80

‘I SAW HER COME THROUGH the trees at the back of the house,’ said Brunet, kneeling beside Jacquot on the basement floor. The medics had him laid out, flat on his back, his left trouser leg scissored open from waistband to knee. Pressure pads had been applied to his hip and a saline drip attached to his arm.

Jacquot was the last to be treated. When the medics arrived he’d put them to work on Claudine and Midou first, watching as the two women were treated, their wounds attended to, the blood loss halted. As soon as they’d been stretchered from the basement, the medics had set to work on him.

‘At first I couldn’t think who it was . . .’ continued Brunet. ‘. . .  How she’d got through . . . Why the two képis back in the woods hadn’t seen her.’

‘Did she kill them?’ asked Jacquot, trying to remember their faces, their names.

‘Just the one,’ said Brunet. ‘Ferdi, the older of the two. My guess is he must have seen her. The other one doesn’t remember a thing, just a major chop to the neck and a helluva headache. Garbachon, too, and the other képi, out cold and locked in the boot like you said.’

Jacquot winced as a needle was plunged into his thigh.

One of the medics gave him an apologetic look. Had to be done. Sorry.

‘I waited till she was out of sight behind the house,’ Brunet continued, ‘and then came after her. By the time I got to the terrace, there was no sign of her. Then I saw the body in the salon and thought it must be her. I was checking her out when I heard Claudine start screaming. After that, it all happened so fast . . .’

But Jacquot was having trouble concentrating, a gentle, swaddling heaviness creeping over him. He tried to blink his eyes into focus, but he felt them drift away from Brunet’s face to the ceiling above him.

‘Won’t be long now,’ Jacquot heard one of the medics say.

The words had a strange, dipping texture to them, as though the medic was in a different room. Distant. A little tipsy, maybe.

‘I think he’s gone aready,’ he heard Brunet reply. ‘Eyes are closed . . . mouth open. Just like he is when he takes a nap after lunch . . .’

Jacquot tried to close his mouth and open his eyes, tried to say something, tried to think of something to say.

But it was suddenly beyond him.

Nothing was working . . .