Polar Quest

58

After Duroc and his men left, Martineau locked the apartment door and slowly walked over to the bed, her eyes roaming over Kilkenny’s lean, muscular form. She sat down on the bed beside him and ran her fingers through the tufts of red hair on his chest. Lafitte’s body was bare like a little boy’s, while Duroc was covered with thick black coils. Like Duroc’s, Kilkenny’s body bore many scars, which she traced with her fingers.

Kilkenny’s heart beat slowly beneath her hand, his body artificially at rest. She reached into her purse and pulled out a wooden-handled knife and a packet of smelling salts. She cracked open the paper-wrapped caplet and held the salts under Kilkenny’s nose. He jerked as if hit with an electric shock.

‘What the — ’ Kilkenny tried to sit up but found he couldn’t lift his torso more than a few inches off the warped bed.

‘Bon soir, chéri,’ Martineau said, smiling sweetly at him. ‘Don’t bother trying to get up.’

Kilkenny felt her hand gliding over the skin on his chest. He looked down and saw that he was nude. ‘I’m really not into S&M.’

‘Too bad, it’s a wonderful way to add excitement. Let me show you.’

Martineau stood up, stepped out of her shoes, and slowly removed her dress. She wore nothing beneath and her body was smooth and devoid of hair. Catlike, she climbed over him, her breasts brushing up against his chest. She licked his neck and chin before aggressively kissing him on the mouth. Kilkenny felt her teeth chipping into his, her tongue probing his clenched mouth. Martineau bit his lip hard and warm salty blood flowed from the wound.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Kilkenny demanded.

Martineau sat up, stretching her arms toward the ceiling, towering over her victim.

‘Because I can, and because I want this to be as real as possible. In this room, the police will find everything they need to explain the unfortunate circumstances of your death.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘After your meeting with Charles, you decided to celebrate with a visit to Montmartre — a very touristy thing to do. While there, you met a young woman — Zara, I believe — who brought you back here for a little Parisian entertainment.’ Martineau waggled her finger at him. ‘You naughty boy.’

‘There isn’t a person who knows me who’d believe I picked up a prostitute.’

Martineau laughed. ‘You are a healthy young man, in Paris alone, celebrating a big business deal. The temptations here can be irresistible.’

‘I’ve resisted that kind of temptation in ports all around the world. What could make me change now?’

‘Your personal character is irrelevant when compared to the facts: Your body will be found here with that of a dead prostitute. You made the unfortunate choice of picking a girl who also happens to be an intravenous drug user, and there is a very dangerous form of heroin circulating in Europe these days. In a drug-induced psychosis, she stabbed you to death, then injected a lethal dose into her body. A tragedy, really.’

‘Like Faye Olson and Lloyd Sutton?’

Martineau pouted at Kilkenny, then smiled. ‘Exactly, but enough of this talk. I have work to do. In order for this scene to be truly convincing, you have to have sex before you die. Since poor Zara isn’t up to the task, I’ll have to do it myself.’

‘I guess you really throw yourself into your work, body and soul. Just like Zara.’

Martineau struck Kilkenny across the face.

‘My mistake,’ Kilkenny apologized. ‘You don’t have a soul.’

Martineau picked up the knife and laid it on Kilkenny’s chest with the tip pointing at his chin. ‘Please me and I promise your death will be very quick.’

‘Sorry, you’re just not my type.’

‘What? You don’t like women?’ Martineau rubbed her groin against Kilkenny, trying to arouse him.

‘I prefer women who are warm-blooded.’

Frustrated, she grabbed the knife, raised her arm up, and plunged down. The blade sliced a shallow groove in the side of Kilkenny’s chest as it tore into the mattress.Martineau pulled herself off Kilkenny, stood up, and put on her dress. Kilkenny adjusted his legs and found a little slack in the ropes tied to his ankles.

‘Despite your lack of interest, I’ve done enough to make it appear that you have been with a woman. There’s no need for me to take you inside my body, though you have denied yourself a great final pleasure.’

Kilkenny gripped his hands tightly around the spindle and twisted. The spindle slowly turned.

‘Doesn’t look so great from where I’m sitting.’

Martineau smiled smugly at Kilkenny, then picked up her purse and pulled out a test tube and what looked like a small turkey baster. She held the test tube close to Kilkenny’s face.

‘Do you know what this is?’ she asked.

‘No clue.’

‘It’s your seed, or at least my very close approximation of it. When the police do their DNA test, this will prove that you had sex with Zara.’

‘How did you make that?’

‘You provided me with the raw material when you broke into the lab in New Jersey. I made it from the DNA I found in your sweat.’

Kilkenny tilted his head back and yanked himself toward the headboard. The sharp impact of his forehead broke the wooden spindle. He yanked the upper half of the spindle from the headboard. Its jagged edge gouged a bloody groove from his hairline down to the bridge of his nose.

Kilkenny threw the broken spindle across the room as he swung his arms over his head and around Martineau. The cold steel of the handcuffs dug into her neck as he pulled her head against his chest. The test tube fell from Martineau’s hands and shattered on the floor. Martineau dug her nails into his sides. Kilkenny grimaced and clamped his hands to her head.

‘It doesn’t take much to break a neck, then you’ll be the one they find with poor Zara. Let me know when you’re ready to deal.’

Martineau released her grip on Kilkenny’s sides and pulled her hands away from his body.

‘Don’t even think about that knife, Dominique. You’d be dead before you had the chance to use it. Comprenez-vous?’

Martineau nodded.

‘Good. Now I want you to turn around, so you’re facing toward my feet.’

Kilkenny slipped his hands around her throat and pushed her head off his chest. Martineau turned so that her back faced him.

‘Untie my ankles,’ Kilkenny commanded.

Martineau unfastened the ropes around his ankles and Kilkenny wrapped his legs around her waist.

‘What to do, what to do? Eh, Dominique?’ Kilkenny sighed. ‘Handcuffs. I assume you have the key somewhere.’

Kilkenny squeezed his legs together, crushing Martineau’s abdomen.

‘The purse,’ she gasped. ‘The key is in Zara’s purse.’

‘Let’s find it, shall we?’

Kilkenny pushed Martineau over to the side of the bed. He then guided her over to where Zara’s purse lay on the floor.

‘We are going to slowly crouch down. I want you to pick up the purse and empty it on the floor.’

Martineau dumped the contents of the purse on the floor and raised her hands where Kilkenny could see them.

‘Very good, Dominique. Do you see the key down there?’

Martineau looked down. ‘Yes.’

‘Pick it up very slowly.’

With one hand, Martineau reached down and picked up the key.

‘Now unlock the handcuffs.’

Martineau felt for the keyhole in the bracelet around Kilkenny’s right wrist. She slipped the key in and turned, and it sprang open. She unlocked the one on his other wrist.

‘Keep the key in your right hand and put the handcuffs in your left.’

Martineau did as he instructed.

‘Now we’re going to stand up. Ready?’

‘Yes.’

Kilkenny rose and Martineau followed. When they were both standing, Kilkenny grabbed Martineau’s left arm and twisted it around her back, then pulled the handcuffs out of her hand and clasped one of the bracelets tightly around her wrist.

‘I seem to recall your saying you liked it rough,’ Kilkenny said. ‘Put your other hand between your legs.’

From behind, Kilkenny reached between Martineau’s legs, grabbed Martineau’s right hand and pulled it through, bending her over awkwardly. He then brought her left arm down her back and closed the other bracelet around her right wrist. Martineau stood up as best she could, her dress bunched up with the handcuffs at her groin.

‘There, now the only thing you can play with is yourself, though be careful of all that metal. Which reminds me.’ Kilkenny reached between her thighs and pulled the key from her right hand. ‘Sorry about that. I bet you really wished you put some underwear on today.’

Kilkenny picked up his clothes and put on everything but his jacket and tie. He picked up Martineau’s shawl; the fabric felt soft and light.

‘Is this shatoosh?’ Kilkenny asked.

Martineau nodded.

‘Expensive?’

‘Very.’

‘If I remember right,’ Kilkenny said, appraising the fabric, ‘this comes from some kind of endangered antelope — endangered because people like you make shawls out of them.’ He wiped the blood off his forehead with it. ‘That ought to get me a life membership in PETA.’

Kilkenny placed the shawl at the foot of the bed, pulled the knife out of the mattress, and tossed it on the floor. He lifted up Zara’s body and reverently laid her down on the bed. Kilkenny adjusted her clothing for modesty and covered her body with Martineau’s prized shawl.

‘I’m sorry you got brought into this,’ Kilkenny said to the corpse. ‘God speed.’

‘What are you doing? She’s dead.’

‘True,’ Kilkenny replied, ‘but she didn’t deserve what you did to her. I hope you have a car around here?Otherwise, you’re going to look very silly walking through the streets of Paris trussed up like that.’

‘It’s in the garage up the street. The keys are in my purse?’

Kilkenny rummaged through Martineau’s purse and found her keys, a digital phone, and a black cylindrical spray bottle. He held it up to Martineau’s face.

‘This what they used to knock me out?’

Martineau nodded, wincing.

‘What is it and what exactly does it do?’

‘A neural inhibitor. It interferes with neuro-electrical activity in the brain.’

‘I’ve still got a headache from it.’

‘It will pass with no permanent damage.’

‘How does it work?’

‘It must be absorbed into the bloodstream. The mouth, eyes, and nose are good targets.’

‘Good to know,’ Kilkenny said, pocketing the canister.

‘What about the key to the handcuffs?’ Martineau asked.

‘We don’t need it. Let’s go.’