Hands of the Traitor

  The car had been there when he got back from his drive. The driver had a neat pointed beard and was wearing a fawn baseball cap. Hanging out through the back of the cap was a pony tail. He might be an innocent businessman waiting for a guest to emerge, but he'd waited a long time without jumping out of the car to hurry anyone up. Okay, so it might be a paranoid reaction, but this needed investigating.

  Matt finished his coffee and told Zoé to come with him for a short walk. He held her hand as they left the hotel. The hand felt cold. Perhaps it was the shock. They walked across the road, making sure they passed behind the white car. Matt glanced sideways and read the sticker in the Citroen's rear window. It was an advert for a car rental garage. Le Garage de Saint Somer. He led Zoé towards a small food store, an alimentation selling fresh fruit and vegetables on a table outside, as well as a range of general groceries in the gloomy interior.

  "I think I'll stay on," he told Zoé. "Granddad's funeral won't be for a week; probably longer. There will have to be police inquiries and an inquest before the body can be released. My father says there's nothing I can do to help over there. I don't think he wants me back. Will you stay here with me for a few days? I'll look after the hotel bill with my credit card." He was going to add that Ken would have to give him a pay rise if he was to pay it off, but it seemed the wrong thing to say.

  Zoé picked up two large peaches from the outside table. "Madame Boissant is expecting us, so we will go to see her now. It can be a sort of pilgrimage."

  "That's good." He squeezed his arm around her shoulder, but this time Zoé pulled away and went inside to pay. He noticed she hadn't responded to his invitation to stay.

  Madame Boissant. Sophie. All the time he had to fight off the impossible picture in his mind of an eternally young woman with bouncy, blonde hair -- and a disfigured face. "Poor old Granddad. He died still believing he killed her. I'm going to phone my father and tell him I won't be back yet."

  She handed him a peach. "And I will phone Florian to tell him I am staying for a little while longer. I think we should also find the site by the supermarket. As a mark of respect for your grandfather."

  He nodded. Zoé seemed sensitive to his needs, as well as Florian's. "Thanks."

  He went to his room to use the phone again and eat his peach. His father seemed quite happy for him to stay, as long as he kept in touch by phone from time to time. It seemed a reasonable request. Maybe he could learn to get on with his father when the funeral was over.

  He collected Zoé from her room and went down to the Mini. "I want to see if the man in the Citroen follows," he told her.

  "What do you think it will be, Matt? Monsieur 'Einman?"

  "I've no idea, but I intend to find out who it is."

  "And how will you do that?"

  "We'll go to the Garage de Saint Somer after we've seen Sophie, and ask who hired that Citroen."

  Zoé nodded appreciatively, although to Matt it seemed a fairly obvious way to discover someone's identity. The Mini engine sounded healthy, especially when revved to the limit.

  "You are, I think, getting to like this car," said Zoé as she fastened her seat belt.

  "You're joking, of course." Matt pulled away noisily, making sure everyone around noticed their departure, especially the driver of the white car. He watched in the mirror and saw the Citroen pull out. "Let's go into Calais and lose him."

  "Drive slowly on the bends," warned Zoé. "We do not want to find him in the trees."

  It was probably a joke, but when Matt glanced across, Zoé looked worried. The large road roundabout on the outskirts of the town had a sign saying Centre Ville. He floored the accelerator as they left the roundabout and the old Mini leapt forward, weaving through the holiday traffic that was entering the town for some last minute shopping before crossing the Channel.

  Horns tooted, especially when drivers noticed the British number plate. The little orange car had caught out the mix of French and British motorists, but they were not going to allow the white Citroen to take advantage of them as it pulled out and tried to follow. The gaps between the cars closed instantly. In the rear-view mirror Matt could see the Citroen on the wrong side of the street, facing a wall of oncoming vehicles -- with nowhere to go.

  Jason Heinman braked hard and flicked the switch on the tracker. The receiver beeped four times. The Englishman was still close enough to follow. He didn't want to be seen again, so he'd wait a few minutes. Did Rider really think he could get away?

  Chapter 15

  MATT DREW the Mini into the side of the road and looked at the row of shuttered houses, every one of them huddled low as though trying to escape being seen. Shells and bombs had devastated most of the area in the two World Wars, so perhaps these replacements were hoping to avoid the fate of their predecessors. A large hotel built of concrete and glass, one of a country-wide chain, was the only blot on the surroundings.

  One of these shuttered houses was the home of Sophie Bernay, or Sophie Boissant as she was now. Matt was about to announce their arrival by using the large iron knocker when a voice called from indoors. "Ah, the Englishman is here. The grandson of the lovely Tommy. Entrez. Bonjour!"

  Matt pushed at the unlatched door to lead the way through the small hall into the darkness of the living room. Would the occupant have some terrible mutilation to her face, caused long ago by his grandfather wielding a large knife? The curtains were wide, but the small window held back the dull gray morning. At least the room felt cheerful with a small coal fire crackling in the stone hearth. Matt would have been able to appreciate it better if the circumstances had been happier. A frail woman sat in a high-backed wooden chair, enveloped in a white lace shawl.

  "Madame Boissant?"

  "Enchanté!" The elderly woman was smiling and effervescent until she looked at Matt more closely. "You are upset, monsieur. There is a problem?"

  Matt attempted a smile as the woman nodded her welcome. Her face looked lined but the skin showed no sign of disfigurement. "I am Matt Rider, and this is ... my ... my friend Zoé. Zoé is French." He wondered why he had introduced Zoé in such a hesitant way. "I have come to see you about my grandfather. I..."

  He stopped. The meeting was pointless. He out held his hands, trying to get some warmth from the fire, chilled from the shock of the unexpected and brutal death. "Madame, my grandfather is dead. He died last night."

  Sophie put her hand to her small mouth. "Oh, poor Tommy."

  "Alec," corrected Matt. "His name was Alec."

  "Tommy. Alec. He was Tommy to me." Her voice became interspersed with little sobs. "Often I have thought about ... my Tommy, and now ... now I am never to see him again."

  "I am sorry." Matt could think of nothing sensible to say. The years since the war must have devastated the old woman's looks. It was impossible to see her as the blonde bombshell his grandfather had often talked about. "I think we had better go."

  "I have kept your letters." The woman dabbed her eyes with a small hankie. "You write such good French, monsieur, and you speak it so well."

  "Matt is good at languages," said Zoé. She said it with a certain pride.

  "Ah, Matt. Is that an English name?"

  "It is short for Matthew, Madame Boissant," he explained.

  Sophie nodded her head thoughtfully. Her hair had become thin, but it looked freshly brushed, ready for this meeting. "Matthieu."

  "My grandfather did not die naturally," Matt explained. "Someone in the hospital killed him."

  "Some patient in the hospital?"

  "Maybe." Matt shrugged. "He died a horrible death."

  "Poor Tommy."

  "Yes," agreed Matt. "Poor Tommy. I want to go to his funeral and say, 'I know where you went in France, Granddad. I know something of the terrible hurt that made you suffer for the rest of your life."

  "It was terrible, monsieur." Sophie Boissant's eyes came alive with the memory. "We hid in the rushes. I nursed your grandfather in my arms for the whole night. When I kissed him, I got h
is blood on my face and in my mouth." She nodded her gray haired head. "Those two Americans became monsters. I could not bear to watch what they did."

  The news came as a surprise to Matt. "Surely, it was my grandfather..."

  "Tommy was drawn into those terrible events with the Americans, monsieur."

  "Do you remember their name?"

  "I ... I ... Perhaps ... tomorrow. Demain." She dabbed her eyes with a hankie. "Tommy ... dead. It is hard, monsieur." She began to sob.

  Zoé stroked Sophie's wrinkled arm. "Do not distress yourself."

  Matt felt embarrassed by the upset he'd caused. "Tell me, Madame," he said. "Is there a garage near here called Le Garage de Saint Somer?"

  Sophie dried her eyes and frowned. "Le Garage de Saint Somer? It is eight or nine kilometers down this road, Matthieu."

  Matt found Sophie's use of his name intriguing. He realized that by using the French version she was showing that she'd accepted him already. Granddad must have made one amazing impact in 1944, and Sophie's memory seemed to be unaffected by the tragic events. If she could remember the name of the Heinmans without prompting, he was halfway home to getting justice. The DCI rings should clinch it.

  But then what? The local gendarmes were hardly going to be interested in a crime committed back in the war. Calling a press conference had seemed like a good idea but it was a non-starter. Sophie might have a good story to tell, but she was frail and would probably break down under a confrontation with a roomful of journalists. It could even finish her. He noticed fresh tears forming in Sophie's eyes and he began to cry himself.

  Sophie Boissant got to her feet slowly and painfully. "You must excuse me, Matthieu," she said. "It is l'arthrite, the arthritis. It is the same with my sister Martha, but she is older than I am. Martha moved out of Calais during the war, when our parents were killed by the Eng ... By the bombing."

  Matt went to the small window to wipe his eyes and was relieved to see an empty road. The white Citroen was probably still stuck in Calais.

  "My family have always said they tried to contact you. They couldn't have tried very hard."

  "Ah, Matthieu, when the war ended I moved to Lille to get married. We had just the one son. My husband, Henri, was a fine man. He helped me forget the terrible thing I did in the war, but he was killed in a mining accident in nineteen seventy-three."

  "I am sorry, Madame."

  "So young," Sophie said, almost to herself. Then she brightened up. "My son married soon after, and he and his wife gave me a good home in Lille. It was only five years ago that I moved back here."

  "I do not like to leave you after such a shock," said Zoé. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

  "That is very thoughtful of you," said the old woman. "We have a new priest in the village. Father Alban. He is only young, but he has been able to offer me comfort. Me, I did not think such a young man would be suitable to be our priest, but I was wrong. I asked Father Alban to call to see me after I received your letter. All those memories. We had a long talk about so many things. All my life I was filled with shame and guilt, not just for what happened with your grandfather, Matthieu. I know now that I have forgiveness from Jesus Christ. I have not earned it. It is a gift, and I am no longer afraid of dying."

  Zoé bent down and kissed Sophie. "Please do not upset yourself about the death of Monsieur Rider, Madame."

  Sophie gasped and put her handkerchief to her mouth. "I need time to take it all in," she said with a forced smile. "I would like to be on my own." She came with them to the door. Once she was walking she seemed to become more agile.

  Matt bent forward and gave Sophie a kiss as they stood in the doorway. "Madame, I do not know what to say. My grandfather would have loved to see you again." He reached into his pocket and removed the crucifix his grandfather had brought back from France. "I think this is yours. Please take it."

  Sophie clutched it and kissed the figure of Christ on the cross.

  "Merci," was all she could say.

  Zoé caught hold of Matt's arm. "There is the white Citroen outside the gate."

  He heard a car driving away as he turned. "Are you sure?"

  "The driver was watching us. I think he had a little beard."

  Matt ran to the gate but the street was empty. He shrugged. He wasn't the only one with a wild imagination.

  Zoé was getting paranoid now.

  *

  THE MAN at the Garage de Saint Somer stubbed his cigarette on the top of the counter, leaving a brown scorch amongst a hundred similar marks.

  "Ah yes, monsieur, the big American with the pony tail." He opened a folder of rental forms. "I have his name here. It was on his driving license and his passport. We have to check these things you know."

  "Hiring a car is a cheap way of getting one to keep."

  The Frenchman laughed. "You are right, monsieur. I have lost two cars that way already, and I have only been in business six years."

  "And the man's name?"

  "I have it here, monsieur. See? It is the name of 'Einman."

  Matt looked at the form. The full name was Jason Becker Heinman. According to Ingrid Rosestein of NATA, Jason B. Heinman was the new president of DCI. He regretted not going to see Louise sooner. The visit had been almost painless, and she might have been able to get him a whole folder on DCI -- and done it in confidence.

  "How long has he booked the car for, monsieur?"

  "Two days." The garage proprietor shrugged. "Perhaps he will have it for longer. He told me he is not sure. Monsieur 'Einman's French is very bad, but I believe he said his father is joining him here today."

  Matt experienced a mixed sensation of excitement and alarm. Miller from DCI he could cope with, but finding the DCI president over here was scary. And all the time he was unable to keep his eyes off Zoé who had wandered into the workshop to talk to a young mechanic. The man had his hair spiked up in an amazing advertisement for the versatility of gel. He felt a stupid, childish jealousy as he watched them laughing together.

  "Thank you, monsieur." He guessed it wouldn't do to push his luck any further. So far the proprietor hadn't asked why he was asking these questions. Time to change the subject. "Do you know where the madman attacked the crowd with his knife?"

  "The Dutchman. The crazy, damned Dutchman with the big blade. It was incroyable, monsieur. Incroyable."

  "You were there?"

  The garage proprietor lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply before replying. "Not me, monsieur, but my cousin was in the fight. He is not a mild man, but he is not a killer, monsieur."

  "I do not understand."

  "Captain Lacoste and his brainless gendarmes are holding my cousin on a charge of murder." The man blew out a cloud of blue smoke. "I tell you, monsieur, it was that damned Dutchman."

  "We didn't hear much about it in England," said Matt, willing the garage man into telling the story from a local perspective. In the workshop Zoé was still laughing. Didn't the mechanic have any work to do?

  "Show me your map."

  Matt unfolded the map he'd bought yesterday.

  "There, monsieur." The man picked up his ballpoint. Without asking he drew a ring around an area of green on the map. "Some people are saying that the crowd joined in and started to kill each other. I ask you, monsieur, is that possible? Non, c'est impossible!"

  Matt nodded. "I am sure you are right, monsieur," he agreed, his mind more on Zoé than the proprietor. "The gendarmes are over-efficient."

  The Frenchman spat out through his office door into the yard, a fluid mixture of phlegm and tobacco. "There, that is what I think of Lacoste and his men. My cousin is innocent!"

  "Of course," agreed Matt. "I am thinking of going to the site. Just to see it."

  Zoé seemed to be exchanging names and addresses.

  "If you go to the place I have marked, you will discover the site near the new supermarket. There is a high wire ... Ah, regardez. Monsieur 'Einman is coming. I recognize my white Citroen."

 
"No, no," Matt said quickly. He'd left the orange Mini at the side of the building where it was unlikely to be noticed. "It is most important you do not let Monsieur Heinman know I am here."

  "You are with the police?" The Frenchman had begun to fill in some paperwork. He paused with his stylo in mid air.

  "No, I am here on holiday, but I am keeping..." For a moment he was stuck for a word. "An eye on him for a friend."

  "He is in trouble, monsieur?" There was uneasiness in the garage proprietor's voice.

  "Big trouble, but it has nothing to do with cars. Your Citroen is safe with the American. May I go out through the workshop?"

  "Of course, monsieur. The beautiful mademoiselle has seen you coming. Bonne chance!"

  While the driver was parking the Citroen outside the office, Matt collected the "beautiful mademoiselle" and let the inner door to the workshop slam shut behind them. "You seemed to be getting on well in there," he said coldly. Perhaps for the first time he realized just how badly he wanted Zoé.

  "You noticed?" Zoé giggled. "That was Philippe. He has made me a very good offer."

  "It certainly looked like that," agreed Matt sulkily. The mechanic looked like a man who imagined he'd be able to have any woman he chose -- and probably could.

  "I might take him up on it." Zoé seemed to be in a teasing mood, one he'd not seen before, but there was a fragile note to her humor. She got into the Mini and pulled the door shut.

  It made a cheap, metallic sound. "He thinks this old wreck might let us down. His brother sells second-hand cars and he asked if I am interested in having a road test."

  Matt refrained from adding anything obvious. Maybe he could use this as an opening to discover more about Florian. "I thought you had an understanding with someone in Clermont Ferrand."

  Zoé nodded, the smile gone. "Florian's father is a good friend of my father."

  "And Florian is your fiancé?"

  "He sells cars. Mercedes cars. It is, I think, a good job."

  Matt said he thought it was.

  "I went to England," Zoé added. "To think things over."

  He reached out.

  "No, please do not touch me," she reacted suddenly. "You do not control me. I will do what I want." She turned away and stared out of the car window. "I feel so confused. I think I am ... infidèle, unfaithful. I should not be here with you."