The Mayan Codex

19

Picaro laid the woman gently on the rear seat of his car. He stood back and looked down at her in the cold glow of the interior lights. What he had imagined in the darkness of the sealed room to be blood, now proved to be nothing more than a strawberry birthmark. Poor bitch. She’d have been pretty without that. Sometimes you wondered what God was thinking of.

Picaro sprung back her eyelids and checked her pupils. She was doped – that much was obvious. He was briefly tempted to tie his chamois leather duster around her eyes so that she couldn’t identify him if she woke up – but with his present run of luck, she’d probably panic on awaking and cause a car wreck. Best to leave things be for the time being.

He’d arranged to meet the flic at the old parking place behind Pampelonne beach. A twenty-minute drive at the outside. He’d simply dump the female and the tape recorder on him, get the rest of his money, and then scram. The flic could sort her out. That’s what flics did, wasn’t it? Sort things out?

Three times on the drive to Pampelonne Picaro wondered whether he wouldn’t do better just leaving her on the side of the road. She hadn’t seen him yet. She hadn’t seen the flic. Why complicate life when you didn’t need to?

But the image of the girl tied to the chair in the centre of the table haunted him. What had that boy’s name been? The one in the prison? Chico? Chiclette? Something like that.

Stupid to put the chair on the table. What if the girl had woken up and thrown herself to one side in a panic? She could have broken her neck and paralysed herself. People could be dumb sometimes.

He saw the flic waiting for him in the curve of the headlights. Well. Here goes. What a man will do for three thousand smackers.

Picaro pulled up beside Calque. He got out of the car and looked around. Well. No unexpected reception committee. That was a good first sign.

‘Did you get it?’

‘Of course I got it.’ Picaro eased the tape recorder from his pocket and handed it to Calque.

Calque palmed him the remaining fifteen hundred.

Picaro jerked his thumb back towards the car. ‘I’ve got something else for you, too. No extra charge.’

Calque flinched, as if someone had fired a dried pea at the back of his neck. ‘What do you mean?’

Picaro opened the back door of his car and stood waiting for Calque to join him. They both stared down at the girl.

‘Don’t worry. She’s not dead. Someone drugged her and tied her to a chair. They left the chair on the table in that secret room of yours. I thought at first that it might have been one of those sex things – you know, a bondage thing, when they pop amyl nitrate and then half suffocate themselves in an effort to increase their kicks. But one look at her face told me otherwise. I thought about leaving her there, but I just couldn’t do it. She hasn’t seen me and she hasn’t seen you. My advice would be to abandon her here. But she’s your problem from here on in. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’ Calque had total control of himself again. He was already busy working out the possible ramifications of this new development.

‘Want me to move her, or will you?’

‘You’d better move her. I’m not in the best of health.’

Calque watched as Picaro eased the girl across the back seat towards him.

‘What’s that on her face? Is she injured?’

Picaro held the girl’s head up towards the light as if he were exhibiting a vase to a potential buyer at an auction house. ‘No. Birthmark. It’s a fucking shame, isn’t it?’

Calque recognized the girl’s facial disfigurement at once. She had been one of the members of the first party to arrive at the house – the party which had preceded the arrival of the two men. She had to be one of the Countess’s daughters, therefore – one of the Devil’s dozen. But what could she possibly have done to turn the Countess against her? Either way, he desperately needed to talk to her.

At that exact moment, Lamia opened her eyes.

Picaro raised his hand, ready to rabbit-punch her before she could catch a glimpse of his face.

‘No. No. Wait!’ Calque hurried forward. He scrabbled in his pocket and held out his badge. ‘Police, Mademoiselle. For your own good, do not look around. I’m going to ease you out of the car.’ He took her face in his hands. ‘Keep looking at me. Don’t look around. Trust me.’

Lamia was still dopey. She stumbled forwards and fell against Calque’s chest, her knees buckling.

Calque nodded at Picaro.

Picaro jumped into his car and slewed away. The back door slammed shut of its own accord as he revved up through the gears.