‘Who were they?’ Ella asked, sounding angry more than anything else now that the adrenaline of the chase had worn off. No sign of that smile now. Had it been a real smile at all or just nervous relief?
‘Bad people,’ he replied as he rested his head on the seat of the aging bus which chugged along the dark street, out of Lyon.
Ella tutted and turned away.
‘You’ve brought me into this mess,’ she said. ‘I didn’t ask for that. The least you can do is be honest with me now.’
A fair point. But how to explain?
He just went for it.
‘They work for a man named Aziz Doukha.’ He looked over at her. He didn’t think the name meant anything to her. ‘He’s a really bad man.’
‘Why would they want to hurt you. And me?’
‘Me and Ryker came to Lyon to ask questions about Lenglet and Touba. You know, the two men the police say killed the Thibauds. Both of them, directly or indirectly, worked for Aziz.’
‘So he was really the one who had the Thibauds killed?’
‘We thought maybe, but he said not.’
‘You’ve spoken to him?’ She looked really confused.
‘Kind of. He was going to kill us. But the police arrived.’ He sighed again. ‘It’s complicated.’
‘The police? But the police were helping those two in the station.’
‘I know. I don’t really understand either. But Aziz was arrested that night along with all of his gang. I don’t know how they got out of prison. But it looks like they’re coming for me now, for revenge. Ryker too, probably.’
‘And me.’
He closed his eyes. ‘Possibly.’
‘If we get back to St Ricard, the Gendarmerie can help us.’
She sounded quite sure about that. As though they were people she knew and trusted. But he’d turned her world upside down and he feared she was about to see just how ugly and unsafe it really was.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure they can help us.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t answer. The look of worry on her face ramped up further.
‘So is there anyone who can help us now?’ Ella asked.
Just one person, Henrik thought, but didn’t say. James Ryker. Except Henrik had no clue where he even was.
* * *
The return journey to St Ricard was long and tiring and tense for both Henrik and Ella. They took three buses, by far the least direct route, but hopefully less predictable and harder to track that way. Cheaper, actually, than on the way out to Lyon.
‘Do you think they’ll be waiting for us when we arrive?’ Ella asked, the worry in her voice clear.
He hadn’t realized she was awake. For the last half hour, she’d had her eyes closed, her head rested on him, half on his shoulder, half on his chest, her body turned toward him, her legs curled up on the seat. He’d loved it. The comfort and closeness. Calmness too. Such a contrast to the danger they’d run from in Lyon, and that he knew still lay outside the bus somewhere.
‘I don’t know,’ was all he could say in answer.
But there was a chance Ryker was back in the small town, wasn’t there? If he was still alive at all. Did he even know that Aziz and his gang were free?
The thought of Aziz made Henrik shiver. Maybe he and Ella should have kept on running.
‘Do you think…?’ Ella paused and lifted her head from him to sit up straight. Another chill went through Henrik as the warmth from her body receded. ‘Did the same people hurt Michel? Is that why he’s missing?’
The truth was, the thoughts of all the people Henrik had met in Lyon and St Ricard made his head hurt. Monique Thibaud and her guards. The gendarmes. Aziz and his gang. Michel. Sophie. He believed all of them probably had dark secrets, one way or another, and he really didn’t know how all their lives and their activities intersected.
He was so confused and frustrated trying to figure it all out. And look where his efforts were leading him. Into trouble, over and over. What frustrated him even more was that he and Ryker being in St Ricard in the first place was all down to him. All of the trouble was down to him. He’d so wanted to be like Ryker. The noble warrior. Riding into an unknown town to help the victims of a horrible crime. He’d never expected events to spiral so spectacularly out of control. He could have avoided bringing all of this mess onto himself.
With them both remaining on edge, the rest of the journey passed by in near silence. Eventually, the bus pulled to the stop in St Ricard which consisted of nothing but a small shelter. Henrik saw no one lying in wait, whether Aziz’s crew or the gendarmes or whoever. No one else got off the bus with them and they both remained standing on the frozen footpath as the chugging diesel engine faded into the distance.
‘I can take you home,’ Henrik suggested. Most likely the safest place for her – unless they could find Ryker.
‘No,’ she said, circling her arm around his. ‘I’m not leaving you now.’
He smiled at her. She didn’t return it, but the look of determination in her eyes still warmed him.
‘Before we got off the train in Lyon,’ she said, ‘we talked about Michel. You know where he is, don’t you?’
‘I think I might do.’
‘And do you think Sophie is with him?’
He couldn’t answer that. He didn’t even know if Sophie was still alive.
‘She could be, couldn’t she?’ Ella added, hopefully.
‘She could be.’
‘I think if we can find them. If we can really find the truth, we’ll be safe. The police… Someone in the police or the Gendarmerie has to be good still.’
‘I think so.’
‘Then let’s finish this. Let’s go find Michel.’
‘Let’s do it,’ Henrik said, his determined stare matching hers, as his fingers snaked around the grip of the gun in his pocket.
* * *
The night was as cold as any since Henrik had arrived in France, and despite their big winter coats, hats, and gloves, both were shivering as they made the final approach to the dark and boarded-up Thibaud residence.
‘Why would he come here?’ Ella asked as they moved through the gates, sounding doubtful.
‘Because it’s familiar. Familiar is safe. And he’s hiding. Theo said Michel was going home. St Ricard. But his parents aren’t here anymore, so where else?’
She shook her head, as though she didn’t understand.
‘It’s a natural instinct,’ he said. ‘When I first met Ryker, when he first saved me from the men who’d kidnapped me, we didn’t run away. We headed right back to my hometown, Blodstein. I took Ryker to an abandoned warehouse I used to hang out in. I knew it was safe. I knew the men wouldn’t look for us there.’
‘You stayed there long?’
‘No. Not at all. But not because we couldn’t, but because we had to find answers. Ryker…’ Henrik paused and laughed. ‘He doesn’t give up easily. And he doesn’t like to sit around doing nothing. We took the fight back to them.’
‘And here we are,’ Ella said. ‘Back in St Ricard. We could have gone anywhere to hide, but instead, we came here. To keep on fighting.’
Henrik didn’t respond. Largely because he couldn’t be sure of her tone. Was she impressed by him or mocking him?
‘I think you’re probably a lot like him, actually,’ she added.
Whether or not she’d meant it as one, he took that as a compliment.
‘But Michel,’ Henrik said. ‘He didn’t come here to fight back. He came here to hide. And I think he’s still here now.’
He said those last words in almost a whisper, the house all of twenty yards in front of them.
They kept to the edge of the tree line as they moved further forward. Certainly no obvious signs of life here. No smoke trailing up from the chimneys, no lights visible around the window edges, though the glass was so thoroughly boarded he wasn’t sure that meant much. As they reached the back of the house they cut across the lawn to the brickwork and pulled to a stop and listened. No sounds except for a distant creature in the woods – an owl perhaps? – and the gentle rustle of piney branches.
Ella was shaking now, though Henrik didn’t know how much of that was through cold and how much was fear.
Henrik stepped along the wall. Ella followed closely behind. He reached the patio doors. The board had been pushed back in place. Henrik crouched down and pulled it away as carefully and quietly as he could. The glass panel beneath it remained broken.
‘Come on,’ he whispered, looking back up at Ella. She really didn’t look keen, but he turned to the hole again and crawled through then paused a moment on the inside.
No sounds. No smells. No lights. Just like last time.
‘Come on,’ he said, even more quietly now as he held a hand out to her.
The next moment her head poked through and she wriggled across the floor to squeeze through the small gap. They both straightened up then looked over the dark space in front of them. Nearly but not quite pitch black, because there was just the faintest outline of light around the closed door in front of them.
‘He’s here,’ Ella whispered.
‘Someone’s here,’ Henrik responded as he edged forward.
He reached the door and slowly turned the knob, trying not to make any noise at all. The slightest of creaks from the inner mechanism. Henrik froze as his heart pounded in his ribs. Ella was trying to control her breathing but it was getting faster and deeper by the second.
‘Grab something,’ he said to her.
He couldn’t see the reaction on her face but felt her move away. A couple of seconds later she came back to his side, a lamp in her hand. Better than nothing.
He pulled the door open. The light – an electric lamp or torch, he thought, because there was no flicker like there would be from a fire or a candle – came from the adjacent room at the back of the house. The smell, too, of food now. Soup, perhaps?
No sounds at all though. The house remained eerily quiet all around them.
Henrik moved toward the light, every step taking an age as his brain rattled with thoughts, not just as to who he’d find here but what he’d do.
He pulled the gun from his pocket. Reached the door which was ajar. Used his free hand to push it further open. One inch. Another.
Movement behind him. Shuffling feet. A scream.
Ella.
Henrik spun. Held the gun out. Ella moaned and struggled.
‘Stop or you’re dead,’ the man said. To Ella.
Henrik tried to process the voice. He could still see nothing of the man standing there except the faintest outline of shadow. He reached out behind with his foot and kicked the door further open. Not much light spilled out but it was enough to make out the two figures in front of him. Ella, her pleading eyes boring into him. A knife rested against the skin of her neck.
Behind her, a man. Tall, broad, and young.
Michel Lemerre.