Death on the Rive Nord

CHAPTER SIXTY

She smelt him first. He’d been in the far corner of the truck, having secured himself some extra space away from the others. Nobody had tried to encroach on it, fearful of the knife and unable to see in the dark. He had remained apart, a brooding presence.

Then he began moving towards her.

Massi was fast asleep, exhausted by the journey and the lack of good food. But at least it prevented him from seeing what happened next. She became aware of movement and heard the man’s coarse breathing as he slid closer.

Nobody tried to stop him.

A rough hand closed around her ankle, the grip like a clamp. Then it slid upwards, forcing its way beneath her coat and dress, like a large, obscene spider. She struggled, kicking out, felt a spray of spit touch her cheek as he moved closer, his sour breath engulfing her along with the body smell of one who had not showered or bathed in days.

She fought back in silent, furious desperation, trying to push him off, to stop the hands moving over her, to stop the hot face pushing down towards hers.

In the background, one of the men protested.

Slimane turned, swore that he’d cut the throat of the boy if anyone tried to stop him. The protest ceased.

‘ Why are you doing this?’ she hissed, aware of Massi’s sleeping body nearby. Whatever was about to follow, he must not witness it, should not hear it; there could not possibly be worse things for a child to know of his mother than that she had been defiled.

‘I know who you are, whore!’ Slimane whispered, grunting as he tried to move above her. ‘You belong to Farek. Farek the gangster.’ He chuckled knowingly, the sound full of menace and meaning, and devoid of humanity. ‘And we all know what kind of women gangsters bed down with, eh? Whores and bitches.’ He pushed against her, but she managed to get one leg between them, a slim barrier but a strong one. For now. ‘So which one are you, huh? Madame Farek.’ He made the title sound at once insulting and obscene, and she knew with utter certainty that she was not going to survive this night. If Slimane didn’t kill her, Farek eventually would.

Then she felt a sharp pain in her arm, and the warm trickle of blood on her skin.

She knew instinctively what it was: Slimane’s knife. The point was sticking through the material of his jacket and had pricked her arm.

She stopped struggling, trying desperately to think. How to stop him? She had to distract him, to focus his mind on one thing and one thing only. She would have only one chance. After that… she couldn’t even contemplate what came after that.

He grunted in surprise as her body went limp and soft, then chuckled, sensing compliance. He reached down to open his clothing, grunting like a pig at a trough. As he did so, Nicole slipped a hand inside his jacket, searching the rough fabric, feeling for the weight of the knife’s handle, desperately hoping that Massi would continue sleeping.

Then another hand touched her, this time from one side, out of the darkness. She cried out in horror at the idea that another man was joining in. But this wasn’t like Slimane’s repulsive groping, wasn’t invasive and probing and threatening; this hand patted her arm, then moved off her. She felt Slimane give a start as he also became aware of the other man, and a threatening snarl burst from his lips, his head turning away from her.

Then the other hand touched her arm, and the knife was pressed into her hand.

Closing her eyes against the horror, Nicole took the weapon. She clasped her hand around the wooden handle, still warm from Slimane’s heat. He muttered and stopped pushing, sensing something wrong.

She had to do it. To make him stop!

She placed the point against Slimane’s body where it hovered above her, and pushed as hard as she could. One thrust, going deep. That was all it took. She felt him go stiff, felt the breath burst from his mouth and a questioning noise, like the cry of a small child.

Then he fell to one side.