Labyrinth

CHAPTER 40

Ariege

Paul Authie had expected Marie-Cecile to use the journey into the Ariege to continue last night’s discussion or else ask him about the report. But apart from the occasional comment, she said nothing.

In the confined space of the car, he was very physically aware of her.

Her perfume caught in his nose, the scent of her skin. Today she was K wearing a pale brown sleeveless shirt and matching trousers. Sunglasses concealed her eyes and her lips and nails were the same, burned red.

Authie shot the cuffs on his shirt, glancing discreetly at his watch. Allowing a couple of hours at the site, then the journey back, they were unlikely to be back in Carcassonne much before the end of the afternoon. lit was very frustrating.

“Any news of O’Donnell?” she said.

Authie was startled to hear his thoughts voiced aloud. “Not so far.”

“And the policeman?” she said, turning to face him.

There’s no longer a problem.“

“Since when?”

“Early this morning.”

“Did you learn anything more from him?”

Authie shook his head.

“So long as nothing can be traced back to you, Paul.”

It won’t be.“

She was silent for a moment, then asked: “And the English woman?”

“She arrived in Carcassonne last night. I’ve got someone tailing her.”

“You don’t think she went to Toulouse in order to deposit the ring or the book there?”

“Unless she handed it over to someone inside the hotel, then no. She had no visitors. She talked to no one, either in the street or in the library.” arrived at the Pic de Soularac just after one o’clock. A wooden palisade had been erected around the car park. The gate was padlocked shut. As arranged, there was no one on duty to witness their arrival.

Authie opened the gate and drove through. The site was unnaturally quiet after the activity of Monday afternoon. An air of abandonment hung about everything. The sides of the tents battened down, the pots and pans and rows of tools neatly labelled.

“Where’s the entrance?”

Authie pointed up to where the scene of crime tape still flapped in the breeze.

He took a torch from the glove compartment. They climbed up the lower slopes in silence, the oppressive afternoon heat weighing down on them. Authie pointed to the boulder, still lying on its side, like the head of a fallen idol, then led her the final few metres to the cave itself.

“I would like to go in alone,” she said as they reached the top.

He was irritated, but didn’t show it. He was confident there was nothing in the chamber for her to find. He’d combed every last centimetre of the cave himself. He handed her the torch.

“As you wish,” he said.

Authie watched as she disappeared into the tunnel, the beam of light getting weaker and more distant until it vanished altogether.

He wandered away from the entrance, until he was out of earshot.

Even being close to the chamber made him angry. His hand went to the crucifix at his neck, like a talisman to ward off the evil of the place.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,” he said, crossing himself. Authie waited until his breathing had returned to normal, before calling his office.

What have you got for me?“

A look of satisfaction spread across his face as he listened. “At the hotel? Did they speak to one another?” He listened to the reply. “OK.

Keep with her and see what she does.“

He smiled and disconnected. Something else to add to his list of questions for O’Donnell.

His secretary had found surprisingly little on Baillard. He had no car, no passport, was not listed at the land registry, no phone, nothing was registered within the system. Even his numero de securite sociale was missing.

Officially, he didn’t seem to exist. He was a man with no past.

It crossed Authie’s mind Baillard might be a disaffected ex-member of the Noublesso Veritable. His age, his background, his interest in Cathar history and knowledge of hieroglyphics linked him to the Labyrinth Trilogy.

Authie knew there was a connection. It was just a matter of finding it.

He would destroy the cave now, without a moment’s hesitation, were it not for the fact that he was still not in possession of the books. He was God’s instrument by which the four-thousand-year-old heresy would finally be wiped from the face of the earth. Only when the profane parchments were returned to the chamber would he act. Then he would give everyone and everything to the fire.

The thought that he only had two days in which to find the book spurred him back into action. His grey eyes sharp with conviction, Authie made another call.

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “Have her ready.”

Audric Baillard was aware of the click of Jeanne’s brown shoes on the grey linoleum as they walked in silence through the hospital in Foix.

Everything else was white. His clothes, the colour of chalk, the uniforms of the technicians, their rubber-soled footwear, the walls, the charts, clipboards. Inspector Noubel, crumpled and dishevelled, stood out in the sterile environment. He looked as if he’d not changed for days.

A trolley was being pushed up the corridor towards them, its wheels creaking painfully in the hushed environment. They stood back to allow it to pass. The nurse acknowledged the courtesy with a slight bob of her head.

Baillard was aware that they were treating Jeanne with particular care. Their sympathy, no doubt genuine, was mixed with concern at how she would cope with the shock. He gave a grim smile. The young always forgot Jeanne’s generation had seen and experienced more than they ever had. War, the Occupation, the Resistance. They had fought and killed seen their friends die. They were tough. Nothing surprised them except, perhaps, for the dogged resilience of the human spirit.

Noubel came to a halt in front of a large white door. He pushed it open stood back to let them go in first. Cool air and the sharp smell of disinfectant slid out. Baillard removed his hat and held it to his chest.

The machines were silent now. In the centre of the room was the bed, underneath the window, the shape beneath covered by a sheet that hung crooked over the sides.

“They did everything they could,” Noubel muttered,

“Was my grandson murdered, Inspector?” asked Jeanne. It was the first she’d spoken since arriving at the hospital and learning they had arrived too late.

Baillard saw the Inspector’s hands jerk nervously at his side.

“It’s too early to say, Madame Giraud, however-”

“Are you treating it as a suspicious death, Inspector, yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Thank you,“ she said in the same tone of voice. ”That is all I wanted to know.“

“If there’s nothing else,” said Noubel, edging towards the door, “I will leave you to pay your respects. I will be with Madame Claudette in the relatives’ room if you need me.”

The door closed with a sharp click. Jeanne took a step closer to the bed.

Her face was grey and her mouth tight, but her back and shoulders were as straight as ever.

She turned down the sheet. The stillness of death slipped into the room. Baillard could see how young Yves looked. His skin was very white and smooth, free of lines. The top of his head was covered by bandages.

Strands of his black hair peeked out around the edges. His hands, the knuckles red and scratched, were folded on his chest like a boy pharaoh.

Baillard watched Jeanne as she bent down and kissed her grandson on the forehead. Then, with a steady hand she covered his face and turned away.

“Shall we?” she said, taking Baillard’s arm.

They walked back into the empty corridor. Baillard glanced to left and right, then led Jeanne to a row of institutional plastic chairs fixed to the wall. The silence was oppressive. Automatically they dropped their voices, even though there was no one around to overhear.

“I had been concerned about him for some time, Audric,” she said. “I had seen a change in him. He became withdrawn, anxious.”

“Did you ask him what was wrong?”

She nodded. “He claimed there was nothing. Just stress, overwork.”

Audric laid his hand on her arm. “He loved you, Jeanne. Perhaps there was nothing. Perhaps there was.” He paused. “If Yves was involved in something wrong, it went against his nature. His conscience was troubled.

In the end, when most it mattered, he did the right thing. He sent the ring to you, regardless of the consequences.“

“Inspector Noubel asked me about the ring. He wanted to know if I had spoken to Yves on Monday.”

What answer did you give?“

“Truthfully, that I had not.”

Audric sighed with relief.

“But you think Yves was being paid to pass on information, don’t you, Audric?” Her voice was hesitant, but firm. “Tell me. I would rather hear the truth.”

He raised his hands. “How can I speak the truth when I do not know it?”

“Then tell me what you suspect. Not knowing-” she broke off- ‘there is nothing worse.“

Baillard imagined the moment the boulder fell across the entrance to the cave, trapping them inside. Not knowing what was happening to her.

The smell of the box, the roar of the flames, the soldiers shouting as they ran. Half-remembered places and images. Not knowing if she was alive or dead.

“Es vertat,” he said softly. “It is the not knowing that is unbearable.” He sighed once again. “Very well. I do believe Yves was being paid for providing information, yes – about the Trilogy primarily, but probably other things as well. I imagine it seemed harmless at first – a telephone call here or there, details about where someone might be, who they might talk to – but soon I suspect they started to ask of him more than he wished to give.”

“You say ”they“? Do you know who is responsible then?”

“Speculation, no more,” he said quickly. “Mankind does not much change, Jeanne. On the surface, we seem different. We evolve, we develop new rules, new standards of living. Each generation asserts modern values,.and dismisses the old, priding itself on its sophistication, its wisdom. We disappear to have little in common with those that have gone before us.” He tapped his chest. “But within these tunics of flesh, the human heart beats same as it ever did. Greed, desire for power, fear of death, these lotions do not change.” His voice softened. “The things that are fine in life, too, do not change. Love, courage, willingness to lay down one’s life what one believes in, kindness.”

“Will it ever end?”

Baillard hesitated. “I pray that it will.”

Above their heads, the clock marked the passing of time. At the far end of the corridor, hushed voices, footsteps, the squeak of rubber soles on the floor, heard briefly, then gone

“You will not go to the police?” said Jeanne eventually.“

“I do not think it wise.”

“You don’t trust Inspector Noubel?”

“Benleu.” Perhaps. “Did the police return Yves’ personal belongings to you?” The clothes he was wearing when he was brought in, the contents of his pockets?“

“His clothes were… were beyond saving. Inspector Noubel said there It nothing in his pockets except for his wallet and keys.”

“Nothing at all? No carte d’identite, no papers, no telephone? Did he not think that odd?”

“He said nothing,” she replied.

“And his apartment. Did they find anything there? Papers?”

Jeanne shrugged. “I don’t know.” She paused. “I asked one of his friends to draw me up a list of who was at the site on Monday afternoon.” She handed him a piece of paper with names scribbled on it. “It’s not complete.”

He looked down. “And this?” he queried, pointing at the name of a hotel.

Jeanne looked. “You wanted to know where the English woman was staying.” She paused. “Or, at least, that’s the information she gave the Inspector.”

“Dr Alice Tanner,” he murmured under his breath. After so long, she had come to him. Then that is where I shall send my letter.“

“I could deliver it for you when I return home.”

“No,” he said sharply. Jeanne looked up in surprise. “Forgive me,” he said quickly. “You are kind to offer, but… I do not think it wise for you to return home. For now, at least.”

“Why ever not?”

“It will not take them long to discover Yves sent the ring to you, if they do not know already. Please, stay with friends. Go away somewhere, with Claudette, anywhere. It is not safe.”

To his surprise, she did not argue. “Ever since we got here you’ve been looking over your shoulder.”

Baillard smiled. He had thought he’d kept his anxiety hidden.

“What about you, Audric?”

“It is different for me,” he said. “I have been waiting for this moment for… for longer than I can say, Jeanne. It is how it is meant to be, for good or ill.”

For a moment, Jeanne said nothing.

“Who is she, Audric?” she said softly. “This English girl? Why does she matter so much to you?”

He smiled, but he could not answer.

“Where will you go from here?” she asked in the end.

Baillard caught his breath. An image of his village, as it had once been, came to his mind.

“Oustaou,” he replied softly. “I will return home. A la perfin.” At last.