Gridlock. That alone told Ryker a lot about the city they were entering. Not a quiet or quaint place like St Ricard, but a sprawling urban center. Ryker had never been to Lyon before, and he was sure there’d be plenty of tasteful, historical parts and famous sights here – and a lot of buzz. He could already see some modern glass-rich skyscrapers in the distance, most likely the business center of the city, filled with offices and trendy bars and restaurants. A little unexpectedly, a large part of him wanted to be back in St Ricard.
They remained in the Jeep, although along the way they’d googled and found a metal scrapyard where they’d paid the nighttime security guard there a hundred euros to let them take a look around, no questions asked. Henrik had found some license plates from a ten-year-old Toyota Land Cruiser that they’d taken and quickly replaced for the ones on the stolen Jeep. Not a perfect ruse, but probably good enough in the short term. The plates at least nearly matched the age of the car.
‘Lyon is the second biggest urban center in France,’ Henrik said, reading from his phone, as Ryker stared frustratedly at the sea of brake lights in front of them. ‘It was the capital of the Gauls during the Roman Empire. There are quite a lot of Roman remains still. Amphitheaters and things.’
‘You want to do some sightseeing?’
Henrik glared at Ryker, enough to cause Ryker to retract his smile.
‘The headquarters of Interpol are located here too.’
Ryker’s face fell a little further. He really hoped that fact wouldn’t come back to bite them at any point.
Finally, the traffic in front moved and Ryker rolled the Jeep forward then looked at the GPS screen. Their turn was coming up.
‘What do you think we’ll find here?’ Henrik asked.
A good question. And one which Ryker initially answered with a contemplative sigh.
‘Trouble, most likely,’ he said.
‘Without a doubt, I’d say,’ Henrik added with a curious smile.
The area they parked up in, on the edge of the areas of Perrache and Ainay, was dominated by nineteenth and early twentieth-century apartment blocks, six to twelve stories tall. The buildings, mainly stone blocks of varying shades of gray and dirty brown, ranged from the overly plain to the intricate, the latter with ornate iron-edged balconies and decorative stonework around doorways and windows, looking even more quaint with the orange street lighting at night. That said, judging by the level of upkeep, and the quality of the footpaths and parked cars outside, the area wasn’t hugely affluent, though Ryker was sure it was far from the poorest. Simply a typical inner city residential street that could be found in pretty much any city in the Western world.
‘Not what you expected?’ Ryker said to Henrik as they stepped from the car, noting his nonplussed look.
‘A lot nicer than I expected… I don’t know why.’
Perhaps because he wasn’t used to bigger cities, and the size of the buildings made them appear more impressive than they were. Or because he’d expected less of the common criminal, Didier Lenglet?
‘We’re looking for 218,’ Henrik said. ‘Apartment 306.’
Ryker had already memorized the information that Henrik had uncovered on the journey from St Ricard – a sneaky combination of basic internet search and a call/phishing exercise to a utility company and the building’s supervisor. All of it without action or advice from Ryker. The fifteen-year-old’s ‘skills’ continued to impress and surprise and in some ways horrify him.
‘Here it is,’ Ryker said, looking up at the double doors of the apartment building. The doors had a traditional lock but the fact the left-hand door sat an inch forward of its twin showed it wasn’t being used – perhaps didn’t work at all – and so they both slipped inside without bothering with the intercom.
‘Easier than expected,’ Henrik said as they ascended the stairs.
Ryker didn’t respond. He didn’t want to jinx it.
They reached the door to 306 without seeing anyone, though various sounds drifted from behind the doors of neighboring homes.
Ryker knocked then waited. He heard footsteps on the other side of the wood. A TV too. A cooing baby.
‘What do you want?’ said a female voice, in French, from the other side.
‘We’re here to sort out your heating,’ Ryker said, trying his best to avoid any trace of anglicization in his words.
Silence. Then locks unclicked, and the door edged open before catching on a chain.
‘Liar,’ she said, looking up at Ryker. ‘Our floor was fixed last week.’
So Henrik’s digging had only partially worked.
‘So who are you?’ the woman asked.
‘Me and my son traveled from St Ricard,’ Ryker said, stepping out of the way to show Henrik’s puppy-dog face. ‘We’re… We’re hoping you can help us.’
The woman’s smile dropped. Her eyes pinched.
‘St Ricard?’
‘We’re in trouble with the Thibauds. We wanted to talk to you about Didier. We think what happened to him might—’
The door slammed shut. Ryker and Henrik looked at each other. Then the door reopened, more fully this time. The heavyset young woman glared at Ryker. All of five foot two, she wore leggings that seemed at least a size too small and a tank top that revealed a mass of tattoos that swirled up her arms. She held on to a baby that clung to her chest, and behind her another child toddled into view, snack packet in hand.
The woman stuck her head out of the door, looked both ways along the corridor.
‘You’re not journalists?’ she said.
Ryker shook his head.
‘You don’t look like you are.’
‘We’re not.’
‘Come in,’ she said, stepping aside to let Ryker and Henrik through.
The apartment was cramped. One open living space, a bathroom, two bedrooms, although one was barely big enough to fit a single bed. The decor was plain and tired, which was probably the landlord’s choice and the residents hadn’t bothered – or weren’t allowed – to make it any more homely or personal.
A pan bubbled away on the stove in the kitchen area. A meaty stew of some kind, Ryker thought from the smell.
‘Sit down,’ the lady said as she put the baby into a high chair. The toddler placed himself a foot away from the TV screen.
‘You must be Didier’s wife,’ Ryker said. ‘Valerie?’
She didn’t answer as she took a seat on the edge of an armchair. Ryker sat on the sofa opposite. Henrik remained hovering.
‘You knew Didier?’ the woman – Ryker assumed Valerie – asked. ‘Actually, you don’t need to answer that. I know you didn’t.’
As instructed, Ryker said nothing.
‘You’re not French, are you?’
‘English,’ Ryker said.
‘And him?’
‘My son.’
No response.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Because we’re looking for Sophie Thibaud.’
Valerie glanced at Henrik whose face remained passive. Then she looked at her own kids before back at Ryker.
‘I don’t know her. I don’t know any of the Thibauds.’
‘But you know of them.’
‘Nearly everyone knows of them. And what happened in St Ricard.’
‘Then that saves us some time.’
‘But you said you’re looking for her. Like she’s missing. But she’s right there, in St Ricard, with her aunt.’
‘But she isn’t,’ Henrik said. ‘You won’t get the family admitting that, but Sophie is missing.’
A dubious, but also slightly wary look from Valerie, who fidgeted, looking at her kids again.
‘I already said, I don’t know those people. And I don’t know why you’re interested either.’
‘You might not know them. But your husband did.’
‘My husband. My dead husband. Who you never met.’
‘How long were you together?’ Ryker asked.
‘You really care?’
Ryker held his tongue.
‘Five years.’
‘They must miss their dad?’ Henrik said, indicating the kids.
‘You’re going to bring him back from the dead for me?’
‘No,’ Ryker said. ‘But if you help us, then perhaps we can find out exactly why he is dead.’
Valerie didn’t respond, but then she smiled, then she laughed, catching the attention of the two children. The baby in the high chair smiled and cackled to see his mother apparently so happy. The toddler stared at her like she was mad.
‘Didier is dead because he was an idiot. I knew that for a long time, but I loved him anyway. But I always told him what would happen. And he always promised me he’d change. But do you know how hard it is for a man with his background to get a real job here?’
‘I can imagine,’ Ryker said.
‘Can you? Because looking at you, I’m not sure you can. Didier did what he had to do to support this family. I didn’t like it, I didn’t agree with it, but we needed money.’
‘What did he tell you about that night?’
‘Which night?’
‘St Ricard.’
‘He didn’t tell me anything. He never did, and I never asked. He only said he would see me in the morning. That either meant he was stealing something or partying.’
‘And when he came home?’
Her face twitched. Her frustration, agitation, even anger, dissipated, and for the first time, Ryker saw some sadness behind her dark eyes.
‘He was scared. I think… he was ashamed.’
‘You believe he really did do it?’ Henrik asked. ‘That he really went to St Ricard and killed those people?’
No words but a slight nod in response. The answer wasn’t what Ryker had expected – hoped for? – at all.
‘Why?’ Ryker asked. ‘Why would he be involved in something like that?’
‘I told you already. Because he was stupid.’
‘Who did he work for? The other man, Ramiz Touba?’
A flicker of anger in her features. She knew the name. She didn’t think much of it.
‘No. Not him. He was an animal but Didier wouldn’t have followed him there.’
‘You don’t think Touba was involved?’ Henrik asked.
‘I didn’t say that. I said Didier wouldn’t have worked for Touba.’
‘Then who?’
Valerie glared at Henrik but she didn’t answer the question.
‘Valerie, who paid Didier for that job?’
‘You think I’d tell you, even if I knew?’
‘You think it was a setup?’ Ryker suggested.
‘The robbery at the Thibaud’s? Probably. Didier was not a killer. I’m not saying he wasn’t there, but he didn’t go there for that.’
She sounded positive enough about her belief.
‘But afterward…’
‘Afterward what?’ Ryker prompted.
‘That was the setup,’ Valerie said.
‘What was?’ Henrik asked.
‘The night the police came here,’ she said, as though Ryker and Henrik were being dense. ‘I already knew something was wrong by then. Didier hadn’t spoken to me properly for days. He was moping, on edge. I still didn’t know about him being in St Ricard then. I didn’t know that until after the police shot him. When it was on the news the next day. But before that, I’d never seen him so… scared. If you’d ever met him, you’d know what I mean. He was tough. Tougher than anyone I know.’
‘Who was he scared of?’ Ryker asked. ‘The police? Touba? The Thibauds?’
She shook her head. ‘All I know is, the police arrived at our door that night. Six of them. And they had no intention of taking my husband with them. They launched in here, took one look, and fired.’
‘You think the police came here intending to kill him?’ Henrik asked.
‘Kill him?’ Valerie said with a sneer. ‘The police didn’t kill Didier. They executed him.’
Valerie’s chilling words reverberated in Ryker’s mind.
‘Why would the police do that?’ Henrik asked.
Valerie looked put out by the question, and not for the first time when he’d addressed her, as if she didn’t like the teenager questioning her, or perhaps it was only because of the sore subject.
‘Because they’re corrupt,’ she said, more to Ryker than to Henrik.
‘Who’ve you told about this?’ Ryker asked.
‘Who would I tell?’
‘You didn’t make a complaint to the police?’ Henrik suggested.
‘To the people who killed my husband? Do you think I’m a fool?’
‘We don’t think you’re a fool,’ Ryker said.
‘I didn’t tell the police. I knew it would make no difference.’
‘We want to help you,’ Ryker said. ‘We want to find out what really happened in St Ricard. What really happened to Didier. If you—’
Ryker paused when he noticed Valerie’s phone screen light up. She flicked her eyes to the device on the table, not the first time she’d done so, then got to her feet. Ryker sighed and looked up at her.
‘So what now?’ he asked her.
She looked at him questioningly.
‘They’re at the door already, aren’t they?’
He’d heard the footsteps. Soft, but deliberate. He’d wondered whether it was simply a light-footed neighbor coming home, but now he knew otherwise – he’d guessed as much as he’d watched her fiddle with her phone, discreetly, but not discreetly enough. He’d also wondered why she’d invited them into her home so readily – perhaps she was under instruction to do so if anyone came asking about Didier.
‘You hadn’t thought this bit through though, had you?’ Ryker said.
Valerie looked frightened now. She glanced from Ryker and to the front door along the short hall behind him.
‘Who is it?’ Ryker asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.
Valerie stepped away from her chair. Not toward the door and the new arrivals, but toward her children. Ryker got up from the sofa, looked at Henrik.
A thud on the door.
‘Valerie!’
She quivered with fear as she picked the now startled-looking baby from the high chair. The toddler in front of the TV stared at his mother too.
Then Valerie squealed and cowered as the front door blasted open.