern.

   “They’ve got Yvonne,” said Jacques, his voice flat, simply passing on information.

   “What do you mean, they’ve got Yvonne? Who’s got Yvonne?”

   “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the ones those diamond people are looking for.”

   “But why? What would they want Yvonne for?”

   “I don’t know. They said they would ring again and that I must be ready to do what they tell me when they do. Yvonne sounded very scared and she doesn’t scare easily. She tried to tell me something but they stopped her before she could say much.”

   “What did she say?”

   “Something about them going to kill someone.”

   “Who?”

   “ I don’t know. They shut her up before she got to that.” Jacques began to rub his hands together anxiously. “I don’t know what to do,” he said, looking helplessly at Eloise.

   “You must tell the police,” insisted Eloise but Jacques disagreed. His experience of, and involvement with, authority had not left him with any confidence in either the motives or the abilities of public officials, especially the police.

   “They’ll hurt her, kill her maybe, if I contact the police,” he said

   “But they’ll know what to do,” pressed Eloise.

   “I am not so sure about that.”

   “Well what about Jefferson then? Maybe he can help?”

   “That also is too dangerous. I am not going to take a risk with Yvonne’s life.”

   Jacques knew that he had little option but to do exactly what he was told to do by Yvonne’s kidnappers; the alternatives were all too risky.

   “I’ll do whatever they say,” he said, “It’s the only thing I can do.” He pushed past Eloise and headed for the circular staircase. “I must get dressed and be ready for when they call again.”

   Almost exactly an hour after the first call, the phone rang again. Jacques was dressed and ready when it did and he answered it immediately.

   “Bon! Tres bon, Jacques,” said the caller, “I believe that you are now taking this seriously. I hope you haven’t done anything stupid, like speak to the police?”

   “No. I haven’t done anything, as you said. I’ve just been waiting for you to call again.”

   “Good. Now listen carefully. Get in your car and take the road to the west.” Jacques grabbed the pen and paper he had put on the table in readiness and started scribbling down the instructions he was being given. He repeated each instruction back to the caller to make sure he had heard it correctly and Eloise listened intently as he did.

   “Road to the west,” he said as he wrote it down.

   “The one leading to La Garde-Freinet,” continued the caller, followed by “to La Garde-Freinet,” from Jacques.

   “Precisely six and a half kilometres after leaving Grimaud, you will see a small road to the left. Take that road.”

   “Road to left after six and a half kilometres,” echoed Jacques.

   “After two hundred metres, there is a turning to the right. Turn onto it.”

   “Two hundred metres, then turn right.”

   “Follow the road for half a kilometre, and then stop.”

   “Stop after half a kilometre.”

   “You will be in front of a farmhouse. Go into the farmhouse and wait. You will be contacted.”

   “Wait in farmhouse.”

   “Oh, and Jacques, make sure you come alone. We will be watching you.”

   Jacques put the pen down. “OK. But if you have harmed her, I will kill you,” he said, trying hard not to give away how scared he was.

   The phone went dead again before he could say anything more. He looked at Eloise.

   “I have to go,” he said.

   “Was it them?” asked Eloise, already knowing the answer to her question.

   Jacques nodded. “They want me to go to a farmhouse up in the hills.”

   “You’re not going to go, are you? It could be a trap,” warned Eloise with some dismay, her resolve not to interfere breaking down momentarily.

   “What choice do I have? They’ve got Yvonne.”     

   “Then I’ll go with you.”

   “Are you mad! I don’t want to put you in danger as well.”

   “But I might be able to help,” said Eloise. She didn’t want him to go but if he was going to go anyway then she wanted to be at his side, to help in any way she could.

   “No! Absolutely not,” he said firmly, “They said to come alone.”

   “But Jacques…”

   “
No
! And another thing, don’t phone the police after I’ve gone. Understand?”

   Eloise nodded as Jacques reached for his car keys. She watched him, pleading with her eyes for him not to go. He kissed her on the cheek before running out of the saloon, across the gangway and onto the jetty.

   Eloise watched and waited until he had disappeared along the Rue Grande before taking her phone out of her pocket. She dug into her pocket again and retrieved Carter’s card. Then, with only a moment’s hesitation, she tapped in his number and put the phone to her ear.     

_________________________

   Carter was sitting in the dining room at his hotel in Sainte Maxime enjoying his breakfast when Eloise’s call came. He had always liked the French idea of breakfasting on warm croissants and jam, preferably apricot jam. The smartly dressed waiter had looked askance at Carter as he had been asked to replenish the supply of croissants in the basket on his table and Carter was about to start his fourth one when his phone rang. He answered it immediately.

   Eloise told him about the call Jacques had received, that Yvonne had been kidnapped and that Jacques had set off to rescue her.

   “Do you know where he’s gone?” asked Carter.

   “Yes, he repeated all the instructions as he wrote them down.”

   Carter grabbed a pen and a piece of paper which were on the table next to him. “Give me the directions,” he said.

   Carter began scribbling as he listened to what Eloise said. When she had finished, he got up from the table and walked quickly out of the dining room as he finished the call. “You stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

   Carter came out of the hotel running. He pressed the button on the key fob and the car’s indicator lights flashed as its doors unlocked. He pulled the door open and jumped in. Almost before the door had shut, Carter had started the engine but before driving off, he called Conrad on his phone.

   “Where are you? I just had a call from Eloise,” he said when Conrad answered.

   “I’m following Jacques. He left the boat a few minutes ago,” said Conrad, “I think he’s heading for the car park.”

   “I’m on my way. Meet me at the main road.”

   “What about Jacques? Don’t you want me to follow him?”