The Nemesis Program

Chapter Four

Ben and Roberta left her blue Vauxhall and followed the footpath that skirted the edge of the sunlit park. They’d spoken little during the short drive through the village. Ben could feel the tension emanating from her. Whatever was scaring her, it seemed genuine, but he didn’t know what to say. He waited for her to speak first.

Perhaps because of the unseasonal heat, or perhaps because the new generation of British kids preferred to sit stuffing their mouths at the computer rather than play outdoors any longer, the park was almost deserted. In the distance, a petite young mother was lifting her son of four or five onto one of the swings. An elderly, fragile-looking couple were making their slow way arm-in-arm along the footpath towards Ben and Roberta. As they passed, they both smiled at Ben and greeted him with a reverential ‘Good day to you, Vicar’. Taken aback for an instant, Ben managed to mumble a reply that seemed to please the old folks before they hobbled on.

‘Sure fooled them,’ Roberta said drily. After a pause she added, ‘So if you’re not an ordained minister—’

‘I’m not.’

‘—isn’t it against their rules to wear that outfit? Kind of like impersonating an officer or something?’

‘It was only meant to be … oh, never mind. Just don’t look at me.’

‘That’s hard to do. You have no idea how weird it is for me to see you dressed like that.’

‘That makes two of us,’ Ben replied. ‘But it’s a sight we may all have to get used to.’

‘You’re not kidding, are you?’

‘This is the future I’m set on now, Roberta. It always was, I think. Just took me a long time getting there.’

‘I had no idea there was this side to you.’

‘There are a few things you don’t know about me.’

‘Pretty major life change,’ she said. ‘Especially for you, of all people.’

‘I just want a life of peace,’ he said. ‘I made a vow to Brooke that that’s how things would be from now on. Settle down, try to do something better with my life. No more crazy stuff.’

‘You doing it for yourself, or for her?’ Roberta asked a little too sharply, then immediately made an apologetic gesture. ‘I take that back. None of my business, I guess.’

Ben didn’t reply. The footpath ran alongside an old stone wall, through the trees on the other side of which could be seen the heavy machinery and distant half-erected buildings where a construction company were putting up the new housing estate after the villagers’ protracted protests against expansion had been overruled by the local council. The workmen seemed to be packing up early for the day, vehicles rumbling out of the site’s mesh gates.

‘Let’s sit,’ Ben said a few yards further on, motioning towards a green park bench under the shade of the trees.

Roberta nodded. She sat on the bench beside him and gazed across the park in the direction of the kiddies’ roundabout and swings in the distance. They could hear the child’s gurgling laughter as his mother began to swing him gently back and forth.

Ben said, ‘Start from the beginning.’

‘Claudine and I went back a long way. When I was teaching in Paris years ago, she used to lecture at the Sorbonne. We met through some mutual acquaintance I don’t even remember now. We hit it off, became friends, stayed that way ever since. After I went to live in Canada she used to call me every so often, birthdays, Christmas, and emailed me now and then to keep me updated about her work projects. Some of them were real fascinating. I hadn’t heard from her in a little while, just assumed she must be busy at work or something. Then yesterday, I get this letter from her by registered mail.’ Roberta glanced anxiously at Ben. ‘I thought it was strange that she’d write me that way, instead of the usual email. When I opened it I saw it was more like a note, real short, and you could see it was written in a hurry. She said she was in deep trouble, that she was certain she was being followed and that something bad was going to happen to her. Said not to contact her by email or phone because they’d know. They were watching every move she made.’

‘Who was?’ Ben asked.

‘If she knew, she didn’t say.’

‘Have you got the letter with you? Can I see it?’

She shook her head. ‘The Paris cops have it now.’

‘Did it say any more than that?’

‘She asked me to go to Paris to help her. To hurry before … before it was too late.’ Roberta gave a bitter laugh.

‘No indication what it was about?’

‘No, she said she’d explain everything once I got there. Said I was one of just two people in the world she could turn to.’

‘Why not the police?’

‘Something else was going on, Ben. Something that meant she couldn’t go to the police. The last line she wrote was this rushed scrawl that just said “If something happens”. That was it. Underneath were a bunch of figures. She didn’t even sign her name.’

‘Figures?’ he asked.

Roberta dug a crumpled sheet from her handbag and handed it to him. ‘I copied them out before I passed the letter on to the cops. Still have no idea what they mean, though.’

Ben looked at the paper and studied the three lines of what appeared to be some kind of cipher.

Codes weren’t his favourite things. He stared at the sheet for a few moments, completely baffled, until the two letters in the top line suddenly flew out at him and he realised what they were. They stood for North and East.

‘I don’t know about the rest,’ he said, ‘but the top line’s definitely a set of GPS co-ordinates, scrambled together. If you teased it apart it’d pinpoint a geographical location.’

‘You’re sure? What location?’

‘I’m sure. But that’s something we can come back to afterwards. Keep talking.’

‘What could I do?’ Roberta continued. ‘She was my friend. I cancelled everything. Managed to get on a late flight to Paris. I was so worried, all I could do on the plane was sit there trying to understand what those goddamn numbers meant, but it was no use. I got into Paris just after seven this morning and took a cab straight to Claudine’s apartment in Montmartre. She lived alone on the top floor of this crumbly old building in Rue des Trois Frères. When I arrived, there was a police car and a van parked outside but I didn’t think anything of it at first. Then as I was heading up the stairs, these cops and forensics people were coming down, with the concierge who looks after the building. I asked if everything was okay. They asked me who I was coming to see. I said “Claudine Pommier”. They told me what happened.’

Roberta paused for a moment to compose her emotions. ‘It was her neighbour, Madame Lefort, who found her the morning after she was killed. The door was open, and there she was on the bed. Old lady had to be hospitalised for shock. It’s so … so horrible.’

‘It’s bad,’ Ben said. ‘I’m sorry.’

Roberta sniffed, dabbed away a tear and went on. ‘It happened on the same day as the postmark on the letter. She must have posted it just a few hours before she died.’

‘Did she have family?’ Ben asked.

‘She lived alone. Lost touch with her relatives a long time back. Parents were a couple of religious assholes who disapproved of her career in science … oh, shit, Ben. I didn’t mean—’

‘It’s okay.’ He smiled.

‘The only person in her life was a bum of an ex-boyfriend, Fabien. But he was never around even when they were together. The cops couldn’t trace him, had to get a work colleague to identify the body in the morgue. Thank Christ I didn’t have to do it. You can imagine …’ Roberta shook her head, as if trying to clear the horrific picture from her mind. ‘Meanwhile, they were still combing through her apartment for evidence, DNA. Nothing was stolen, apparently. The cops asked me all these questions, who I was, what I was doing there. I gave them the letter she’d sent me, but they didn’t seem interested that Claudine had known beforehand she was in danger. All they could talk about was this bricoleur. Then I talked to the concierge, Madame Bunuel. Gave her my card and said to call me right away if there were any developments. That was when I noticed him the second time.’

Ben narrowed his eyes. ‘Noticed who?’

‘About thirty, tall, dark hair. I thought he was a plain-clothes detective at first. He was hanging around in the background while I was talking to the other cops. Then while I was talking to the concierge, there he was again. Looking at me kind of strangely. But I didn’t think much about it at the time. I left there soon afterwards and just started walking. I was so badly shaken up about what happened to Claudine, I barely knew where I was, let alone where I was going. Before I know it I’m heading into a metro station. Abbesses, I think. Then I noticed the guy from the apartment building again, following me down the escalator, through the tunnels, hanging back like he didn’t think I’d spotted him and didn’t want me to. I kept walking. Tried to lose myself in the crowd. By the time I got to the platform I couldn’t see him anymore. I was thinking I must have imagined it. But then as the train pulled into the station, there he was again, just a few steps away. Staring at me. It totally freaked me out, Ben.’

‘He didn’t do anything?’

‘Not then,’ she said. ‘He never came any closer, didn’t speak to me. I got on the train and he boarded the same carriage. I didn’t look at him directly but I could see his reflection in the window. Just standing there at a distance, still watching me in this real creepy way. He had his arm up to hang onto the safety strap, and his jacket was hanging open. He had a gun in there, a black handgun, like a Glock or something. I didn’t imagine it.’

Ben felt like pointing out that French plain-clothes detectives routinely carried concealed sidearms in shoulder holsters on, or even sometimes off, duty — but he kept quiet and let her go on talking.

‘I was terrified the carriage would empty and I’d be left alone with him. I waited a couple of stops, then at Saint-Georges I got off. He did the same. Then just as the doors were about to close I pushed through the crowd and jumped back on again — like the trick they do in movies? Worked. I left the sonofabitch standing there on the platform.’

‘And then?’

‘Then nothing. I stayed on the line all the way to Concorde and then ran like hell back up to the street and hailed the next cab I saw.’

Ben was silent for a moment. ‘You mean that’s all that happened?’

Roberta stared at him. ‘What did you want to hear? That he abducted me at gunpoint? Tried to punt me onto the electrified rail in front of all the crowds?’

‘I thought perhaps—’

‘Ben, you weren’t there,’ she said imploringly. ‘It was obvious what was happening. I was so scared. That’s when I had the idea of calling you.’ She paused, blushed a little. ‘I … I’ve looked you up a few times. Maybe more than a few times. So I knew you were in France. At least, I thought you were. When I called, this Jeff person told me you’d moved to England. Gave me an address in Oxford but said you’d been spending a lot of time at this village called Little Denton. Anyway, I didn’t know what else to do except jump on the next Eurostar. Arrived in London a couple of hours ago, rented that car and drove like crazy all the way to Oxford. Took me forever to find your place, then you weren’t home, so I found this place on the map and came out here hoping I’d find you. Ben, please. I’m exhausted and I’m terrified. You’ve got to help me.’

Ben was silent for a minute as he tried to put the breathless rush of details together in his mind. ‘I’m confused about this man who followed you from your friend’s apartment,’ he said. ‘You told me before you thought he was a detective. Now it sounds like you’re trying to imply he’s the murderer.’

‘Maybe he is,’ she said. Her expression was intense.

‘Roberta, think about it,’ he protested. ‘The serial killer? You really believe this “handyman” would linger about the scene of his own crime pretending to be a plain-clothes detective, hoping to knock off his victim’s friends as they came to visit? He might be a maniac, but nobody’s that crazy.’

She shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. That would be a little far-fetched, even for me. That’s why I’m totally certain that this serial killer thing is a blind alley. It wasn’t the “handyman” who killed Claudine. Don’t you see? It’s just been set up to appear that way. Some bullshit story to lead the cops off the track while … Oh, Ben, don’t look at me like that. Like I’m some kind of paranoid conspiracy loon.’

‘I don’t think that about you.’

‘You mean, you don’t want to think it. But you’re thinking it.’

‘I don’t know what to think,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t this sicko who killed her, then who did?’

‘How can I know that? Nobody does, that’s the whole idea. They do this kind of thing all the time, when they want to rub someone out who gets in their way.’

‘They do it all the time?’

‘Yes, they,’ she snapped.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Leave that to one side. Next question: who came after you on the metro with the apparent intention of doing you harm?’

‘I don’t know that either.’

‘Roberta, if you don’t know these things, isn’t it simpler just to accept what the police say?’

‘Since when did you ever take a cop’s word for a single damn thing, Ben Hope?’ she demanded hotly. ‘You trust them even less than I do. Besides, the letter proves it’s not that simple.’

‘The letter we don’t have any more,’ Ben said. ‘And even if we did, it proves nothing.’

‘Hold on. She knew she was in danger. That’s the whole point.’

‘If this murderer hasn’t been caught yet, maybe it’s because he’s careful,’ Ben said. ‘Psychopaths are often extremely cunning and devious. Sick, but smart. They’ve been known to plan their attacks, weeks, months in advance.’

‘So?’

‘So he might have been watching your friend for some time before he struck. But maybe he wasn’t so careful that she didn’t spot him and somehow sensed that something wasn’t right about him. That could easily explain how she knew in advance that something was about to happen. She panicked.’

‘Oh, so you’ve got this whole thing figured out,’ Roberta snapped. ‘Then you tell me who the guy was on the train.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe your first impression was the right one. He could have been a detective. You know the way their minds work. He might have wanted to ask you more questions. About the letter, perhaps. Or else maybe the whole thing is just …’ Ben checked himself from saying more. He’d already said too much, and could see the fire in her eyes.

‘Just what?’ she said fiercely.

‘All I’m saying, Roberta, is that maybe you need to think again. That maybe, for once in their lives, the police are right about this terrible thing that’s happened to your friend.’

‘And the rest I just cooked up in my imagination. That what you’re saying, Ben?’

‘You told me yourself you felt dazed, disorientated, after you left Claudine’s place. It would be understandable. People can suffer from all kinds of confusion at a time of great emotional stress.’

‘You’re so sure about this, aren’t you? In one way you haven’t changed at all, Ben Hope. You’re still just as much of a pigheaded bastard as when I first met you.’

‘Thanks,’ he muttered. ‘Remember, you came to me. You’re not giving me much of a chance here.’

‘What about the numbers?’ she demanded. ‘The GPS location and whatever else is there? You got a theory for those too? I have. If something happened to her, she intended for me to figure it out. There’s more to this, and I’m going to find out what.’

Ben leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, gazing at the ground between his feet and trying to understand. He knew Roberta well enough to know there was absolutely no point in trying to convince her to go home and wait for the police to do their job. And he couldn’t ignore the voice in his head reminding him of all the times he’d seen the cops botch everything up.

‘All right, then explain it to me,’ he said. ‘Someone murdered your friend, and now they’re coming after you, and it has something to do with this letter and a coded message. Who are they? What’s it about?’

Roberta paused to brush away a strand of dark red hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her brow was creased with strain. ‘Fact is, Ben, I think I know. Something tells me this all has to do with Claudine’s research.’

While they were deeply involved in their conversation, a hundred yards away at the other end of the park, a sleek black Audi saloon purred to a halt next to Roberta’s rental car. Its front doors opened and two men silently got out. Neither of them looked out of the ordinary. The one who’d been driving was in his early-to-mid thirties with nondescript brown hair and sunglasses, the other about ten years older, more heavily built, with a receding stubble of grey and eyes narrowed to slits against the early afternoon glare. They were casually dressed in jeans and lightweight jackets.

Neither spoke. As they both gazed impassively at the blue Vauxhall the older man was receiving instructions via a mobile phone. He listened until his instructions were complete, then gave a short nod to his colleague.

The driver opened the boot. He took out the black holdall from inside. It sagged heavily in his hand.

The two men scanned the near-empty park. Within a few seconds they’d located their target on the green wooden bench in the distance and taken note of the unknown male accompanying her. The men exchanged glances when they saw how the target’s companion was dressed.

It was no ordinary camera that was built into the mobile phone the older of the two men was carrying. He quickly, discreetly, used it to snap the figures on the bench, then redialled a number. ‘She’s not alone,’ he said when the voice replied on the line. ‘She’s talking to a priest.’

Pause. ‘Yeah, that’s what I said. I’m sending the image now. Got it?’

‘I’ve got it,’ said the gruff voice on the other end. ‘I see them. Okay, it’s her last confession. His too. Make it quick and quiet.’

The call was over. The two men divided the contents of the holdall. Then moved unnoticed around the edge of the park to their position.