Thirty-eight

Rocco headed off first, leaving Claude to reassure Sébastien and Eliane that everything would work out. He couldn’t make any firm promises based solely on Sébastien’s word that he hadn’t known what had been done with his paintings, no matter what Dreycourt might believe. Only a court case would determine that, although he was certain any report he made would carry enough weight to clear Sébastien’s name completely.

A flicker of movement in his mirror showed a large truck coming up fast behind him. He paid it little attention at first, because the narrow road away from the château towards Amiens was twisting and dipping, and even in the Citroën he had to take it easy in case he got too close to the edge.

Moments later the truck loomed larger in the mirror, and he realised it was the vehicle he’d seen parked outside the café in Poissons. World War Two vintage, he guessed, one of many still being used for commercial purposes. It was moving at speed with no regard for the conditions, the driver no doubt eager to get past him and on to his next delivery.

Rocco put his foot down and pulled away. He knew that he would be shortly approaching a series of bends, and even this idiot driver would have to slow right down or risk losing traction.

The truck caught up with him again, charging up to within a couple of metres of his rear bumper, the engine roaring and a cloud of dark exhaust smoke billowing out from the side. The truck had something fitted to its radiator. Trying to look in his mirror, as he navigated the sharp bends, Rocco recognised it as a heavy-duty winch wrapped in chain, with what looked like a railway sleeper fitted across.

Rocco felt a stab of concern. This didn’t seem like a mad driver adhering to a tight schedule, more like someone using deliberate scare tactics. Had he followed him from Poissons and waited near Cezard’s château for him to come out again? If so, why?

He gripped the wheel as he came to the first bend, and the truck nosed up even closer, following him into the curve without dropping back. Whoever the driver was, he knew how to handle the giant vehicle. Rocco put his foot down hard as he exited the bend, but the truck didn’t fall back. Rocco waved a hand out of the window to tell the driver to back off, but all he got in return was a loud blast of the horn.

Two hundred metres ahead a tractor was backing slowly out of a field, a heavy plough on the back already well out onto the road. Rocco leaned on the horn and tapped the brakes, looking to see if he had enough room to squeeze past. It was enough for his speed to drop but the truck’s didn’t. The tractor driver looked up and saw them coming. He reacted rapidly, changing into forward gear and pulling back into the field as Rocco flashed by just centimetres from the curved blades of the plough.

He felt his teeth snap together as his car was slammed in the rear. The collision sent a shockwave through the Citroën’s bodywork, and the rear window blew out in fragments under the stress. He saw his rear bumper spin away into a ditch, the chrome catching the light, and the spare wheel cover flew off and bounced down the road.

With the window gone, the noise was intense. He could see in his side mirror that the driver was grinning like a maniac and mouthing something, his face alive with animosity and evil intent.

A clattering noise started up from the Citroën’s rear end, and Rocco felt the car beginning to drift as he went around a long bend. It should have been easy to negotiate but the ramming must have done some damage to the frame. If he couldn’t rely on being able to steer through even simple corners, he was in real trouble.

There were more bends ahead, with a three-metre drop into fields on one side and a ditch and high bank on the other. Neither offered a chance of escape. Rocco tried one last time to get away, changing down a gear and pushing his foot to the floor. The engine responded, the nose of the big car drifting slightly to one side. He corrected the drift with a slight nudge of the wheel, then he was into the first corner and hoping that whatever was wrong with the steering would hold good for a few more moments. The tyres shrieked in protest before catching the rough edge of the road. It was hard to keep from drifting across the grass verge towards the drop-off. He managed to get the nose back into line just in time to hit the straight. But it was a mere fifty metres or so to the next bend and he realised that, at this speed, he probably wasn’t going to make it.

Then the engine spluttered and lost power. He stamped on the accelerator and the engine picked up with a whine, before spluttering again. It was all the truck behind needed. It rear-ended the Citroën, but this time with less of an impact, and Rocco realised the driver was going to force him off the road at the next bend, where the road was edged on the outside by a long drop-off into trees.

Rocco aimed for the inside of the bend, hoping to get launched up the bank on that side. He might bury the nose into the dirt, but it was better than sailing off into the potentially deadly trees waiting for him on the opposite side.

The driver didn’t give him a choice. He rammed the Citroën again, the truck’s engine howling in Rocco’s ears. Rocco thought he could feel its heat on the back of his neck, like a tiger about to pounce. The Citroën took off, becoming suddenly weightless, a loud clunk echoing from the front as the wheels dropped. But the Citroën was too heavy to be airborne for long, too indelicately balanced for any kind of flight. It began to slew sideways under its own weight, and Rocco let go of the wheel and dived along the seat to get out from behind the rigid steering column. It was too late to try for the doors and, even if he got out, the car might land on top of him. All he could hope for was that the body shell wouldn’t collapse around him if the car went into a roll.

His world went crazy, surrounded by breaking glass, violent shaking and battering and a hundred and one punches to the body as he was thrown around the inside of the vehicle. The doors were wrenched open as the car hit the ground, and he punched his hand down the back of the seat cushion, gripping the framework to keep himself from being thrown out. He could taste blood in his mouth and feel stabs of pain from a dozen points of impact all over his body. His chest hurt and he felt one leg being wrenched violently sideways.

Then silence.